Page 37 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

Laughter. When was the last time these walls have heard genuine laughter?

Rising from his chair, Colin made his way downstairs to find the great hall transformed into a bustling hub of activity. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.

Morag stood at the center of it all, her sleeves rolled up and her hair messy as she directed the serving of food to the displaced families. She'd somehow managed to organize the chaos into orderly lines, with children seated at makeshift tables while adults received their portions.

How daes she dae it?

Colin watched as she knelt beside a crying child, offering comfort with such natural ease.

In the space of a few hours, she's brought order tae chaos and hope tae despair.

The contrast struck him forcefully—upstairs, his council spoke of strain and scarcity, of the burden these refugees represented. Down here, Morag had transformed that burden into something resembling community. Where he saw problems to be solved, she saw people to be cared for.

An elderly woman approached Morag with trembling hands, clearly wanting to help but unsure how. Instead of dismissing her or assigning her some token task, Morag linked arms with her, speaking quietly and orchestrating older children to entertain the little ones while their mothers ate in peace.

Perhaps that's what I’ve been missing. All this time, I've been so focused on survival that I forgot what we're surviving for.

For the first time since the attack, Colin felt something other than grim determination. Watching his wife—his wife—breathe life back into his people, he felt a dangerous flutter of hope.

"Is there anything I can dae tae help?" Colin asked, approaching her as she ladled stew into wooden bowls.

Morag looked up, surprised to see him offering assistance. "Could ye help with the bread? There's a mountain of it that needs cutting."

Colin moved to the indicated table, taking up a knife with the same efficiency he used for his weapons. "Like this?" he asked, holding up a slice.

"Thinner," Morag said with a smile, moving to stand beside him. "We need tae make it stretch fer everyone." She guided his hand, her fingers covering his as she showed him the proper thickness. "There, that's perfect."

The simple touch sent heat racing up Colin's arm, and he caught her eyes, seeing the same awareness reflected there. Around them, the hall buzzed with activity, but in that moment it felt like they were alone in their own small world.

"I suppose even lairds need instruction," he said dryly, earning a laugh from her.

"Only the ones who spend all their time with swords instead of bread knives," she teased back, bumping his shoulder playfully as she returned to her ladling.

This is what I was missing. Nae just a wife, but a partner. Someone who sees what I cannae, who brings out the best in our people instead of demanding it through strength alone.

They worked in comfortable rhythm, Colin cutting bread while Morag served, occasionally stealing glances at each other. When she reached across him for more bowls, her body brushed against his, and Colin felt his pulse quicken at the innocent contact.

"Watch yerself, lass," he murmured quietly, his voice rough. "Or I might forget we have an audience."

Morag's cheeks flushed pink, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she looked up at him through her lashes with a coy smile that made his blood sing. "Is that a threat or a promise, husband?"

Colin's hands stilled on the bread knife, his eyes darkening. "Careful now. That's dangerous territory ye're wanderin’ intae."

"Is it?" Morag asked innocently, though the way she deliberately leaned closer to reach another bowl was anything but innocent. "I thought I was just servin’ stew."

"Ye ken exactly what ye're daein’," Colin said, his voice dropping lower. "And if ye keep daein’ it, I might just have tae dae somethin’ about it."

"Such as?" The challenge in her voice made his pulse race.

Colin leaned down, his lips nearly brushing her ear. "Such as findin’ a very private place tae show ye exactly what effect ye're having on me."

Morag's breath caught audibly, and she nearly dropped the ladle she was holding. "Colin Armstrong, ye're terrible."

"Aye, I am," he agreed with a wicked grin. "But ye like it."

Before she could respond, a young boy appeared at Colin's elbow with a bowl held hopefully in his small hands. "Please, me laird, could I have just a wee bit more? I'm still powerful hungry."

Colin blinked, suddenly remembering where they were and that half the castle was watching their interaction. He cleared his throat and straightened, though he caught Morag's amused smile out of the corner of his eye.