Page 39 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

"Ye dinnae need tae be anythin’ other than what ye are," Morag said firmly. "Ye just need tae let people see it.

"Thank ye," he said quietly, setting the empty vial aside. "Fer today. Fer all ye did fer me people."

Morag turned to face him, her expression serious. "They're our people, Colin. And as their lady, I'll dae everything I can tae help them."

Something shifted in Colin's chest at her words, the way she had claimed his clan as her own, the quiet determination in her voice. She meant it, he realized. This wasn't just duty or obligation to her. She genuinely cared about the people of Clan Armstrong.

Colin studied her face in the candlelight. "Aye," he said softly. "Our people."

The word felt different on his tongue now. For so long, he'd thought of himself as the sole guardian of his clan's welfare, the only one who truly understood the weight of responsibility. But watching Morag today, seeing how naturally she'd stepped into her role as their lady, he realized he'd been wrong.

"Come here," he said quietly, reaching out to her.

Morag rose from her seat at the dressing table and moved toward him. When she was close enough to touch, Colin took her hands in his, marveling at how small they seemed compared to his own, yet how much strength they contained.

"We should sleep," Colin said finally, though he made no move to release her hands. "Tomorrow will bring fresh challenges."

"Aye," Morag agreed, but she too seemed reluctant to break the moment.

Colin moved first, stepping back to give her space as they finished their nightly preparations. But even as they settled into their respective sleeping spaces—Colin on his makeshift pallet on the floor, Morag beneath the warm covers—the air between them hummed with new understanding.

"Colin?" Morag's voice drifted down from the bed, soft and hesitant.

"Aye?"

"Thank ye. Fer today. Fer trustin’ me tae help."

"Thank ye," he replied quietly, "fer showing me I dinnae have tae dae everything alone."

Silence settled over them, but it was comfortable now, filled with promise rather than uncertainty. For the first time since their wedding, Morag heard Colin’s breathing steady, before it gradually deepened in sleep.

She lay awake a little longer, her hand pressed to her chest where her heart still raced with the memory of Colin's touch. Something had changed between them—something precious and fragile and full of potential. As sleep finally claimed her, she found herself looking forward to discovering what the next day might bring.

Morag jolted awake as sweat beaded across her forehead, her nightgown clinging damply to her skin. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. The room spun around her as she tried to focus, her vision blurring at the edges like looking through water.

What's happening tae me? Colin! Colin!

But she soon realized that she was calling her husband in her head only, and no words were coming from her lips. Two dark shapes moved through the doorway, silent as shadows. Men. Strangers with their faces covered, moving toward her in the private chamber.

"Colin!" Morag tried to scream but only a weak, strangled sound escaped her throat.

Why cannae I make noise?

Panic clawed at her chest as she attempted to sit up, but her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if she were moving through thick honey.

Who did this tae me? What did they dae tae me?

As rough hands seized her arms, Morag's flailing hand struck the ceramic vase on the bedside table. It teetered for a heart-stopping moment before crashing to the stone floor with a thunderous crash that echoed through the chamber.

The sound shattered the night's silence like breaking glass.

"Damn," one of the men hissed.

Colin, why aren't ye helping me? Why will ye nae wake up?

They grabbed her more roughly now, hauling her upright with bruising force. Morag's legs buckled beneath her as they dragged her toward the door, her feet barely able to support her weight. The castle would wake soon—someone had to have heard that crash—but would it be soon enough?

In the hallway beyond their chamber, Morag could see the night guards on the floor, with dark pools spread beneath their still forms.

Nay, nay, nay⁠—

She tried again to cry out, to call for Colin, but her voice came out as barely a whisper. Whatever they had given her, had stolen her strength, her voice, everything. One of the men reached for her, and she fought against the strange lethargy gripping her body.