Page 46 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

"It was," he said fiercely, finally looking up at her. "I took the damned sleepin’ draught I take every night, and when ye needed me most, I was unconscious. Useless."

Morag's eyes widened, and she stepped closer, her fatigue forgotten. "Ye mean the potion ye drink before bed. What is it fer?"

Colin's face went pale, realizing he'd revealed more than he intended. "It's naethin’. It just helps me sleep."

"Dinnae ye dare dismiss me like that," Morag said sharply, her voice gaining strength. "I nearly died, and ye're tellin’ me it's because of some potion ye take? What kind of sleepin’ draught makes a man so unconscious that he daesnae hear men entering his own room?"

She moved around the desk to face him directly, her blue eyes blazing with hurt and anger. "And how long have ye been takin’ this?"

"Morag, it's complicated⁠—"

"Then uncomplicate it!" she demanded, leaning forward to brace her hands on his desk. "Ye owe me the truth, Colin. All of it. What is this draught, why dae ye need it, and why did ye nae feel the need tae tell me why ye were takin’ it?"

Colin looked trapped, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for escape. "It's fer nightmares," he said finally, so quietly she had to strain to hear him.

"Nightmares?" Morag's anger softened slightly, replaced by concern. "What nightmares?"

"Every night," Colin continued, his voice hollow. "They come every night if I dinnae take the draught. I can't... I can't function without sleep, Morag. The clan needs me alert, focused."

"What dae ye dream about that's so terrible ye'd rather be unconscious than face it?" she pressed, her voice gentler now but no less determined.

Colin's hands clenched tighter. "Things that happened long ago. Things I couldnae prevent."

"Colin." Morag reached out and covered his fisted hands with her own. "Look at me. What things?"

For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then his defenses crumbled completely.

"Me sister," he whispered. "I dream about me sister."

Morag could see how deeply guilt was eating at him from the inside. This proud, strong man who commanded armies and ruled with iron determination was breaking apart with self-recrimination.

"Tell me," she said softly, pulling a chair close to his and sitting down. "Tell me about yer sister, and tell me about these nightmares."

Her words were firm but not unkind, and Colin found himself caught between admiration for her strength and shame at his own weakness.

"Come on, me laird," she continued when he remained silent. "Ye can face Fraser raiders and clan politics, but ye cannae face one conversation with yer wife? Let's go tae our chamber. Ye need tae rest, and I need answers. And the work will wait," Morag said firmly, standing and holding out her hand. "But yer wife willnae. Come. Now."

Colin looked at her determined face and realized he was well and truly caught. But instead of taking her hand, he shook his head stubbornly. "I'll go tae bed later. There's too much tae be done."

Morag's jaw tightened with frustration. She could see the exhaustion weighing on him like a physical burden, but she also recognized the set of his shoulders, the stubborn tilt of his chin that meant he'd dig in his heels no matter how reasonable her arguments.

"Fine," she said quietly. "But ye're a fool if ye think shuttin’ yerself in will keep me out forever."

She hesitated at the doorway, wanting to stay, to somehow ease his torment. But she could see that he'd retreated behind walls she didn't yet know how to breach. The man who'd shared his deepest pain with her just moments before had vanished, replaced once again by the Iron Laird who trusted no one with his burdens.

With a heavy heart, she left him alone with his guilt and his ghosts.