Page 65 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

She began walking rapidly toward the castle entrance, but Colin moved quickly to block her path, his long strides easily outpacing hers. His broad frame overshowed her, immovable as the castle walls themselves.

"Ye're nae going anywhere," Colin said, his voice carrying the full authority of his position. The Iron Laird was back, cold and commanding. "Certainly nae beyond these walls with Fraser's men prowling the countryside."

"There's naething tae keep me here," she said, trying to push past him, her small hands ineffective against his solid chest. "Ye've gotten what ye wanted."

"What I want," Colin said firmly, his jaw set in granite lines, "is me wife safe within me castle walls. Where ye belong."

"I don't care about safety anymore." Morag's voice was fierce despite her tears, her blue eyes blazing with pain and determination. "I'd rather take me chances with Fraser than stay here kenning what I ken now."

Colin's expression hardened, every inch the laird who commanded through sheer force of will. "Ye're me wife, Morag. Whatever ye think of me, whatever ye feel, ye are Lady Armstrong now and ye will remain so."

"Let me go, Colin." Morag's voice was quiet now, but there was steel in it that matched his own stubborn will. "If ye ever had any real feelings fer me at all, let me go."

"Me feelings fer ye have naething tae dae with any of this. I willnae let ye go, as ye so eloquently put it." Colin responded without missing a heartbeat. His voice took on the commanding tone that brooked no argument. "Ye are me responsibility now, whether ye like it or nae. Ye can go anywhere ye want within these walls, but ye willnae leave the castle grounds."

Morag glared up at him, fury and pain warring in her expression. Her chest rose and fell with rapid, angry breaths. "So I'm yer prisoner then?"

"Ye're me wife," Colin said coldly, his voice carrying the finality of a judge's sentence. "And I'll protect ye whether ye want me tae or nae."

Morag stared at him for a long moment, then something shifted in her expression. The fire dimmed, replaced by something harder, more distant.

"Fine," she said quietly, her voice taking on an eerie calm. "Then ye'll have exactly the bride ye always wanted, willnae ye? I'll move me things back tae me own chambers, and I'll perform me duties as Lady Armstrong. I'll manage yer household, tend tae yer people, and when ye need an heir, ye can come tae me fer that as well. Naething more."

She stepped back from him, her spine straight and her chin lifted with cold dignity. "But dinnae expect anything beyond duty from me ever again."

Without another word, she walked away with measured steps, no longer the passionate woman who'd stormed at him moments before, but a stranger wearing the mask of perfect, chilling politeness.

Colin watched her go, assuming she would head to their chambers to rage in private. He stood there surrounded by the wealth that had cost him everything that truly mattered, wondering if he'd just destroyed any chance of real happiness he might have had.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry, Morag."

Colin stood in the courtyard until a sound voice startled him.

"Me laird?" Niven's voice cut through his brooding. "Pardon the interruption, but the council is waiting fer ye. They're eager tae discuss the... developments."

Colin didn't turn around. "Of course they are."

"Colin," Niven said more gently, stepping closer. "I heard ye and lady Morag. I ken how much ye care fer each other. Perhaps ye should⁠—"

"Dinnae," Colin cut him off sharply, the iron laird very much back in place. "Whatever comfort ye're planning tae offer, I dinnae want tae hear it."

Niven's mouth closed, and he nodded stiffly. "Very good, me laird,"

Colin followed Niven into the castle, his steps heavy with the weight of what he'd just lost. The council chamber buzzed with excited voices that fell silent when he entered. The older men around the table looked more animated than he'd seen them in months, their faces bright with satisfaction and relief.

"Ah, Laird Colin!" Duncan MacLeod beamed at him, rising from his chair. "Congratulations, lad. The clan's coffers are full again. We haven't seen wealth like this since yer grandfaither's time."

And all it cost me was me wife's trust and any chance of real happiness.

"With these resources," MacLeod continued, spreading ledgers across the table,” we can finally deal with the Fraser threat properly. Nay more defensive posturing. We can hire additional mercenaries, strengthen our fortifications, even launch a preemptive strike if necessary."

Colin studied the numbers before him, forcing his mind to focus on clan business despite the ache in his chest. "How many mercenaries can we afford?"

"At least fifty skilled fighters," replied MacBride, consulting his own notes. "Maybe more if we negotiate well. That would double our fighting force."

"And the fortifications?"

There was a reason he was nicknamed Iron Laird. The ability to control his emotions served him well right now, despite the turmoil within.