Page 68 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Stubborn Highland lass.,

Morag thought back at what he had called her as she urged Midnight deeper into the forest, her hands tight on the reins.

That's what ye called me, and maybe ye're right. But I'll be damned if I'll sit in that castle like some ornament on yer shelf.

The fresh scent of pine filled her nostrils, sharp and clean, but it did little to ease the tightness in her chest. Each hoofbeat echoed in the quiet woods like a steady reminder of the chaos she sought to escape. Her marriage, her future, her very identity—all of it felt like it belonged to someone else now.

Damn everything. Married tae ye Collin Armstrong I cannae even go home.

Morag could see it even now.

"Return tae Armstrong and honor the contract, Morag. Ye are a strong MacDuff daughter. Go dae yer duty," her father would say.

Huh! As if duty means anything when yer heart's been carved out with a rusty blade.

She pulled Midnight to a halt beside a small stream, letting the mare drink while she tried to sort through the tangle of her thoughts. The water bubbled cheerfully over smooth stones, mocking her with its carefree song.

"What am I supposed tae dae now?" she whispered to the horse, stroking the sleek black neck. "Stay married tae a man who sees me as naething more than a key tae unlock his clan's coffers? Pretend I dinnae feel like a fool every time I remember how I melted in his arms?"

He made ye feel precious, the way he touched ye, the words he spoke in Gaelic...

"Lies," she said aloud, her voice sharp in the forest quiet. "All of it was lies tae get me intae his bed."

But doubt crept in between the anger. The tenderness in Colin's touch, the vulnerability in his eyes when he'd told her about his sister, the way he'd held her after their lovemaking as if she were something sacred—if all of that was performance, was Collin that good an actor?

Midnight's head came up suddenly, ears pricked forward with alert tension. Morag felt the mare's muscles bunch beneath her, ready to bolt.

"What is it, girl?" she murmured, her senses immediately on high alert. The afternoon light was beginning to fade, casting longer shadows between the trees that seemed to shift and move with threatening purpose.

Something's wrong.

A chill ran down Morag's spine that had nothing to do with the cooling air. Suddenly, her hasty decision to leave the castle seemed not just reckless, but monumentally stupid. What had she been thinking, riding out alone with Fraser's men prowling the countryside?

The memory of her first journey to Armstrong lands came flooding back—the attack on her escort, the way those brutal men had chased her before carrying her with the intension of delivering her to Fraser. Morag did not doubt that was exactly what they would do to her tonight. Or something worse…

She shivered as the image of the MacDuff soldiers laying in their blood returned, dead for her. The poor Captain and his men, cut down without mercy. The terror in her maid Isla's eyes as they'd fled into the woods.

Morag's hands tightened on the reins. She'd been so consumed with her anger at Colin, so focused on her wounded pride, that she'd walked straight into the same danger that had already claimed her twice, and so many lives on top of it. She cursed herself.

Ye fool. Ye prideful, stubborn fool. Colin tried tae warn ye, tried tae keep ye safe, and ye threw it back in his face because yer feelings were hurt.

But it was too late for regrets now. Something was definitely wrong in these woods, and she was alone, defenseless, exactly where Fraser's men would want her to be.

Her hand moved instinctively to the small eating dirk at her belt, though she knew it would be little use against real danger. She had to get out of there, had to get back to the castle.

"Come on, girl," she whispered urgently, gathering the reins and jumping on the horse’s back. She pressed her heels into Midnight's sides. "We're leaving. Now."

The mare responded immediately, wheeling around toward the path they'd come from. Morag leaned low over the horse's neck, urging her into a canter as panic clawed at her throat.

Please, please, let us make it back⁠—

But they'd barely taken three strides when dark shapes exploded from the undergrowth on all sides. A man lunged for Midnight's bridle, both hands seizing the leather straps and jerking the mare to a violent halt. The horse reared, striking out with iron-shod hooves, but another man was already there with a rope, tangling the mare's neck.

"Easy now!" the first man shouted, fighting to control the panicked horse. "Dinnae want tae damage the prize!"

Morag's heart hammered against her ribs as more figures sprang from the shadows like wolves emerging from their den, moving with the coordinated precision of men who'd done this before. Five—no, six of them, surrounding her before she could even think to scream.