Page 75 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

"Yer faither is a practical man who wants his daughter alive and his clan prosperous," Fraser replied smoothly. "Though I must admit, I'm somewhat... concerned about acceptin’ Armstrong's used goods."

The crude phrase hit Morag hard, causing her cheeks to flood with heat, but her voice remained steady. "Then I suppose ye'll be disappointed when Colin arrives with half the Highland clans at his back.” Fraser laughed again. "Half the clans? Me dear girl, Armstrong is barely hangin’ on by his fingernails. His lands are poor, his coffers nearly empty. His voice turned bitter with old resentment. "Dae ye even ken that yer faither had already agreed tae wed ye tae me? Months of negotiations, terms settled, contracts nearly signed. Then yer precious Colin came crawling tae MacDuff lands with his desperate offer, stealing what was rightfully mine."

Fraser's eyes glittered with malice. The only thing of value he ever possessed was that dowry yer father provided—and even that came at a price that may well destroy him. A price he was willing tae pay tae steal ye from me."

Morag's mind raced, processing his words. "What price?"

"Did he never tell ye?" Fraser's expression grew slyly pleased. "The terms he agreed tae secure yer hand? The promises he made tae outbid men far wealthier than himself?"

"I dinnae believe ye."

"Believe what ye like. But know this—yer precious husband sacrificed lands, trading rights, even some of his people's future prosperity just tae possess ye. Tell me, was it worth the price he paid?"

The words hit harder than any physical blow. Morag felt her knees go weak as the implications sank in. If Fraser was telling the truth, then Colin's desperation to marry her had cost his clan far more than she had thought when she had confronted him.

"Ye're lying," she whispered, but doubt was already creeping into her voice.

"Am I? Ask yerself this—why would a struggling laird like Armstrong outbid men like meself or Robert Campbell? Men with armies, wealth, power? What could he possibly offer that they could nae?"

Morag's silence seemed to please him immensely.

"But perhaps," Fraser continued, "we're being hasty in our judgments. After all, beauty such as yers shouldn't be wasted on the dead. Once Armstrong falls, ye'll need protection, guidance. A strong husband tae shield ye from the harsh realities of Highland politics."

That broke through Morag's shocked silence like lightning through clouds. She moved towards him but before she could hit him, his hand rose as if to strike her, his eyes blazing with sudden fury.

Fraser's smile was sharp as a blade. "Very well. Since ye clearly need time tae adjust yer perspective, let me provide additional motivation." He moved to the tent entrance again, but this time his voice carried the deadly promise of a man accustomed to being obeyed. "When I destroy Armstrong tomorrow, I think I'll send a few men north as well. Clan MacDuff has been entirely too comfortable in their Highland stronghold."

Morag's defiance crumbled into horror. "Ye wouldnae dare."

"Wouldn't I? Yer faither's castle is strong, but nae impregnable. Yer maither's gardens would burn beautifully, I imagine. And yer braither..." Fraser's smile grew wider. "Young Ruaridh is brave, I'm told. It would be interestin’ tae see how long that bravery lasts."

"Monster," Morag breathed, her whole body shaking with rage and terror.

"Pragmatist," Fraser corrected. "Yer cooperation will save a great many lives, me dear. Yer family's, what remains of Armstrong's people, even some of the men currently preparin’ tae die fer yer rescue."

He moved closer, and Morag forced herself not to step back, not to show the fear that was clawing at her heart.

"So think carefully tonight, Lady Armstrong. Think about whether yer pride is worth the lives of everyone ye've ever loved. Because tomorrow, when the battle is won and the dead are counted, I'll ask ye again—will ye be me wife willingly, or shall I begin with yer maither's screams?"

The tent fell silent except for the distant sounds of the military camp. Morag stared into Fraser's pitiless eyes and saw her own reflection—small, defiant, and utterly at his mercy.

"Guards!" Fraser called suddenly.

Two armed men entered immediately, their hands resting on their sword hilts.

"Take care of Lady Armstrong," Fraser commanded. "See that she's comfortable, fed, and watched at all times. She's valuable cargo—treat her accordingly."

As the guards moved to flank her, Morag lifted her chin one final time. "Colin will come fer me."

"Aye," Fraser agreed pleasantly. "Once again, that's what I'm countin’ on."