Page 8 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

"Aye, it is. And ye're..." She paused, and he could sense her blushing. "Ye're sitting too close."

"Too close tae what, exactly?"

"Tae... tae me! There's barely an inch between us!"

Colin glanced down at the saddle they were sharing. It was clearly designed for one rider, not two, so what exactly was she expecting?

"And where, precisely, would ye like me tae go? Perhaps ye'd prefer I ride alongside the horse instead of on it?"

"Dinnae be daft," she muttered, but he caught the slight huff of embarrassment in her voice. Then louder, "Just... adjust yerself somehow."

"Adjust meself?" Colin was definitely amused now. The lass was trying to reorganize his seat on his own horse while sitting in front of him. "Any particular direction ye'd recommend?"

"Backward! Sit backward more!"

"If I sit any more backward, I'll be riding on the horse's tail."

"Then... then sit up straighter!"

"I am sitting straight."

"Well, ye're still too close!"

Colin urged the destrier around a fallen log, the movement causing Morag to press even closer against him for balance. She immediately tried to scoot forward, which only made matters worse.

"Lass," he said, his voice carefully controlled, "unless ye plan tae spend the rest of this ride hovering in midair, ye're going to have to accept that we're sharing a saddle built for one person. The laws of nature dictate that we'll be close."

"The laws of nature," she repeated indignantly, "dinnae require ye tae take up quite so much space!"

"I'll keep that in mind fer the next time I'm rescuing ye from kidnappers," Colin said dryly. "We could plan ahead, and I'll bring two horses."

In front of him, Morag fell silent, though he could still feel her rigid posture as she tried to maintain as much distance as physically possible on the shared saddle.

It was, Colin reflected, going to be a very interesting marriage.

Armstrong Castle rose before them like a stone giant against the darkening sky, its massive walls speaking of centuries of Highland warfare. But even in the fading light, Morag could see the signs of recent hardship. The crumbling mortar where stones had shifted, wooden scaffolding propping up sections of the curtain wall, and gaps in the battlements that spoke of damage not yet repaired.

The great hall's windows glowed with firelight, but many of the upper chambers stood dark and empty. What had once been magnificent now carried the weary look of a fortress under siege from the grinding toll of keeping a clan fed and defended in harsh times.

Colin dismounted first, then helped Morag down with impersonal efficiency. Her legs nearly buckled after the long ride, but she managed to steady herself before he could notice her weakness.

"Sheena!" Colin's voice rang across the courtyard, and a young woman with red hair and a practical manner hurried forward from the servants' quarters.

"Aye, me laird?"

"This is Lady Morag. See that she has everything she needs—food, a bath, whatever she requires." His tone was brisk, businesslike. "Her belongings will arrive later, but for now, take her tae her chamber so she can rest."

Sheena bobbed a quick curtsy. "Of course, me laird. Right away."

"And Sheena," Colin added, already turning toward the great hall, "see that she's nae disturbed. She's had a difficult journey."

Colin noticed the way Morag's jaw tightened as she watched him instruct the servant about her comfort and needs.

Already having experienced her sharp tongue, Colin fully expected her to have something to say, but apart from noticeably biting her tongue, she said nothing. He could see she was tired, hungry, and still shaken from the attack.

"If ye'll follow me, m'lady," Sheena said kindly, gesturing toward the keep. "I've got a nice warm chamber ready fer ye, and Cook's prepared a proper meal."

Morag nodded. Colin gave her one last glance before turning away. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, sure she wasn't looking at him with admiration or very much of anything positive.