Page 23 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

"Aye, but why?" Ruaridh stepped closer, his green eyes intense. "That's what I cannae understand. It is understandable fer Murray tae try and kidnap ye on yer way here, but why is he so set on killing ye if this was just a wedding gone wrong? What did ye dae tae make Murray MacNab hate ye so much that he'd risk open war with our clan?"

The question hung in the air between them like a sword. Iona felt her mouth go dry, her heart beginning to race. This was the moment she'd been dreading—when she'd have to decide how much of the truth to reveal.

Because the truth was dangerous. The truth could destroy not just her, but anyone who knew it.

"I..." she began, then stopped, her mind racing through possibilities and consequences.

Ruaridh was watching her carefully now, his warrior's instincts clearly sensing her distress. "Iona? What aren't ye telling me?"

He didn't know. The realization hit her to the gut. He truly didn't know about Murray's treasonous dealings, about the blackmail, about the network of corruption that reached into the highest levels of Highland society. Her parents had told him about the assault, about the broken betrothal, but they'd kept the most dangerous truth to themselves. She had never told them about taking the letter as proof but she had told them about the correspondence she had seen in the study and its implications.

They thought they were protecting him. Just as they thought they were protecting me.

But now Ruaridh had married her without understanding the true scope of what he was facing. He thought this was about wounded pride and a rejected suitor's revenge. He had no idea that Murray MacNab was involved in schemes intended to topple lairds and redraw the political map of the Highlands.

"Iona." Ruaridh's voice was gentler now, but no less insistent. "I'm yer husband. If there's something I need tae ken⁠—"

"There's naething," she said quickly, the lie burning her tongue. "Naething beyond what ye already know. Murray tried tae... tae force himself on me, and when I fought him off, he spread lies about me tae save his own reputation. That's all."

But even as she spoke, she could see the doubt in his green eyes. He was too intelligent, too experienced in the ways of men and politics to accept such a simple explanation.

"A man daesnae risk open war over hurt pride alone," he said slowly. "Nae unless⁠—"

"Unless he's mad," she interrupted. "Which Murray MacNab clearly is. Some men cannae bear tae be refused, especially by a lady from a clan they consider should accept their proposal."

It wasn't entirely untrue. Murray was unstable, his obsession with power and control driving him to increasingly desperate acts. But it was only part of the story—the safest part.

Ruaridh studied her face for a long moment, and she fought to keep her expression calm and open. She could see him weighing her words, looking for cracks in her explanation.

Please dinnae push. Please dinnae make me lie tae ye again.

Because that's what it would be—more lies, each one digging her deeper into deception. And lies had a way of growing, of taking on lives of their own until they destroyed everything in their path.

She thought of the letter hidden in her belongings about Murray's correspondence with other Highland lords, discussing payments and threats and the delicate web of corruption he'd been weaving. Evidence that could bring down half the nobility in Scotland—and get anyone who possessed it killed.

He can't ken. If he kent the truth, he'd try tae use it. He'd think he could expose Murray's crimes and end this threat permanently. But Murray has too many powerful allies, too many secrets of his own tae use as weapons.

Knowledge of Murray's blackmail ring wouldn't make Ruaridh safer—it would paint an even larger target on his back. And on his entire clan.

"Perhaps ye're right," Ruaridh said finally, though she could hear the reservation in his voice. "Men like MacNab often lose all sense of proportion when their power is challenged."

Relief flooded through her, followed immediately by guilt. He was accepting her explanation, trusting her word even though his instincts were clearly telling him there was more to the story.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry fer lying tae ye, but it's the only way tae keep ye safe.

"So ye understand why I must be cautious," he continued, his tone shifting back to practical matters. "Until we ken what MacNab's next move will be, ye're safer within these walls."

"Aye," she said quietly. "I understand."

But as they walked into the castle together, she couldn't shake the feeling that her deception was likely to create a chasm between them. How could she build a real marriage on a foundation of lies and half-truths?

One secret. Just one secret tae keep him safe. Surely that's nae too much tae ask.

Ruaridh pulled his shirt over his head, the morning chill making him grateful for the wool's warmth. Three days had passed since his sisters' departure, and the routine of sharing a chamber with Iona was becoming... complicated.

His sleeping mat now lay only six feet from the bed—close enough that he'd woken twice in the night to the sound of her restless turning, close enough to hear the soft catch in her breathing when dreams troubled her sleep. Yet for all the decreased physical distance between them, they remained careful strangers sharing the same space, dancing around each other with polite words and averted gazes.

Each morning brought the same ritual: he would dress while she pretended to still be asleep, she would be changed and in bed before he came into their chambers. They spoke of clan business, of the weather, of anything that didn't acknowledge the growing tension that seemed to thicken the air between them.