Page 44 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

"He's got a sense of humor," Ruaridh agreed, though she caught him trying to hide a smile.

When Storm deliberately bumped the bucket with his nose, sending a spray of water directly at Iona, she'd had enough.

"Oh, so that's how it is?" she said to the horse, then deliberately flicked water from her wet hands at the horse and Ruaridh.

"Iona," Ruaridh warned, but she could see he was fighting laughter.

"What? It was Storm's idea." She flicked more water at him, grinning at his startled expression.

"Ye realize this means war," he said, cupping his hands in the water trough.

"Ye wouldnae dare. Ye're wounded."

"Not that wounded." And with that, he sent a handful of water directly at her face.

What followed was the most ridiculous and wonderful few minutes Iona had experienced since arriving at Castle MacDuff. They chased each other around the stable like children, dodging and weaving between the stalls, sending sprays of water flying in all directions. Storm watched with what could only be described as horse amusement, occasionally adding to the chaos by stepping strategically to block one of their escape routes.

Finally, laughing and breathless, they called a truce. Both were thoroughly soaked, their clothes clinging to their bodies, their hair dripping.

"Look at us," Iona gasped, still giggling. "We look like we fell in the loch."

"Ye started it," Ruaridh accused, but his eyes were bright—the first genuine, carefree expression she'd seen from him since their wedding.

"Storm started it," she corrected. "I was just defending meself."

"Of course ye were." He ran a hand through his wet hair, shaking his head. "We should probably dry off before we catch our death."

"I have an idea," Iona said suddenly, an idea forming. "Dae ye remember the old cherry tree in the gardens? The one we used tae climb after swimming in the loch?"

Something shifted in Ruaridh's expression at the mention of their shared childhood. For a moment, she thought he might refuse. Then he nodded slowly.

"Aye. I remember."

"Come then," she said, gathering her courage.

They walked in comfortable silence through the castle's rear courtyard, past the herb gardens where the cook gathered rosemary and thyme, and down the worn stone steps that led to the older part of the grounds. The path was familiar beneath Iona's feet, though overgrown with years of neglect. Wild roses had crept over the low stone walls, and morning glory vines wound through the iron gates that separated the formal gardens from the wilder spaces beyond.

Ruaridh moved beside her with that careful, controlled gait she was beginning to recognize—never quite relaxed, always ready for danger. But as they approached the old garden, she noticed his shoulders ease slightly.

The cherry tree stood exactly where it always had, its massive trunk creating a natural shelter and its spreading branches offering dappled shade. The late morning sun filtering through the leaves was warm and welcoming, just as Iona remembered.

"It's smaller than I remembered," she said, settling onto the grass beneath the tree.

"We're bigger," Ruaridh pointed out, lowering himself carefully beside her. The movement made him wince slightly, reminding her of his injury.

"Are ye all right? Did we overdae it at the stables?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Worth it tae see ye laugh like that."

The comment surprised her, and she felt heat creep up her neck. "It's been a while since I've had reason tae laugh."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, letting the sun dry their clothes and warm their skin. Iona found herself studying Ruaridh's profile—the strong line of his jaw, the way the sunlight caught the dark strands of his hair. He looked younger somehow, more relaxed than she'd seen him since her arrival.

"Tell me about the years in exile," he said suddenly. "What was it like fer yer family?"

The question caught her off guard. It was the first time he'd asked about her past, the first time he'd shown interest in the woman she'd become rather than just the problems she'd brought with her.

"Difficult," she said honestly. "We lost everything—our lands, our standing, most of our friends. Faither tried tae keep up appearances, but everyone kent. Everyone whispered."