Page 58 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

The walk through the castle corridors felt endless. Ruaridh's boots struck the stone floor with sharp, angry reports that echoed like hammer blows. She'd never seen him like this—so cold, so controlled, so dangerous.

This is what he becomes when someone threatens what's his.

The thought sent another shiver through her, though she couldn't say if it was fear or something else entirely.

When they reached their chamber, he closed the door and leaned against it. That was when his control finally cracked.

"Christ!" The word exploded from him as he slammed his fist against the wooden door hard enough to make the hinges rattle. "They were inside these walls. They could have killed ye while I was buying bloody spices!"

She moved to the washbasin, her hands surprisingly steady as she reached for a clean cloth. "But they didnae."

"They came close enough." His voice was rough with emotion as he watched her dab at the cut on her throat. She saw him wince when the cloth made her gasp with pain. "Too damn close."

"Ruaridh." She set down the cloth and turned to face him. "I'm alive. Ye saved me."

"I shouldnae have ever left ye." He began pacing the small space like a caged wolf, his movements sharp and restless. "Should never have⁠—"

"Dinnae." The steel in her own voice surprised her. "Dinnae blame yerself fer this. Ye couldnae have kent."

"I should have kent." His hands clenched into fists. "It's me job tae ken."

She studied his face—the guilt and rage and something that looked almost like despair—and felt her heart clench. He was tearing himself apart over this, taking responsibility for an attack no one could have predicted.

"All I want right now," she said quietly, "is a warm bath. Can ye arrange that?"

The simple request seemed to cut through his rage better than any argument could have. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and when he looked at her, she saw something almost vulnerable in his green eyes.

"Aye," he said, his voice rough. "I'll see tae it."

A knock at the door interrupted them. "Enter," Ruaridh called.

Two servants appeared, carrying his saddlebags between them. The leather was torn and dirty from being trampled in the fight.

"Found these in the courtyard, me lord," one of them said, setting the bags carefully on the table. "Thought ye might want them back."

After the servants left, Ruaridh opened the bags with careful movements. She watched him check the contents, saw his relief when the spice pouches proved intact. But when his fingers found something at the bottom, his expression changed.

He pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle, and even from across the room she could see his disappointment when he unwrapped it.

"What's that?" she asked, moving closer.

"Nothing." He started to wrap it back up, but not before she caught sight of crumbled pastry and crushed nuts. "Just... it was supposed to be..."

She caught his wrist, stopping him. The ruined sweet in his hands made her breath catch.

"Ye bought those? Fer me?"

He blushed and she was struck by how young he looked in that moment. "It's ruined now. I should have⁠—"

"It's perfect."

He stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "It's destroyed, Iona. Look at it."

But she was already reaching for a piece, her fingers gentle as she broke off a small portion. The moment the sweet taste hit her tongue, she was eight years old again, giggling with a boy who'd shared his stolen treasures.

"Just like when we were bairns," she said softly, her eyes closing briefly.

"Ye remember."