Page 14 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

Colin kept his expression neutral, though his jaw tightened involuntarily. "Am I?"

"Aye. Ye're thinking about what happened, wondering if it's going tae happen again." Niven's voice grew gentler, more careful. "But Colin, this lass isnae⁠—"

"Dinnae." The word came out sharp, cold enough to freeze the very air between them. His hand clenched around the glass until he thought it might shatter. "Dinnae say her name."

Niven fell silent, but Colin could see the sympathy in his eyes, the weight of shared memory that hung between them. They both knew what ghosts haunted these halls, what failures carved themselves so deep into a man's soul that a dram couldn't help bear them.

The silence stretched until it became unbearable.

"It willnae happen again," Colin said finally, his voice low and dangerous. "I willnae let it."

"Colin… "

"I think it's best ye leave, Niven." Colin couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see the pity in his expression. "I have correspondence tae attend tae."

Niven rose slowly, recognizing the dismissal for what it was. At the door, he paused.

"Fer what it's worth, I think this one's stronger than ye give her credit fer."

Then he was gone, leaving Colin alone with the ghosts that no amount of drink could banish. In the flickering candlelight, he could almost see her—young, trusting, looking to him for protection he'd failed to provide.

Never again, he thought grimly. Never again.

Colin left his study with determined strides, the dram still burning in his chest but his mind focused on the task at hand. He had to check the armory stores with Duncan, and ensure they had sufficient weapons and ammunition should Fraser decide to escalate his attacks. It was practical work, the kind of concrete planning that helped push away unwelcome memories.

He was halfway across the courtyard when Morag appeared from the direction of the kitchens, her cheeks flushed from what looked like a long day of wedding preparations. She was dressed in a simple grey dress that brought out the color of her eyes, and her hair was pinned back in a way that made her look younger, more vulnerable.

The sight of her made something twist unpleasantly in his chest.

"Colin," she called, quickening her pace to intercept him. "I need tae speak with ye."

He stopped, though every instinct told him to keep walking. "I'm on me way tae a meeting in the armory. Can it wait?"

"Nay, it cannae." Her chin lifted with that stubborn determination he was beginning to recognize. "I've spent the day making arrangements fer our wedding, but I realize I ken almost nothing about the terms of our marriage. What exactly did me faither agree tae? What is he getting from this arrangement?"

Colin schooled his expression to remain blank. "The terms are nae abnormal. A political alliance sealed by marriage. Standard Highland practice."

"That's nae what I'm asking." Morag stepped closer, her blue eyes sharp with intelligence. "Every marriage arrangement has two sides. Me faither provided dowry and alliance, aye. But what did ye offer in return? What lands? What strategic advantages? What promises?"

The muscles in Colin's jaw tightened. "I dinnae see how those details concern ye."

"They concern me because I'm the one being married!" Her voice rose slightly, then she caught herself and lowered it. "I've spent the day observing yer people, yer castle. I can see this clan is struggling. Me faither had other prospects fer me—wealthy lairds, powerful alliances that would have brought obvious advantages. So what could ye possibly have offered me faither that he found valuable enough tae send his daughter here? And more importantly, why would ye offer it."

Colin tightened his face. "The details of the agreement are between lairds. Ye need only concern yerself with fulfilling yer role as me wife."

"Me role?" Morag's cheeks flushed with anger. "And what exactly is that role tae be? Because it seems tae me ye're hiding something important about this arrangement."

"I'm hiding naething." But even as he said it, Colin knew his tone was too sharp, too defensive.

"Ye are." She stepped closer still, studying his face with uncomfortable perception. "What are ye nae telling me, Colin? What part of this agreement is it that I am forbidden to ken?"

For a moment, Colin considered telling her everything—about the desperate position his clan was in, about the impossible promises he'd made to secure her father's alliance, to ensure that she would become his along with a substantial dowry, about the way her very presence here painted a target on her back that grew larger with each passing day.

Instead, he retreated behind the cold mask that had served him so well.

"The terms are set and sealed," he said with finality. "I suggest ye focus on tomorrow's ceremony rather than questioning arrangements that are none of yer concern."

With that, he turned and strode toward the armory, leaving Morag standing alone in the courtyard.