Page 19 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

Let him think about that for a while.

After that the dancing quietened down, when the guests finally began to disperse, Morag slipped away to her chamber, grateful to escape the suffocating pretense of marital bliss.

Sheena was waiting in her chamber and helped her out of the heavy silk wedding gown and into a soft linen nightshift. It was white as fresh snow and embroidered with delicate blue flowers at the neckline and sleeves. It was modest but feminine, falling to her ankles and billowing slightly around her slender frame.

"'Tis tradition fer the bride tae wait fer her husband on her wedding night," Sheena whispered gently, settling Morag before the mirror and beginning to brush her hair with long, soothing strokes. until the strands gleamed like dark honey in the candlelight. "He'll come tae ye when he's ready."

As the brush moved through her hair in a hypnotic rhythm, Sheena's voice took on a dreamy quality. "Ye ken, me lady, we used tae dream about the Iron Laird when we were young lasses. All of us who lived and worked in the castle—we'd whisper about how handsome he was, how strong and noble."

Morag glanced up, surprised. It had never occurred to her that some women might find Colin handsome. Not that he wasn’t; it was just that the way he shut himself in infuriated her. She watched Sheena's reflection in the mirror, noting the soft smile that played about the maid's lips.

"We kent the truth, ye see," Sheena continued, her brush never pausing. "Behind all that sternness, he has the most tender heart. When me little braither fell from the stable roof three summers past, the laird himself carried him tae the healer. Sat with him half the night, making sure he was all right. Never said a word about it tae anyone, but we all kent."

"Did he now?" Morag murmured, surprised despite herself.

"Aye, and there were other times too. Widow MacLaughlin's roof after the winter storms, young Yohanne's fever when his maither was beside herself with worry..." Sheena's eyes grew bright with memory. "We used tae say how lucky his bride would be, tae have such a man. We'd imagine what Lady Armstrong would be like—what kind of woman could soften that iron exterior and make him smile again."

Sheena paused in her brushing to meet Morag's eyes in the mirror. "And me lady, ye are exactly everything we thought the laird deserved. Kind, brave, beautiful. I ken he will grow tae love ye, truly love ye, once he lets down his guard."

Morag felt warmth fill her chest and threaten to melt her carefully constructed defenses. The affection in the young woman's voice when she spoke of Colin was unmistakable, genuine in a way that made Morag question her own perceptions.

Perhaps there really is more tae him than what he shows the world.

But then she remembered the cold ceremony, his military business on their wedding morning, the way he'd barely looked at her during the feast except to glower when she'd danced with Jamie. The flutter died as quickly as it had come.

Nay. I've seen how coldly he treats me, how little I mean tae him beyond what I represent fer his clan. I willnae be fooled by servants' tales and wishful thinking.

"Perhaps," she said aloud, her voice carefully neutral. "We shall see what time brings."

But even as she spoke the words, Morag couldn't quite banish the image Sheena had painted—of a man who carried injured children and sat vigils over the sick, who might indeed have a tender heart hidden beneath all that steel.

After Sheena left, Morag sat before the small mirror, drawing the brush through her hair in long, soothing strokes, trying to calm her nerves about what the night might bring. The door to her chamber opened without so much as a knock, and she spun around, clutching her brush like a weapon.

Colin stood in the doorway, but instead of his usual commanding entrance, he simply... stopped. His dark eyes traveled slowly from her face, that she knew was framed by loose waves of hair, down to her nightshift. For a moment that stretched like eternity, he simply stared.

Then his jaw tightened, and the mask slammed back into place.

"What dae ye think ye're daeing?" he demanded, his voice rougher than usual.

"I... what?" Morag blinked, still clutching the brush. "What am I doing? Ye're the one who just barged into me chamber! I'm preparing fer bed!"

"Preparing fer bed. In the wrong room," he said, stepping inside and closing the door with deliberate force.

"The wrong room?" Morag's heart began to pound as understanding dawned. "But Sheena said... the tradition is fer the bride tae wait..."

"The tradition," Colin said, moving closer, "is fer the bride tae wait in her husband's chamber. Nae hide away in her maiden's room like this marriage is something tae be avoided."

Heat flooded Morag's cheeks.

"I wasnae hiding! I was simply... preparing meself. As is proper."

"Proper would be daeing so in me chambers." His eyes swept over her again. "Unless ye truly believed this would remain a marriage in name only."

The way he said it made her pulse quicken with something that wasn't entirely fear.

"I..." she began, then stopped, her courage faltering under his intense stare. "Colin, I dinnae ken what's expected of me. Nay one explained... that is, I thought perhaps we might discuss..."

"What's expected," Colin said, his voice low and controlled, "is that ye come tae me chamber. Now."