Page 21 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

CHAPTER SEVEN

Colin made his way to the healer's chambers before dawn. He'd left Morag curled in his bed, her hair spread across the pillow like spilled honey, and tried not to think about how right she'd looked there.

The sleeping draught had worn off too early again, leaving him with barely four hours of rest before the familiar terrors had clawed their way to the surface. He couldn't afford to have that happen with Morag in the room.

"Me laird?" Tasgall looked up from his worktable where he was grinding herbs, surprised by the early visit. "Is everything well?"

"I need more of the sleeping potion," Colin said without preamble. "And make it stronger this time."

The elderly healer's weathered face creased with concern. "Are the nightmares back? I thought they'd been better these past months."

Colin's jaw tightened. "They need tae stay at bay. Especially now."

Especially now that there's someone else in me chamber who must nae witness them.

The idea of Morag seeing him wake in a cold sweat, thrashing against invisible bonds, calling out for someone who'd been dead for twenty years, made his skin crawl with shame.

"The marriage, then," Tasgall said quietly, understanding flickering in his eyes. "New circumstances can sometimes worsen old wounds."

"Just make the draught stronger," Colin said curtly. "I cannae afford tae be... compromised."

Tasgall nodded, already moving to collect different bottles from his shelves. "It'll be ready by evening. But me laird, perhaps it's time tae consider⁠—"

"The draught will suffice."

Colin left before the healer could finish whatever well-meaning advice he'd been about to offer. There was no cure for what ailed him, no herb that could undo the past or bring back the dead. There was only control, discipline, and enough sleeping potion to keep the demons at bay.

By the time he returned to his chambers, Morag was awake and already dressed, sitting by the window with a piece of embroidery in her lap. She looked up when he entered, her blue eyes unreadable.

"Good morning," she said politely, as if they were strangers sharing an inn rather than husband and wife sharing a chamber.

"Morning," Colin replied with equal formality.

And so began the pattern that would define their first few days of their marriage. They were carefully polite, practiced distance, and created a routine built around avoiding any real interaction. They shared meals in silence, retired to separate activities during the day, and lay in the same room at night like two stones in a riverbed, close but never touching.

It was exactly what Colin had expected from a political marriage. So why did it leave him feeling more isolated than ever?

Colin was reviewing the latest reports from his border patrols when there was a sharp knock and Niven entered without waiting for permission.

"Me laird," Duncan said grimly, "there's a Fraser messenger at the gates. Says he bears an urgent message that requires yer immediate attention."

The quill stilled in Colin's hand. Fraser messengers were never bearers of good news. "Bring him tae the courtyard, but keep him under guard. I'll meet him there."

Within minutes, Colin stood facing a young messenger from Fraser lands—a sight that made several Armstrong men keep one hand on instinctively one their weapons. The messenger's horse was mud-splattered and breathing hard from what had clearly been a desperate ride.

"I bear a message fer the Laird of Clan Armstrong," he announced, his voice steady despite the hostile stares surrounding him. "From Laird Duncan Fraser."

Colin gestured for his men to stand down, though their hands remained close to their sword hilts. "Give it here."

The messenger handed over a sealed parchment bearing Fraser's distinctive red wax seal, then stepped back to await a response. Colin broke the seal with deliberate calm, though something cold and deadly had already begun to coil in his chest.

Armstrong—

I ken what ye sacrificed tae secure the MacDuff alliance. Ye stole what was rightfully mine. I was the highest bidder and rightful laird fer the MacDuff girl until ye crawled intae the picture. Yer desperation has cost ye more than ye realize, and yer betrayal of our previous understanding will nae go unanswered.

By taking the MacDuff lass as bride, ye have openly declared yerself an enemy of Clan Fraser. Consider this me formal declaration that we are now at war.

Yer lands will burn. Yer people will suffer. And yer new wife... well, perhaps she will meet the same fate as yer sister.