Page 25 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

"Aye," agreed another woman, kneading bread with practiced efficiency. "Lost his dear mother when he was barely more than a lad, and then..." She trailed off, glancing around as if realizing she'd said too much.

"Well," Mairi said quickly, "what matters is that he's found himself a lovely bride. We've been hoping he'd marry fer years now."

Morag stirred the stew, processing this glimpse into Colin's past while trying not to appear too eager for information. "He seems... very dedicated to his duties."

"That he is," Isla said with a knowing look. "Perhaps a good wife will help him remember there's more tae life than duty and responsibility."

As the afternoon wore on, Morag found herself relaxing for the first time since arriving at Armstrong lands. These women accepted her easily, included her in their work and conversations, and seemed genuinely pleased to have her among them.

From across the square, she caught glimpses of her husband working alongside his men, and she was struck again by the contradiction he presented. This was the Iron Laird who could command absolute loyalty, yet who rolled up his sleeves to help arrange tables like any common man.

Morag turned to look toward Colin across the square, and her breath caught slightly. He'd shed his formal coat and rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms as he helped lift heavy wooden planks for a makeshift stage. Sweat gleamed on his brow from the physical labor, and his dark hair had fallen across his forehead in a way that made him look younger, less forbidding.

Sweet Mary, Morag thought, her mouth going dry as she watched the play of muscles beneath his damp shirt. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders and chest in ways that made her pulse quicken, and she found herself mesmerized by the effortless strength in his movements as he lifted heavy beams alongside his men.

When he paused to wipe his brow with the back of his hand, she caught sight of the corded muscles in his forearms, and the way his throat worked as he took a drink of water. The casual, unguarded moment made something flutter deep in her belly—something she had no business feeling for a man who had been keeping her at arm's length.

This is dangerous, she realized, her cheeks warming as she imagined what it might feel like to run her fingers through that tousled hair, to trace the strong line of his jaw. The thought of those powerful hands that could lift oak beams with such ease touching her with the same gentleness he'd shown Storm made her breath catch.

Her resolve to maintain emotional distance from him wavered dangerously.

How can I reconcile this image with the iron wall he's built between us? How can I pretend I dinnae want tae know what lies beneath all that careful control?

The way the sunlight caught the bronze of his skin, the unconscious grace in his every movement was making it increasingly difficult to remember why she should keep her heart guarded against him.

As the fair progressed, the villagers approached Morag, eager to meet their new lady, and she gladly turned to them, eager to take her mind off her husband. Old women pressed small tokens into her hands—a carved wooden flower, a piece of heather for luck, a small clay cup painted with Highland symbols. Young mothers brought their children forward to curtsy and bow, their faces bright with curiosity and welcome.

"Ye're even lovelier than we'd heard, me lady," said one elderly man, bowing deeply despite his crooked back. "May yer marriage bring prosperity tae our lands."

"The blessing of the ancestors upon ye both," added a weathered woman who introduced herself as the village's herb-wife. "May yer union be as strong as Highland stone and as enduring as the mountains themselves."

Each interaction was warm, genuine, filled with the kind of Highland hospitality that made Morag's chest tighten with unexpected emotion. These people had so little, yet they offered her everything they had, giving their welcome, their hopes, their blessings for a future she wasn't even sure she wanted.

As another woman pressed a small trinket into her hands with whispered prayers of good fortune, Morag found herself scanning the crowd for a familiar dark head.

Where are ye?

She was surprised by how much she wanted Colin beside her at that moment.

She caught sight of him across the square, deep in conversation with a group of farmers, his expression serious as he listened to their concerns. Even at that distance, she was drawn to the commanding presence he carried, the way others looked to him for guidance and reassurance.

I want him here, I want tae share this with moment with him, tae see if he notices how his people's eyes light up when they speak of their hopes fer our marriage.

The thought caught her off guard. when had she began thinking of their union as something real rather than a political arrangement to be endured?