Page 28 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

She froze. Water droplets still clung to his broad shoulders and chest, and his dark hair hung damp and loose around his face in a way that made him look younger, less forbidding. The early morning light filtering through the window cast shadows across the defined muscles of his torso as he moved with unconscious grace toward the clothes laid out on the chair.

Why are ye handsome as the devil himself? Ye make everything harder fer me.

Even with the realization that she was staring, Morag was unable to look away from the play of muscle beneath his skin as he reached for his shirt. There was something intensely intimate about watching him in this unguarded moment, seeing him simply as a man rather than the Iron Laird.

Colin must have sensed her gaze because he turned, catching her watching him with unconcealed interest. She swallowed, and for a moment, their eyes met and held, the air between them crackling with unspoken desire. His gaze darkened as he took in her tousled hair and the way the morning light played across her face, and she could see the effort it took for him to maintain his composure.

Colin took a step toward the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. The intensity of his stare made her pulse race, and she could see the way his hands clenched at his sides as if he were fighting the urge to reach for her. The space between them shrunk with possibilities.

Morag felt heat rise in her cheeks and cleared her throat, forcing herself to speak before she did something foolish like reach for him. "Where are ye going this early?" she asked, sitting up and pushing her hair back from her face.

The question seemed to break whatever spell had held Colin frozen. He stepped back abruptly, running a hand through his damp hair before reaching for his shirt.

"Patrol," Colin replied, pulling the linen over his head with perhaps more force than necessary. She noticed the slight roughness in his voice, the way his breathing had quickened. He checked his weapons with practiced ease. "There've been more reports of Fraser men crossing our borders. Cattle missing, grain stores raided. Small harassments, but they're growing bolder.” The casual way he mentioned it made Morag's chest tighten with concern.

"It sounds more dangerous than the way ye say it."

Colin paused buckling on his sword belt, glancing at her with something that might have been amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "If I didnae ken better, I'd say me new bride was actually worried about me safety."

Before she could respond to his teasing observation, he continued more seriously. "Everything's dangerous these days, lass. But I've got good men with me, and we know these lands better than Fraser ever will."

"How long will ye be gone?"

"As long as it takes." He moved toward the door, then stopped. "Stay within the castle walls while I'm away. Dinna give Duncan or Niven cause tae worry about yer safety."

And then he was gone, leaving Morag alone with the lingering scent of leather and steel, and the uncomfortable realization that she was genuinely worried about her husband's safety.

Morag waited for five minutes, in case Colin forgot something and came back for it. When the hall outside the door remained silent, she flung back the heavy woolen coverlet with determination.

This was her chance—with Colin gone on patrol, she could finally discover what that mysterious potion was that he drank every night. The way he’d deflected her question, the careful way he measured it out, the almost ritualistic manner in which he consumed it—it all pointed to something deeper than mere medication for a headache.

She dressed quickly and made her way through the castle corridors to the healer's chambers. The stone passageways were empty, and Morag found herself quickening her pace as if urgency alone could provide the answers she sought.

Tasgall looked up from his work grinding herbs as she entered, his weathered face creasing into lines of polite attention. "Me lady, how may I serve ye this morning?"

"I wanted tae ask about the potion ye prepare fer me husband," Morag said, trying to keep her voice casual despite the hammering of her heart. "The one he takes each night before sleep."

The old healer's hands stilled on his mortar and pestle. "What potion would that be, me lady?"

"Dinnae play games with me," Morag said, her frustration bleeding through. "I've seen him take it every night since our wedding. A dark liquid in a small vial. What is it fer?"

Tasgall's expression became carefully neutral, the kind of practiced blankness that came from years of keeping his laird's secrets. "I'm afraid I cannae discuss the laird's private medical matters, even with his wife."

"Exactly! I am his wife," Morag pressed. "Surely I have a right tae ken if me husband is ill or⁠—"

"Me lady," the healer interrupted gently but firmly, "if the laird wishes ye tae ken about his treatments, he will tell ye himself. It isnae me place tae break his confidence."

Morag stared at him for a long moment, seeing the resolute set of his jaw, and the way his eyes remained steady on hers. Whatever Colin was hiding, it was serious enough that even his healer wouldn't risk betraying the secret.

"Fine," she said curtly, her voice tight with disappointment and growing worry. "But if something happens tae him because I didnae ken, that will be yer fault."

Knowing the threat was empty, she turned and left the healer's chambers, her mind churning with darker possibilities about what Colin might be concealing from her.

Morag spent the entire day straining to hear the sound of Colin returning to the castle. She'd tried to occupy herself with castle duties, but her mind kept wandering to thoughts of Fraser ambushes and her husband lying wounded somewhere in the heather.

By late afternoon, she could bear the uncertainty no longer. She made her way to Colin's office, hoping that he'd returned while she wasn't looking, but the room stood empty, his chair pushed back from the desk as though he'd stood up only moments ago.

Enough of this, she decided, her jaw setting with determination. What kind of patrol took an entire day? And why didn't Colin let his men perform that security duty? If Colin was up to something else, or seeing someone while on ‘patrol’, she'd find out for herself.