Page 61 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

What began as a gentle morning kiss quickly deepened into something more urgent. Colin's hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer. The taste of her, the soft warmth of her mouth against his, made everything else fade away—the responsibilities waiting, the men stirring outside, the complex web of politics that surrounded their marriage.

Morag's arms wound around his neck, her body pressing against his as she responded with equal fervor. She made a soft sound of pleasure against his lips, and Colin felt his control begin to slip. His other hand found her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss grew heated and desperate.

The canvas walls of the tent seemed to disappear around them. There was nothing but the taste of her, the feel of her curves beneath his hands, the way she melted against him as if she belonged there.

"Colin," she breathed, his name barely audible but filled with want.

The sound of voices outside—his men calling to each other as they broke camp—finally penetrated the haze of desire. Colin forced himself to pull back, though every instinct screamed at him to stay, to lose himself in her warmth and forget the world waiting beyond the tent.

His breathing was ragged, and he could see the same desire burning in Morag's eyes. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her hair mussed from his hands, and she looked so beautiful it physically hurt to step away from her.

"We have tae stop," he said roughly, his voice thick with want and regret. "Or I'll never be able tae let ye go, and the men are waiting."

Morag's cheeks were flushed, her breathing as uneven as his. "I ken," she whispered, but her hands lingered on his chest. "Let them wait a bit longer," Morag whispered against his lips, her hands sliding down his chest in a way that made his pulse race. "They're not going anywhere without us."

That was all the encouragement Colin needed. With a low growl, he claimed her mouth again, his hands already working to run over her nipple. The practical world outside the tent could wait—right now, there was nothing but his wife's eager response and the overwhelming need to lose himself in her once more.

Colin manhood filled her wetness, their lovemaking quick but intense, born of newfound intimacy and the knowledge that they were finally truly husband and wife in every sense. They both came at the same time, the vibrations in her inner wall massaging his hardness until it gave way to the pure pleasure begging for release.

When they collapsed on the makeshift beddings, Colin pressed one last, gentle kiss to her forehead, trying to calm the fire still racing through his veins.

Morag kissed his chest, before looking up at him. "Will ye leave more men here tae help?" she asked, her voice slightly breathless as she tried to return to practical matters.

"A few, until the repairs are completely finished." Colin's mind was already working through the logistics, but he kept his voice carefully neutral, not wanting to mention anything about timing or deliveries that might raise questions.

As they dressed, Colin found himself stealing glances at Morag, his hands lingering whenever he helped her with her clothes. When she caught him watching, he would lean down to steal another kiss, as if he couldn't bear even brief separations.

Ye can never ken about the dowry, me love. Whatever happens, ye must never think what we are sharing is about anything other than us choosing each other.

When they finally emerged from the tent, both slightly disheveled despite their attempts to look presentable, Niven's knowing smirk told them their delay hadn't gone unnoticed.

Colin decided it was wise to ignore it. He glanced in Morag’s direction to make sure she was occupied with settling their belongings and couldn't overhear. "Send word tae the messenger at the north road," he said quietly, "Tell them tae proceed with the delivery. We'll be ready tae receive them by midday."

Niven nodded and slipped away to carry out the order, and Colin felt the familiar weight of leadership settle back onto his shoulders. But when Morag appeared at his side, slipping her hand into his with easy affection, some of that weight felt manageable again.

I can have both, he decided, bringing her hand to his lips. I can love me wife and protect me clan. And she never has tae ken how those two things became connected.

Within the hour, their small party was ready to depart. Colin left a few men behind to continue helping with repairs and to serve as protection for the village. As they rode away, he felt a sense of satisfaction he hadn't experienced in months. His people were safe, their homes were being restored, and the woman riding beside him was truly his wife in every sense.

The castle came into view as the morning mist began to clear, its familiar stone walls both welcoming and imposing. Colin's mind was already turning to the challenges ahead—Fraser's continued threats, the need to strengthen their defenses, and the delicate matter of the dowry delivery that would solidify their clan's financial security.

But for now, with Morag's laughter still echoing in his ears and the memory of her warmth still lingering on his skin, Colin felt more hopeful about the future than he had in years.

Back at the castle, Morag was still glowing from their time together, her body humming with newfound intimacy and the memory of Colin's hands on her skin. Every time she thought about their passionate time in the tent, heat flooded her cheeks and a delicious ache settled low in her belly.

When she spotted Colin in the great hall, her heart leaped with anticipation. Without hesitation, she skipped to him, rising on her toes to press a lingering kiss to his lips, not caring who might see.

Colin responded immediately, his mouth moving against hers with the same hunger they'd shared all morning. The kiss deepened, and Morag melted into him as his arms came around her waist. Emboldened by his response, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, craving more of the connection that had become as necessary as breathing.

But as Morag was beginning to imagine whether she could convince him to sneak back to their chamber with her, Colin stiffened. His hands moved to her shoulders, and he gently but firmly pushed her away, creating distance between them just when she wanted to eliminate it entirely.

"Colin?" Morag blinked in confusion, searching his face. The passionate, tender man from this morning seemed to have vanished, replaced the old Colin who was comfortable with putting distance between them. "What's wrong?"

"Naething's wrong," he said, but his tone was carefully neutral, almost formal. "I just... we're in public, lass."

The excuse felt hollow. This was the same man who'd held her possessively in front of his men just hours ago, who'd kissed her hand without shame in full view of the villagers. Now he was acting like she was something to be hidden.

"Since when has that mattered to ye?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light but unable to hide the hurt. "I hope ye're nae already tirin’ of yer new wife."