Page 7 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

For a long moment she stood frozen, staring at the remnants of her escort. Colin found himself studying his bride's profile. She had the look of the Highlands about her—the kind of beauty that came from wind and weather and clean mountain air. Not soft, like the court ladies he'd met in his travels, but something strong. Something that could survive and thrive in hard situations.

She spun toward him, but whatever she was going to say froze on her lips. He watched the way she observed him instead, taking in his size, lingering on his hands to study the callous surface and scarred skin before her eyes finally returned back to his face. Whatever she saw in his face made her pale, and take a step backward.

"Who are ye?" she demanded, some of the old fire back in her voice.

This Highland lass with her tangled hair and fierce blue eyes, who'd just survived Fraser raiders, stood before him bloodied but unbroken, demanding to know who he was, and possessiveness stirred in his chest.

"I'm the man who just saved ye from certain death, or a worse fate, at the hands of Fraser scum," he growled, his voice rough as granite. "I'm Colin Armstrong, and ye, troublesome as ye are, belong tae me."

His tone brooked no argument, no further flight, and no more of her Highland wildness. This was the voice that commanded armies and whose reputation alone bent clans to his will. The voice of the Iron Laird.

To his astonishment, Morag didn't flinch. She stood still, continuing to look into his eyes.

Good. Look at me, lass and ken I am nae a laird tae play with.

When she finally spoke, her eyes remained fixed on him, but her voice had turned hollow.

"I appreciate yer assistance, me laird. But as ye can see, our arrangement is nay longer suitable. If ye could perhaps point me toward... toward..." She faltered. When she looked up, her eyes were pleading. "Can ye help me get back tae me home, or at least as far as MacDuff borders?"

"Nay. Ye're bound for Armstrong Castle tae be me bride and so it will be," he barked finally. "Now, lass. Ye have two choices. We can wait for another carriage to be sent, which I will nae advise as more Fraser men can appear any moment or..." He gestured toward his destrier. "Ye can ride with me, and I'll take ye back tae the castle directly."

Colin watched the play of emotions across her face—shock, grief, and beneath it all, a growing awareness of her precarious situation. She was alone in hostile territory with a man she'd just met, her protectors dead, her transport destroyed. Any sensible woman would be terrified.

But Morag MacDuff, he was beginning to realize, was not like any sensible woman.

"So," he said, keeping his voice neutral, "what would ye like tae dae? I can come back tae the castle with a carriage, though it would mean waiting here until morning. Or..." He gestured toward his destrier, who stood calm as stone despite the scent of blood in the air. "Ye can ride with me, and I'll take ye tae Armstrong Castle directly."

Her blue eyes widened, and a flush crept up her neck. "Ride with ye? Together? On the same horse?"

"Aye."

"But... would that nae be... improper?" She worried her lower lip between her teeth. "I mean, we're nae yet... and people might think..."

Colin nearly smiled at her sudden concern for propriety. This from the lass who'd been cursing like a soldier and planning to bolt through Fraser-infested woods not five minutes ago.

"Lass," he said dryly, "given that ye've just survived an attack by Fraser raiders and yer escort is dead, I think people will be more concerned with yer safety than with the proprieties of how ye reached me castle. And, ye are me betrothed."

She stared at him for a long moment.

"Besides," he added, "it's dark. These woods are dangerous enough in daylight, and Fraser may have more men about looking tae finish what the others started. The sooner we're behind castle walls, the better."

That decided her. Whatever reservations she had about riding with a stranger, even if he'd just saved her life, were clearly outweighed by the prospect of spending a night in hostile territory.

"Aye," she said finally, squaring her shoulders. "If ye're willing, I'd be grateful fer the escort tae the castle."

"Good." Colin swung down from his destrier and moved to help her mount. "We'll be there within a few hours."

Colin mounted first, then reached down to help Morag up behind him. The moment she settled onto the saddle, he knew it was going to be a long ride.

"Comfortable?" he asked, gathering the reins.

"Aye, me thinks—" Her words cut off abruptly as he nudged the destrier forward and she was forced to grab the horse’s hair to keep from sliding forward. "Oh!"

They'd barely made it twenty paces when she started fidgeting in front of him.

"Ye're sitting too close," she announced, as if she were instructing a green lad on his first pony. "Yer weight is all wrong for the horse."

Colin's mouth twitched, but he kept his voice cold. "Is that so?"