Page 87 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

The last soldier, seeing his chance, raised his sword for a killing blow aimed at Colin's exposed neck.

That's when Colin's throwing knife sprouted from the man's forehead. The soldier's eyes crossed as he stared at the steel protruding from his skull, then he crashed backward into the wall and slid to the floor.

Colin stood swaying among the bodies, his chest heaving with exhaustion. Blood dripped steadily from his wounded ribs, staining the floor beneath him.

"Morag," he said, his voice hoarse as he moved toward her on unsteady legs. "Are ye hurt?"

"I'm fine," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Colin, I'm so sorry. I was angry and stupid, and I nearly got us both killed."

"Hush." His hands were gentle as he cut her bonds, the ropes falling away to release her aching wrists. "Ye're safe. That's all that matters."

"Ye're bleeding. Colin, ye’re hurt badly."

"I'll live," he said grimly, though his face was pale with blood loss.

The moment her hands were free, Morag threw her arms around his neck, holding him tight against her. She could feel his heart beating, feel the warmth of his body, and it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Oh Colin," she whispered against his ear. "I was such a fool."

"Shush, me love," Colin replied, his arms tightening around her. "We'll work through the rest later. Right now, we need tae get out of here."

"What about yer men? The battle?"

Colin's jaw tightened as he listened to the sounds of combat outside. "Fraser was right about one thing—he has more men than we dae. But with him dead, maybe his army will lose heart."

He moved to the tent flap, peering out at the chaos of the Fraser camp. "Or maybe they'll fight harder, fer revenge. Either way, we can't stay here."

Morag followed him to the window, her hand finding his. Outside, she could see the glow of fires, the movement of armed men, the sprawling evidence of Fraser's war machine.

"Then we face it together," she said firmly. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

Colin turned to look at her, this fierce Highland woman who'd married him for duty but stayed for love. "Aye," he said softly. "Taegether."

Colin grabbed Fraser's sword from the floor, testing its weight. "Can ye hold a sword, lass?"

"Just try tae stop me," Morag replied fiercely, pulling Fraser's dirk from his belt. The blade felt good in her hand—solid, real, deadly.

"Then let's go win a battle." Colin moved to the door, listening carefully to the sounds outside. "When we step out there, stay close tae me. Fraser's men will be confused, but they're still dangerous."

Morag nodded, her heart hammering with anticipation rather than fear. "What dae we tell them?"

"The truth. Their laird is dead, and they can choose between surrender or joining him. Ready?"

Together, they ran through the flap and stepped into the chaos of the Fraser camp.

"Fraser is dead!" Colin's voice boomed across the battlefield, carrying over the clash of weapons. "Ronan Fraser lies dead by me blade!"

The effect was immediate and electric. Fraser warriors who'd been pressing their attack suddenly hesitated, their heads turning toward the sound of Colin's voice. Morag raised Fraser's bloodied dirk high above her head, the blade catching the firelight.

"Yer laird is dead!" she screamed, her voice cracking like a whip. "I saw him fall! Fraser is finished!"

A Fraser captain rushed toward them, his sword raised. "Lies! Ye⁠—"

Colin's borrowed blade took him across the chest, sending him crashing into a supply wagon. "See fer yerselves!" Colin shouted. "Yer leader bleeds out on the floor like the dog he was!"

"Armstrong speaks truth!" came a shout from the darkness. One of Colin's men emerged from behind a tent, his sword red to the hilt. " The bastard's dead!"

The words spread through the Fraser ranks like wildfire. Morag watched their faces change—confidence crumbling into doubt, aggression melting into fear. Without Fraser's iron will holding them together, his army began to fracture.