Page 88 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

"What are our orders?" a Fraser soldier called out desperately.

"Surrender!" Colin commanded, his voice carrying absolute authority. "Throw down yer weapons and live! Continue fightin’ and join yer laird in hell!

"Dinnae listen tae him!" Another Fraser captain tried to rally his men. "We still have the numbers! We can⁠—"

An Armstrong soldier's thrown dirk sprouted from his throat, cutting off his words forever.

"Anyone else want tae argue?" Colin called out, pulling another blade from a fallen Fraser warrior.

That broke them completely. All across the camp, Fraser weapons began hitting the ground with metallic clangs. Men fell to their knees, hands raised in surrender, their will to fight shattered along with their command structure.

"Niven!" Colin shouted. "MacLeod! Where are ye?"

"Here, me laird!" Niven appeared from the smoke, grinning despite the blood streaming from a cut on his scalp. "We heard the news! Fraser's really dead?"

"Aye." Colin said.

MacLeod jogged up with a group of Armstrong warriors, all of them looking stunned by their sudden victory. "The Fraser men are surrendering everywhere, Colin. What dae we dae with them?"

"Bind them. Take their weapons. Any man who swears an oath tae keep the peace can go home tae his family. Any man who refuses..." Colin's expression hardened. "Well, we have plenty of rope."

"Aye, me laird." MacLeod turned to organize the prisoner roundup, but paused. "Colin? How many did we lose?"

Colin's face grew somber. "Too many. But not as many as we feared. Fraser's arrogance worked against him—he had expected easy victory and hadn’t prepared fer real resistance."

As his men spread out to secure the camp, Colin turned to Morag. "Ye did well, Morag. Ye were brave today. Any of me soldiers couldnae have been braver."

Morag looked at Colin distraught, suddenly feeling the weight of the day. "What kept me goin' was the thought of seein' ye again. "

"Me too." Colin pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist. "I wouldnae have forgiven meself if anythin' had happened tae ye."

"Victory!" Niven shouted, his voice carrying over all the others. "Victory fer Armstrong! Victory fer our laird and lady!"

The cry was taken up by every Armstrong warrior, growing louder and more triumphant with each repetition. Morag felt tears sting her eyes as she looked around at those brave men who'd followed Colin into impossible odds and emerged victorious.

"We did it," she whispered against Colin's ear. "We actually did it."

"Aye," Colin replied, his voice rough with emotion. "We did. Taegether."

"Taegether," Morag agreed, and the word felt like a promise that would last forever.

Colin looked down at her, this fierce Highland woman who'd thrown dirks with deadly accuracy and stood beside him through the chaos of battle. Her face was streaked with dirt and blood, her stolen clothes torn and filthy, but his eyes held nothing but love and admiration.

Morag stood on her tiptoes, bringing her lips only an inch from his, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she looked into his dark eyes, seeing her own desperate longing reflected there.

"I'm tired of waitin' fer ye tae kiss me," she said softly, her voice rough with emotion and everything they'd been through.

Colin smiled, but then his expression changed, his eyes darkening with hunger and something deeper—a raw need that made her pulse race. His hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs brushing away the dirt and tears on her cheeks.

"Well then, wife," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that made her knees weak, "what am I waiting for?"

He lowered his head and claimed her lips with all the desperate passion of a man who'd thought he'd lost everything. Morag melted into the kiss, her arms winding around his neck as she poured all her love and relief into the connection between them.

It was fierce and hungry, filled with the promise of a future they'd nearly lost. She could taste the salt of her own tears, feel the rapid beat of his heart against her chest, smell the familiar scent of leather and steel that was uniquely Colin.

His mouth moved against hers with desperate tenderness, as if he were memorizing the taste of her, the feel of her alive and whole in his arms. Morag's fingers tangled in his dark hair, holding him close, never wanting to let him go again.

Around them, his men cheered and whistled, their voices echoing across the Fraser camp, but Morag barely heard them. There was nothing in the world but the taste of him, the strength of his arms around her, the knowledge that they were both alive and safe and together. The battle, the fear, the pain—all of it faded away until there was only this moment, only them.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Colin rested his forehead against hers. His eyes were still dark with passion, but now they held something else too—peace, contentment, the quiet joy of a man who'd found his way home.

"Let's go home," he said simply, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Aye," Morag whispered, her eyes bright with unshed tears of happiness. "Let's go home."