Page 11 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER FIVE

As the evening progressed, she found herself relaxing for the first time since arriving at Castle MacDuff. Morag regaled them with stories of her young son's latest exploits—apparently the child had inherited his father's talent for mischief—while Sorcha spoke more quietly about life with the Comyns.

"And what of ye, Iona?" Sorcha asked gently. "I ken this cannae be easy, leaving yer family behind."

"It's... an adjustment," Iona admitted. "But yer maither has been very kind."

"Maither has a soft spot fer ye," Morag said with a grin. "But truly, we're glad ye’re here. Ruaridh has been far too serious fer far too long. Perhaps a wife will remind him how tae smile."

Iona glanced at her new husband, who was listening to the conversation with that same carefully controlled expression. "I'm nae sure I'm the woman fer that task."

"Nonsense," Morag declared. "I remember how ye used tae make him laugh until his sides ached. Surely some of that spirit remains?"

Before Iona could respond, the musicians in the corner struck up a lively tune. Several couples moved to the cleared space before the hearth, and Morag clapped her hands together.

"’Tis time tae dance." She looked expectantly between Iona and Ruaridh.

"I dinnae think—" Iona began, but Niamh's voice cut across the hall.

"Ruaridh, surely ye'll dance with yer bride?"

All eyes turned toward them, and Iona felt heat creep up her neck. The last thing she wanted was to stumble through a dance with a man who could barely stand to look at her.

But Ruaridh was already standing, offering his hand with formal courtesy. "If ye're willing, me lady."

She placed her hand in his, noting again how warm and strong his fingers were. "I'm nae sure I remember the steps."

"I'll lead," he said simply.

The dance was a traditional Highland reel, one she'd learned as a child but hadn't performed in years. Ruaridh guided her through the steps with surprising gentleness, his hand steady at her waist as they moved through the familiar patterns.

"Yer sisters seem pleased about our marriage," she ventured as they turned together.

"They're pleased tae see the clan secure," he replied evenly. "And they have fond memories of ye from our childhood."

"And what of the rest of yer clan? Dae they share that sentiment?"

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Some question the wisdom of allying ourselves with yer family's troubles."

The honesty stung, though she'd expected it. "And dae ye? Question it, I mean?"

For a long moment, he didn't answer, simply guided her through another turn. The music swirled around them, and she was acutely aware of his closeness, and the way his eyes seemed to study her face as if looking for answers to questions he couldn't voice.

"Ruaridh?" she pressed gently.

His hand tightened on hers for just an instant. Then his face shuttered again, and he remained silent until the music ended.

When they returned to their seats, Iona felt more uncertain than ever. In that moment on the dance floor, she'd thought she glimpsed something in his eyes that was not exactly affection, but neither was it complete indifference. Yet his silence spoke louder than any words.

He questions it too. He married me, but he's nae sure it was wise.

The thought shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. The evening wore on with more dancing and celebration, but the joy felt forced now. Iona smiled and nodded at the appropriate moments, accepted congratulations from clan members, and tried to ignore the way Ruaridh had withdrawn into himself beside her. When Niamh finally rose and announced that the bride and groom should retire, Iona's stomach clenched with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

"Go on then, ye two," Morag said with a grin, though her eyes held gentle understanding. "The night's still young, but ye've had a long day."

The walk through the castle corridors felt endless. Their footsteps echoed off stone walls, and the few servants they passed bowed respectfully before melting away into the shadows. Ruaridh walked beside her in silence, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, but he might as well have been a stranger.

At the door to their chamber, he paused, his hand on the latch. For a moment, she thought he might say something—offer reassurance, or perhaps set expectations. Instead, he simply opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter first.