Page 13 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

There was a light knock on the door, then Alba appeared through the doorway with a tray. Her face carefully remained blank as her eyes ran over the scene—Iona huddled on the floor, while Ruaridh maintained careful distance. She set the tray on the small table and withdrew without a word.

"Will ye drink something?" Ruaridh asked. "It might help."

Iona nodded, not trusting her voice. He poured the warm milk into a cup, added honey, and set it on the floor within her reach before retreating to his chair.

The milk was sweet and soothing, warming her from the inside out. Slowly, the shaking subsided, and she could breathe without feeling like she was drowning.

"What happens now?" she asked when she finally found her voice.

Ruaridh was quiet for a long moment, studying the fire. "Now ye drink yer milk, and I make meself a bed on the floor. Tomorrow we figure out how tae move forward."

"But the marriage—it needs tae be consummated tae be legal."

"Aye, eventually. But nae tonight. Nae until ye're ready."

"What if I'm never ready?"

He looked at her then, his expression serious. "I cannae promise we'll never consummate this marriage, Iona. It leaves us both too vulnerable if we dinnae. But I can promise ye this—I'll nae force ye."

Relief flooded through her so suddenly she nearly started crying again. "Ye mean that?"

"I dae." He rose and moved to a chest against the wall, pulling out thick blankets and a sleeping mat. "But I'll nae make this easy on either of us forever." He spread the mat near the door, as far from the bed as possible. "Every night, I'll move this mat a little closer tae the bed. Just a foot or so, until ye grow accustomed tae having me near."

Her breath caught as the implications settled over her. "Until...?"

"Until I'm sleeping beside ye, as a husband should." His green eyes held hers steadily. "It may take days, or weeks, but eventually we'll share that bed properly."

The words sent a shiver through her—part fear, part something else she couldn't name. He was giving her time, but not indefinitely. Each night would bring him closer, literally and figuratively, until there would be nowhere left to retreat.

"How long dae ye think it will take?" she whispered.

"As I said, I dinnae ken. That depends on ye, lass."

She watched him arrange the mat near the door, as far from her as possible while still being in the same room. The gesture was both practical and oddly touching.

"Ruaridh?" she said as he settled onto the makeshift bed.

"Aye?"

"Thank ye. Fer understanding. Fer nae..." She swallowed hard. "For nae being like him."

"I'm many things, Iona MacDuff," he said quietly into the darkness. "But I'm nae a monster."

MacDuff. Her new name, spoken in his voice. It should have felt strange, foreign. Instead, for the first time since arriving at the castle, it felt like something she might learn to belong to.

"Goodnight, husband," she whispered.

"Goodnight, wife."

The words hung in the air between them—formal, careful, but not unkind. A beginning, perhaps. Not love, but something that might, with time and patience, grow into understanding.