Page 17 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER SEVEN

After several minutes of walking, she realized she had no idea where she was going. The great hall should have been easy to find since it was the heart of any castle, but every turn seemed to lead to another identical corridor.

Foolish. Ye should have waited fer Alba.

She tried retracing her steps, but the passages all looked the same. Panic began to flutter in her chest again—a different kind than before, but panic nonetheless. What if she wandered these halls all morning like a lost spirit? What if the servants thought her a fool who couldn't even find her way to breakfast?

Calm yerself. It's just a castle. Ye're nae trapped. Ye're nae in danger.

But the walls seemed to press closer with each step, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was hopelessly, embarrassingly lost.

"Iona?" A familiar voice called from behind her. "What are ye daeing wandering these corridors by yerself?"

She turned to find Sorcha approaching, her dark blonde hair neatly braided. Her expression was curious rather than judgmental. Behind her came Morag, looking as bright and energetic as she had the night before.

"I was trying tae find the great hall," Iona admitted, heat creeping up her neck. "But I seem tae have gotten turned around."

"Turned around?" Morag laughed, but not unkindly. "Lass, ye're practically on the other side of the castle from the hall. How did ye end up here?"

"I... I'm nae entirely sure," Iona said, feeling foolish. "The corridors all look the same tae me.

"They dae take some getting used tae," Sorcha said gently, linking her arm through Iona's. "Come, we'll show ye the way. And perhaps give ye a proper tour while we're at it."

"Aye," Morag agreed, falling into step beside them. "Can't have our new sister wandering the halls like a lost ghost."

As they walked, Sorcha pointed out landmarks—a particular tapestry depicting the clan's founding, a suit of armor that had belonged to their great-grandfather, a window that offered the best view of the loch. Iona tried to memorize each detail, knowing she'd need these markers to navigate on her own.

"Where's Ruaridh this morning?" she asked, trying to sound casual. "I didnae see him when I woke."

"Council meeting," Morag replied with a knowing look. "Faither likes tae start them at dawn. They'll probably be wrapping up about now, though they could go on fer hours if the mood strikes them."

"What dae they discuss?" Iona asked.

"Everything and naething," Sorcha said with a slight smile. "Clan business, border disputes, crops, marriages, feuds—whatever needs sorting. Though I imagine today's meeting might be... particularly lively."

The implication hung heavy in the air. They were discussing her, her marriage, the threat she'd brought to their doorstep. The knowledge sat like a stone in her stomach.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I ken me presence here complicates things."

"Dinnae be daft," Morag said firmly. "Ye've done nothing wrong. It's Murray MacNab who's the problem, nae ye."

"Besides," Sorcha added, "Ruaridh can handle the Council. Our braither's strong."

They emerged into a wider corridor that Iona recognized from the night before. The great hall lay just ahead, its massive oak doors standing open to reveal the long tables where servants were clearing away the remains of the morning meal.

"There," Morag said with satisfaction. "Now ye ken the way. Shall we break our fast together? I'm starving, and I suspect ye are too."

The morning passed more pleasantly than Iona had dared hope. After breaking their fast in the great hall, Morag and Sorcha had taken her on a proper tour of the castle, sharing stories and memories from their childhood that made the ancient stones feel less foreign.

"And this," Morag said, pushing open a heavy door, "is Maither's solar. She spends most mornings here with her correspondence and ledgers."

The chamber was warm and inviting, with tall windows that let in streams of golden sunlight. Tapestries depicting peaceful scenes—shepherds with their flocks, women gathering flowers—softened the stone walls. It felt like a feminine refuge in a masculine stronghold.

"It's beautiful," Iona said, running her fingers along the edge of an embroidered cushion. "Nae as I remember it at all and so different from the rest of the castle."

"Maither has redone many areas of the castle," Sorcha explained, settling into one of the chairs by the window and looking around the room. "She always said a woman needs a space that's entirely her own. Somewhere she can think without the weight of stone and steel pressing down on her."

"Ye'll have yer own chambers to arrange as ye please," Morag added, curling up in another chair with the easy familiarity of someone who'd done this countless times before. "Ruaridh mentioned something about having rooms prepared fer ye near his own."