Page 26 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

"Naething." The word came out flat, resigned. "There's naething fer me tae dae."

"Surely—"

"Surely what?" She stood abruptly, pacing to the other side of the room. "Surely I can find some way tae make meself useful? I've tried, Ruaridh. I've offered tae help in the kitchens, in the solar, with the household accounts. But I told ye this morning, everyone already has their tasks, their responsibilities. They dinnae need some displaced MacNeill lass getting in their way."

The frustration in her voice was sharp enough to cut. "I want tae have something tae dae, something that matters. But it seems like everyone here treats me as an outsider nay matter what I try."

"That's nae⁠—"

"Isn't it?" She turned to face him, her eyes blazing. "How many days has it been, Ruaridh? Ye've been going about yer duties, but I've been sitting in this room fer three days, that is when I'm nae wandering halls where servants bow politely and then whisper when they think I cannae hear. I feel like a ghost haunting someone else's life."

The pain in her voice hit him harder than any physical blow. She was right—he could see it now, the way the clan treated her with careful courtesy but no real warmth. She was the laird's-to-be wife, but she wasn't truly one of them. Not yet.

"What would ye like?" he asked quietly. "What would make ye feel... useful?"

"I dinnae ken!" The words exploded out of her. "That's the problem! I was raised tae run a household, tae manage a clan's domestic affairs. But yer maither already daes that beautifully. I was taught tar care fer the sick, but ye have a perfectly capable healer. I can keep accounts, but yer steward has managed the books fer twenty years."

She sank back into her chair, all the fight going out of her. "I just want tae feel like I belong somewhere. Like I have a purpose beyond being the woman ye married out of duty."

Out of duty.

The words stung more than they should have.

"If ye're so set on this," he said, clearing his throat to reduce the roughness, "then I'll find something fer ye tae dae."

He turned toward the door, needing distance from the hurt in her eyes, from the way her words had cut deeper than they should have.

"Ruaridh—"

But he was already leaving, the door closing behind him with more force than necessary. In the corridor beyond, he leaned against the stone wall and tried to understand why her pain affected him so deeply.

Because ye are starting tae care about her more than just a childhood friend. More than duty. More than ye want tae admit.