Page 31 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

I'm starting tae notice more things about ye than I care tae say.

"Aye, well." He shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to respond. "Like I said, it was naething special."

She smiled then—not the animated expression she'd worn while talking to Euan, but something smaller, more private. Something meant just for him. "Well, it was special tae me."

The words hit him somewhere in the chest, in a place he'd thought was safely armored against such things. Before he could think of a response that wouldn't reveal too much, she was already stepping back.

"I should return tae the preparations. Yer maither will be wondering where I've gone." She paused, glancing around the training yard. "Will ye... will ye be joining us fer the evening meal?"

The question caught him off guard. She was asking him to dinner—not commanding his presence as was her right as his wife, but asking, as if his answer mattered to her.

"Aye," he heard himself say. "I'll be there."

Her smile widened just a fraction. "Good. I'll see ye then."

He watched her walk away across the courtyard, her blue skirts swaying with each step. He told himself he wasn't studying the graceful way she moved. Wasn't noticing how the afternoon light caught the auburn threads in her hair, or the confident set of her shoulders now that she had purpose again.

Ye're nae looking. Ye're just... making sure she reaches the castle safely.

But even his own inner voice sounded unconvinced.

"Sir?"

Ruaridh jerked his attention away from his wife's retreating figure to find Cormac approaching, fully armed and ready for patrol. His lieutenant's weathered face showed nothing, but Ruaridh caught the slight quirk of his mouth that suggested he'd noticed exactly where his laird's attention had been focused.

"Time fer the perimeter rounds," Cormac said simply.

"Aye." Ruaridh forced himself to turn away from the castle doors where Iona had disappeared. "Gather the men. I want a full sweep of the southern borders today—the scouts reported movement near the old mill yesterday."

"How many men, sir?"

"Eight. Full weapons and armor." Ruaridh strode toward the armory, his mind already shifting from domestic concerns to military matters. "Post sentries at the north and east gates while we're gone. Double watch until we return."

"Should we send word tae Laird Alistair about the patrol?"

"Nay need. We'll be back before full dark." Ruaridh checked his sword belt, ensuring his weapons were secure.

Within minutes, his small patrol was mounted and ready. Ruaridh felt the familiar shift that came with command—the weight of responsibility, the heightened awareness of everything around him. This was where he belonged, where the complexities of marriage and emotions gave way to the clear, simple demands of leadership.

"Brodie, take point. Keep yer eyes on the tree line—if there are MacNab scouts about, they'll use the forest fer cover." His voice carried easily across the group, each word crisp with authority. "MacLeod, watch our rear. I dinnae want any surprises."

"Aye," came the immediate responses.

"We'll ride hard tae the mill, sweep the area thoroughly, then work our way back along the border. Anyone who sees anything—tracks, smoke, a bird flying wrong—ye speak up immediately." He looked each man in the eye, ensuring they understood. "MacNab's been testing our defenses fer weeks. Taeday might be the day he decides tae dae more than test."

They rode out through the castle gates at a steady canter, Ruaridh leading from the front as was his way. Behind him, he could hear the easy conversation of men who'd ridden together for years, the comfortable banter that spoke of absolute trust in their leader and each other.

This is what I'm good at. Leading men. Making tactical decisions. Fightin’ when fightin's needed.

Unlike the tangled mess of trying to be a husband to a woman who flinched at his touch but thanked him for small kindnesses with smiles that made his chest tighten.

The patrol made good time across the moorland, following well-worn paths that skirted the worst of the boggy ground. The afternoon sun was warm on their backs, and the Highland landscape stretched endlessly around them—purple heather and golden gorse, ancient stone walls marking boundaries that had stood for centuries.

It was Brodie who saw them first.

"Movement in the trees ahead, sir!" he called back, his voice sharp with warning. "Armed men, maybe a dozen."

Ruaridh's hand went immediately to his sword hilt as he urged his horse forward for a better view. Through the gaps in the forest canopy, he caught glimpses of red and black—MacNab colors.