Page 33 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER TWELVE

The first thing Iona noticed when she woke was that Ruaridh's sleeping area looked exactly as it had the morning before. His blankets were folded away where he kept them during the day so the servants wouldn’t notice they were not sharing the bed, and there was no sign that he'd prepared his sleeping space at all.

He never came back

Pale morning light filtered through the chamber windows, telling her she'd slept later than usual. She sat up in bed, a flutter of unease stirring in her chest as she stared at the undisturbed corner where he should have slept. She listened for sounds of movement from the adjoining chamber or the corridor beyond but heard only the distant clatter of castle life beginning another day.

He'd missed dinner last night. She'd waited in the great hall, making conversation with Niamh and picking at her food while glancing toward the doors every few minutes. When the meal had dragged on and still no sign of him appeared, she'd finally excused herself and returned to their chamber, telling herself she wasn't disappointed.

He probably had clan business. Or maybe he forgot. It's not like it was a formal engagement.

But even as she'd prepared for bed, she'd found herself listening for his footsteps in the corridor, for the familiar sound of the door opening and his quiet movements as he arranged his sleeping area.

She'd waited, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap, straining to hear any sign of his approach. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, as her eyelids grew heavy despite her determination to stay awake. In the end, sleep had overtaken her where she sat, and she'd woken hours later to find herself alone in the empty room with a cold hearth as her only companions.

Now, dressed in one of her new gowns and with her hair braided back, she made her way through the castle corridors toward the great hall. Perhaps he'd risen early and was already breaking his fast, or meeting with his father about clan matters.

But when she entered the hall, she found only Niamh and a handful of servants clearing away the remains of the morning meal.

"Good morning, dear," Niamh said, looking up from her discussion with Cook. "Ye're up late today. I hope ye slept well?"

"Aye, thank ye." Iona glanced around the nearly empty hall. "Have ye seen Ruaridh this morning? He wasn't... that is, I wondered where he might be."

Something flickered across Niamh's face—an expression too quick to read but that sent a flutter of unease through Iona's chest. "He's nae returned yet, lass."

"Returned?" Iona's voice came out sharper than she intended. "Returned from where?"

"He took a patrol out yesterday afternoon tae check the southern borders. They haven't come back yet."

The casual way Niamh delivered this information did nothing to ease the growing knot of anxiety in Iona's stomach. "Is that... normal? Fer patrols tae stay out overnight?"

"Sometimes, if they're daein’ a thorough sweep of the area." But Niamh's tone was carefully neutral, the sort of voice used to avoid causing alarm. "I'm sure they'll be back soon."

Iona nodded, accepting the reassurance even though something in Niamh's manner suggested there was more to the story. She broke her fast with little appetite, her thoughts circling around questions she couldn't answer.

How dangerous are these border patrols? If they're just checking fer signs of MacNab activity, why would they need tae stay out all night?

After the meal, she tried to lose herself in the festival preparations, helping Niamh with the final details of menu planning and decorations. But her concentration kept wandering, and she found herself glancing toward the great doors whenever she heard hoofbeats in the courtyard.

It was mid-morning when Alba found her in the solar, attempting to focus on a piece of embroidery that would decorate one of the feast tables.

"Me lady?" Alba's voice was hesitant, almost apologetic. "Might I have a word?"

"Of course." Iona set down her needle, noting the serious expression on the maid's usually cheerful face. "What is it?"

Alba glanced around to ensure they were alone, then moved closer. "It's about Laird Ruaridh and his patrol, me lady. I thought... I thought ye should ken what's being said."

Ice formed in Iona's veins. "What's being said?"

"Word came back from one of the border scouts. There was fighting yesterday afternoon—MacNab warriors ambushed the patrol near the old mill." Alba's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "They fought them off, but... but they took casualties, me lady. That's why they didn't come home last night."

The embroidery fell from Iona's suddenly nerveless fingers. "Casualties? What kind of casualties? Who was hurt?"

"I dinnae ken, me lady. The scout who brought word said there were bodies on the ground, MacNab bodies mostly, but some of our lads too."

Sweet Mary, nay. Please nae Ruaridh. Nay when we've just wed...

"Did he say..." Iona had to clear her throat to get the words out. "Did he mention Ruaridh specifically? Whether he was among the injured?"