Page 36 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

After visiting the healer, Ruaridh entered their chamber with careful steps, his injured side protesting every movement despite Moira's tight binding. The familiar space felt different somehow after a night spent on the hard ground of a shepherd's hut, listening to his men's pained breathing and wondering if more MacNab warriors might find them in the darkness.

But it was the sight of his sleeping mat that stopped him short.

The mat lay unrolled near the bed, positioned closer than it had ever been. His blankets were spread neatly beside it, as if she'd been expecting his return all along.

She laid it and moved it closer.

He looked at her, noting the way she fidgeted with her hands, the flush creeping up her neck. There was something almost guilty in her expression, as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't.

Noting where he was looking, the color in her cheeks deepened. "I... aye." She stammered slightly, clearly flustered. "It was getting late, and when I didnae see ye, I wanted tae..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Wanted tae what? Make sure I had somewhere tae sleep when I returned? Or is there something else entirely?

He studied her face, trying to read the emotions flickering there. Embarrassment, certainly. But there was something else—a nervousness that suggested she'd surprised herself with her own actions.

Rather than comment on it, he moved toward the washbasin in the corner, needing to clean the dried blood and grime from his skin. The cold water felt good against his face and hands, washing away the worst of the day's ordeal.

As he bent over the basin, he caught sight of Iona in the polished metal mirror above it. She was watching him with an intensity that made something stir in his chest—her eyes fixed on the movement of his shoulders, the play of muscle beneath his torn shirt.

When he straightened and turned, she quickly looked away, color flooding her cheeks again.

Interesting.

Without a word, he moved to the chest where his clean clothes were stored, pulling out a fresh linen shirt. The movement sent a sharp pain through his injured side, and he had to pause, gritting his teeth against the discomfort.

"Tomorrow I'll question the prisoner, find out what MacNab is plannin’." He pulled the clean shirt over his head, careful not to disturb Moira's bandages.

He saw her swallow hard. "Dae ye think he'll tell ye anything useful?"

"Men talk when they're properly motivated." There was something cold in his voice, something that spoke of experience with such matters. "And this one will tell me why Murray MacNab is so determined tae see ye dead that he'd risk open war with me clan."

Iona went very still at that, her hands clenching in her skirts. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I saw him. The prisoner. When they were taking him tae the dungeons." She looked up at Ruaridh, her face pale. "I ken who he is. His name is Dougal MacNab—he's Murray's cousin. "

Ruaridh's eyes sharpened. "Ye're certain?"

"Aye. I've seen him before, at clan gatherings. He's one of Murray's most trusted men. He kens Murray’s dealings." Her voice grew smaller. "This wasnae some random border raid. They came hunting fer something specific."

"Or someone," Ruaridh said grimly, noting how she wrapped her arms around herself. "Iona, this changes things. If Murray sent his own cousin..."

"Then he's more desperate than we thought," she finished quietly.

"What else could drive a man tae such desperate measures?" He studied her face, noting the way she avoided his eyes. "Whatever happened between ye and Murray, it's more than wounded pride driving him now."

"I've told ye what happened⁠—"

"Aye, ye have. But I suspect there's more tae the story than ye've shared." He moved closer, ignoring the pull in his side. "Soon we'll have answers, one way or another. And when we dae, we'll end this threat permanently."

"Ruaridh..." Her voice was small, uncertain. "What if the answers are worse than ye expect? What if⁠—"

"What aren't ye telling me, Iona?" His eyes sharpened, studying her face. "Murray's not just angry about a broken betrothal—there's something else, isnae there? Something that has him so desperate he's willing tae risk open war with the MacDuffs."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense tone. "What daes he think ye ken? What secret is worth killing ye fer?"

Her face went pale, and he saw the truth flickering in her eyes—there was indeed something more.