Page 41 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Asoft knock at the chamber door interrupted Iona's restless pacing. She'd been moving between the window and the fireplace for what felt like hours, unable to settle, her mind churning with worry about Ruaridh's stubborn determination to question the prisoner that same night.

"Come in," she called, grateful for any distraction.

Alba entered with her usual gentle smile, carrying a basin of warm water and fresh linens. "Good evening, me lady. I thought ye might like help preparing fer bed."

"Aye, thank ye." Iona managed a weak smile. "Though I doubt I'll sleep much taenight."

"Worrying about Laird Ruaridh?" Alba asked as she began laying out Iona's nightgown. "I'm sure he'll be fine, me lady. He's a strong man."

"Too strong fer his own good sometimes," Iona muttered, then louder, "has there been any word from the dungeons?"

Alba's hands stilled on the fabric. "Actually, me lady, I was wondering... should I bring anything special from the kitchens? Some strengthening broth, perhaps, or honey cakes? I heard from one of the guards that young Laird Ruaridh is with the healer now, that his wounds worsened during the questioning."

The words hit Iona like a physical blow. "What dae ye mean, his wounds worsened? Was me husband wounded in the battle?"

"Oh!" Alba's eyes widened with concern. "I thought ye kenned, me lady. The guard said there was blood, that the healer had tae rebind his injuries. I assumed⁠—"

"Blood?" Iona's voice rose sharply. "How much blood? How badly is he hurt?"

"I dinnae ken the details, me lady. Just that he went tae the healer after leaving the dungeons, and she was none too pleased with him." Alba's face crumpled with distress. "I'm sorry, I thought he told ye."

Fury and fear warred in Iona's chest, creating a tempest of emotion that left her trembling.

It's me fault. He hurt himself trying tae protect me, trying tae get information about the danger I brought tae his clan.

"The fool," she whispered to herself, her hands clenching into fists. "The absolute fool. He returned back wounded, hid it from me, his wife, and then, instead of resting, what daes he dae? He goes down tae the dungeons tae interrogate a prisoner who probably knows less than I've already told him."

"Me lady?" Alba's voice was gentle, concerned.

"He could have died, Alba. And he didnae tell me he was wounded. He kept it from me...." Iona's voice broke slightly. "And for what? Tae prove he's strong enough tae ignore his injuries? Tae show me that he's not weakened by a sword wound?"

The hurt that accompanied her anger surprised her with its intensity. She'd asked him to wait, had tried to tell him he needed rest. But he'd walked out anyway, dismissing her concerns as if they didn't matter.

As if I dinnae matter.

"I'm sure he didnae want ye tae worry fer him, me lady. And he was just tryin’ tae protect the clan," Alba said softly. "Men like Ruaridh, they feel responsible fer everyone's safety. Sometimes that makes them act unwisely."

"Aye. He is protective." Iona took a shaky breath, trying to calm herself. "Thank ye fer telling me, Alba. And aye, some strengthening broth would be good. Maybe some of Cook's honey cakes as well—he'll need the nourishment if he's going tae heal properly."

"Of course, me lady. I'll see tae it right away."

After Alba left, Iona sank into the chair by the fireplace, her emotions still churning. Part of her wanted to storm down to the healer's chamber and give Ruaridh a piece of her mind. Another part wanted to gather him in her arms and never let him risk his life again.

Stubborn Highland warrior. Daesnae he ken that someone cares whether he lives or dies?

The realization hit her with startling clarity. She cared—more than she'd allowed herself to admit. The thought of losing him, of this marriage ending before it had truly begun, filled her with a fear that had nothing to do with her own safety and everything to do with the man himself.

What are ye daeing tae me, Ruaridh MacDuff? That I am starting tae care so much?

Hours later, Iona was still pacing, parts worried, parts furious and uncertain whether she should go to the healer’s room to look for him, until the sound of the chamber door opening made her whirl around.

Ruaridh stepped into the room, moving more carefully than he had when he'd left. His shirt was different—clean linen instead of the plain cotton garment he'd worn to the dungeons. But she could see the careful way he held himself, the slight pallor beneath his tan that spoke of pain and blood loss.

"Ye're back," she said, her voice tight with barely controlled emotion.

"Aye." He closed the door behind him, his green eyes taking in her agitated state. "Ye should be sleeping."