Page 53 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Good afternoon, maither." Ruaridh's stomach growled as he entered the solar. He'd missed breakfast again—another restless night followed by an early morning patrol had left him with no appetite until now. The castle kitchens were busy preparing for the evening meal, but he knew his mother often kept small provisions in the solar for her long afternoons of correspondence.

"How's yer wound healing?" Niamh asked without looking up from the parchments spread across her desk.

He found a plate of oatcakes and cheese on the sideboard and took a large bite, savoring the simple food as he prepared to make his escape back to his duties.

"Well enough," he replied around another bite. "The stitches can come out in a few days."

"Good. And ye've been taking care nae tae overexert yerself?"

"Maither, I am nae a bairn or even a lad." The edge in his voice was not because of his mother's questions. It was because they reminded him about how he'd been working himself harder than ever these past few days, anything to avoid thinking about Iona's terrified face as she'd fled from his study.

Niamh finally looked up, her sharp eyes taking in his appearance. "Aye. But ye will always be me son. Ye look tired. Are ye sleeping?"

Sleeping? He almost laughed out loud. He'd been lying awake listening to Iona's breathing, torturing himself with the memory of that kiss and his complete lack of control.

"Hmm." Niamh turned to a list beside her, frowning. "Oh, damnation. We're missing saffron fer the celebration feast. And cinnamon. Cook will have me head if we can't⁠—"

"I'll go," Iona's voice came from the doorway, and Ruaridh's head snapped up. She entered the solar with a stack of linens in her arms, her face carefully neutral. "Tae the village, I mean. Tae get what ye need."

Every muscle in Ruaridh's body went rigid. "Absolutely nae."

"It's just the village," Iona said, not meeting his eyes. "A quick trip⁠—"

"Nay." He set down the oatcake and faced her fully, his voice carrying the authority of command. "There's nay chance ye're leaving these walls when MacNab soldiers could be anywhere."

"I'm tired of being stuck in this castle like a prisoner," she said, finally looking at him. There was frustration in her hazel eyes, but also something that looked like hurt. "I need tae feel useful, tae dae things that matter."

"Yer safety matters more than spices."

"But if I take an escort⁠—"

"An escort willnae stop a crossbow bolt or a well-placed knife." His voice was flat, implacable. "The answer is nae, Iona. And it will remain nae."

She opened her mouth to argue further, but something in his expression stopped her. Good. He was in nay mood fer defiance, nae when it came tae her safety.

"Then how dae we get the ingredients?" Niamh asked carefully, clearly sensing the tension between them.

"I'll go meself," Ruaridh said, still holding Iona's gaze. "This afternoon, with a full escort. Iona stays on castle grounds."

"Ye cannae keep me here by force," Iona said quietly, but there was no real challenge in her voice. She could see he was serious, could read the steel in his expression.

"I can and I will if necessary." His tone brooked no argument. "Yer life is worth more than yer freedom tae wander the countryside. If ye cannae see that, then I'll make the decision fer ye."

For a moment, they stared at each other across the solar. He could see her weighing her options, could practically feel her considering whether to push back against his authority. But finally, she looked away, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Very well," she said stiffly. "I'll stay on castle grounds."

"Good." He turned back to his mother. "Make a list of everything ye need. I'll leave within the hour."

As he moved toward the door, he caught Niamh's knowing look. His mother had always been too perceptive for her own good, and she could probably read the protective instincts driving his harsh words. But he didn't care. Iona could hate him for being controlling, could rage against his high-handed decisions. As long as she was alive to do it.

"Ruaridh," Iona's voice stopped him at the threshold.

He turned back, noting how she stood with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Aye?"

"Be careful. In the village." Her voice was soft, almost reluctant. "MacNab soldiers—they might be watching fer MacDuff riders too."