Page 66 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

"Gordon Mackintosh," Iona said softly, setting down her garlands to accept his enthusiastic embrace. "I cannae believe it's really ye."

Watching them together—his wife and his oldest friend—Ruaridh felt something settle in his chest that he hadn't realized was tense. Here was a piece of his past that was purely good, unmarked by war or betrayal or political necessity.

"The three of us together again," Gordon said, stepping back to look between them. "Just like old times, except we're all considerably less muddy and considerably more dignified."

"Speak fer yerself," Iona said with a laugh that sounded more carefree than any Ruaridh had heard from her. "I was always the dignified one."

"Ha! Ye were the one who convinced us to steal honey cakes and then blamed it on the castle cats when we were caught."

"That was a sound strategy," she protested. "The cats couldn't be punished."

The familiarity between them should have made Ruaridh jealous, but instead it filled him with something warmer. This was what Iona had lost during her years of exile—easy friendship, shared laughter, the simple joy of being understood. Seeing her reclaim even a piece of it made his chest tight with emotions he couldn't name.

The morning passed in a blur of final preparations. Iona threw herself into hostess duties with enthusiasm that spoke of genuine excitement, while Gordon regaled anyone who would listen with increasingly embellished tales of their childhood adventures. But even surrounded by the comfortable chaos of preparation, Ruaridh couldn't shake his vigilance. His eyes constantly scanned the crowd, cataloguing faces, watching for anything out of place.

As evening approached and the first guests began arriving for the celebration proper, Gordon found him standing near the high table, surveying the great hall with military precision.

"Ye ken, ye look like a man expecting an attack rather than hosting a party," Gordon observed, following his gaze.

"Maybe because I am expecting an attack."

"Ah." Gordon's expression sobered slightly. "MacNab. I heard news of the recent troubles, especially since ye married Iona."

"More than troubles. Murray MacNab wants me wife dead, and he's proven he's willing tae go tae extraordinary lengths tae achieve that goal."

Gordon was quiet for a moment, studying Ruaridh's face. Then, unexpectedly, he grinned.

"What?" Ruaridh demanded.

"Nothing. It's just... ye won in the end, didn't ye?"

"Won what?"

"Come now, dinnae play daft with me." Gordon's eyes sparkled with mischief. "We both had the most enormous crush on her when we were lads. Used to compete fer her attention something fierce, remember? And now look—she's yer wife."

Ruaridh felt heat creep up his neck. He'd forgotten about that particular aspect of their childhood friendship, the way both he and Gordon had vied fer Iona's smiles with the intensity only possible in ten-year-old boys.

"That was a long time ago⁠—"

"Was it?" Gordon's grin widened. "Because the way ye look at her now suggests some things haven't changed much."

Before Ruaridh could formulate a response, Iona appeared beside them, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the hall and her efforts as hostess.

"What are ye two plotting?" she asked suspiciously, looking between their faces.

The accusation was so accurate, so perfectly delivered in the same exasperated tone she'd used as a child, that both men burst into laughter.

"Naething at all," Gordon said innocently.

"Just discussing old times," Ruaridh added, though he could feel his smile betraying him.

Iona's eyes narrowed. "That's what ye said right before ye convinced me to help ye put salt in Cook's sugar jar. And before ye talked me into hiding a frog in Father MacLeod's vestments. And before⁠—"

"We were model children," Gordon protested. "Paragons of virtue."

"Aye, and I'm the Queen of Scotland." But Iona was smiling now, the same bright, mischievous smile that had lit up their childhood summers. "Just remember, if either of ye embarrass me in front of the guests tonight, I'll tell everyone about the time ye both got stuck in the dovecote trying tae impress me."

"Ye wouldnae," Ruaridh said, though he wasn't entirely certain.

"Try me," she replied sweetly, then turned and glided away to greet a group of newly arrived guests.

Gordon watched her go with obvious appreciation. "Ye're a lucky bastard, Ruaridh MacDuff."

"Aye," Ruaridh agreed, his eyes following his wife as she moved through the crowd with natural grace. "I'm beginning tae realize just how lucky."