Page 71 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

"And if it daesnae work? If the king chooses nae tae act, or if Murray strikes before we can reach him?"

"Then at least we'll have tried something other than waiting fer the next attack." His hand found her face, his touch gentle despite the steel in his voice. "Iona, I won't lie tae ye—it's a risk. A significant one. But I think it may be our best chance at a real future together."

A real future. The words painted pictures in her mind—walking freely beyond those walls, traveling to neighboring clans without fear, perhaps even having children who could grow up without the shadow of Murray's hatred hanging over them.

"I'm tired of being afraid," she whispered, the admission torn from somewhere deep inside her. "Tired of living in the shadow of that man's hatred."

"Then we write the letter," he said firmly. " And we send it with our fastest rider."

"And then?"

"Then we prepare fer whatever comes next. Taegether."

She nodded slowly, feeling something shift inside her chest. For months, she'd been running from Murray's threats, hiding behind walls and the protection of others. Perhaps it was time to stop running and start fighting back.

"Aye," she said, her voice growing stronger with each word. "Let's dae it. Let's end this, one way or another."

As dawn light began to creep across their chamber floor, Iona felt a change settling over her. She was no longer just a woman hiding from her past—she was ready to take control of her future. Whatever came next, she would face it as Lady MacDuff, with her husband at her side and the truth as her weapon.

Much later in the morning, Iona surveyed the collection of gifts that had accumulated during the festivities. Wooden boxes, cloth-wrapped bundles, and ornate chests crowded the table, each bearing the seal or colors of visiting clans.

"Sweet Mary," she said, hands on her hips as she took in the sight. "Did every clan in the Highlands bring us something?"

"Appears so," Ruaridh replied, though she caught the way his eyes moved carefully over each package. Even surrounded by wedding gifts, he was still watchful, still wary.

Gordon's walked in.

"Good morning love doves. How about some breakfast and an appetite fer gossip about yer gifts."

"Sounds perfect," Iona called, grateful for the distraction. Gordon's easy humor might help chase away the lingering tension she could see in Ruaridh's shoulders.

A servant entered with warm bread, honey, and ale, his eyes immediately drawn to the impressive display of presents. "God's bones, ye've made quite a haul. Though I suppose that's what happens when ye invite half the Highlands tae yer celebration."

"Half the Highlands and their gift-giving obligations," Iona said with a laugh. "I'm not even sure where tae start."

"Start with mine," Gordon declared, setting down the tray and pointing to a modest wooden box near the center of the table. "I'll have ye know I traveled tae three different markets tae find something worthy of the newly wedded MacDuffs."

Ruaridh raised an eyebrow. "Should we be worried?"

"Only if ye dinnae appreciate fine craftsmanship and impeccable taste."

Iona picked up Gordon's gift, feeling the smooth weight of carved wood beneath her fingers. Inside, she found a pair of silver goblets, their surfaces etched with intertwining Celtic knots that caught the morning light.

"Gordon, they're beautiful," she breathed, turning one of the cups to admire the intricate work.

"Figured ye needed proper vessels fer toasting yer happiness," he said with satisfaction. "Though knowing Ruaridh, he'll probably check them fer poison before letting ye drink from them."

"That's nae funny," Ruaridh muttered, but Iona caught the slight twitch of his lips.

"It's a little funny," Gordon insisted, then gestured to the remaining gifts. "Come on, let's see what other treasures the clans have bestowed upon ye. I'm particularly curious about that silver box from the MacLeods—they're kent fer their peculiar sense of humor."

They settled into a comfortable rhythm, with Gordon providing running commentary on each clan's likely motivations while Iona unwrapped and Ruaridh maintained his careful vigilance. Most gifts were exactly what she'd expected—fine cloth, ceremonial daggers, ornate candlesticks, and other tokens appropriate for a new marriage alliance.

"The Camerons certainly went all out," Gordon observed as Iona lifted a beautifully crafted silver mirror from its velvet-lined box. "That's easily worth a horse or two."

"It's lovely," she agreed, though she noticed Ruaridh examining the mirror's handle with particular attention, checking fer hidden compartments or irregularities.

"And here's something interesting," Gordon continued, reaching fer a small, unassuming wooden box that bore no clan markings. " How mysterious."