Page 102 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The horn blast shattered the dawn.

Moyra jerked awake in Euan’s arms, her heart already racing before conscious thought caught up. That sound—three short bursts—meant only one thing.

Enemy sighted.

Euan was already moving, rolling from bed with the efficiency of a warrior who’d woken to alarms his entire life. He grabbed his breeches, his shirt, armor appearing on his frame with practiced speed that spoke of years conditioning his body for exactly that moment.

“Stay inside,” he said, buckling his sword belt. “Get tae the keep’s center with the other⁠—”

“Nae.” Moyra was on her feet, pulling on her own dress with shaking hands. “I’m nae hiding while yer people fight.”

“Moyra—”

“Dinnae argue with me. Nae now.” She met his gaze steadily despite the fear coiling in her gut. “I can help. The women and children—they need organizing, need someone tae keep them calm. And the provisions, the medical supplies⁠—”

“Fine. But ye stay away from the walls. Away from the fighting.”

They raced through corridors already filling with organized chaos. Warriors rushed to their posts, servants herded children toward safer quarters, the entire castle mobilizing with the smooth efficiency of a clan that had drilled for exactly this scenario.

The battlements offered a view that made Moyra pause.

Ships. So many ships. Black sails on the horizon, growing larger with each passing moment as they cut through waters toward Dunvegan’s shores. She counted—eight, nine, ten vessels, each carrying dozens of warriors. Keith MacKenzie’s invasion force, come to destroy everything she’d built there.

Come to kill her.

“Saints preserve us,” Calum breathed from beside Euan. “That’s the entire MacKenzie fleet.”

“Aye.” Euan’s voice came cold as winter steel. “And every man aboard is here tae burn me home and murder me wife.” His hand found Moyra’s, squeezing briefly. “Get the women and children tae the keep’s center. Bar the doors. If MacKenzie forces break through⁠—”

“They willnae.” David’s certainty carried weight. “Ye’ve got three clans standing with ye, Euan. Keith may have numbers, but we’ve got position and motivation.”

“And we’ve got the most important advantage of all,” Archibald rumbled, his massive frame blocking half the morning sun. “We’re fighting fer home. They’re fighting fer a madman’s ambition. That matters.”

The first longship hit the beach with a crunch of wood on stone.

Warriors poured out like ants from a disturbed nest—MacKenzie colors bright against grey sand, swords already drawn, war cries carrying across the distance. More ships followed, disgorging their human cargo at three separate landing points. Exactly as the prisoner had described.

“Archers!” Euan’s command rang across the battlements. “First volley—fire at will!”

Arrows flew like deadly rain. They were dark lines against pale sky. Moyra watched them arc and fall, watched MacKenzie warriors stumble and drop. But more kept coming. Always more. The beach swarmed with enemy forces, and the first wave was already advancing toward the castle walls.

“I need tae go.” Euan turned to her, his eyes blazing with emotions he didn’t have time to voice. “Moyra⁠—”

“I ken.” She rose on her toes, kissing him hard and fast. “Come back tae me.”

“Always.” He kissed her again, desperate and claiming. Then he was gone, taking the stairs three at a time, his Covenant brothers following close behind.

Moyra forced herself to turn away from the battle. Forced her feet to carry her toward the great hall where frightened women and children needed her calm presence more than the warriors needed another body on the walls.

But saints, it was hard. Walking away while Euan rode toward men who wanted him dead. While her father’s forces crashed against Dunvegan’s defenses like waves against cliffs.

She’d promised to stay away from the fighting.

She just hadn’t specified for how long.

Euan hit the courtyard at a run, his destrier already saddled and stamping with battle eagerness.