Page 110 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

EPILOGUE

Four days after the battle, Euan opened his eyes.

Moyra saw it happen—the subtle shift from unconsciousness to awareness, the way his eyes focused slowly on the ceiling beams above their bed before tracking sideways to find her face. She’d been reading aloud from the book of Highland legends, her voice hoarse from days of near-constant vigil, when his fingers twitched in her grip.

“Euan?” His name came out broken with relief and exhaustion. “Can ye hear me?”

“Aye.” The word rasped out, barely audible. “Water?”

She had the cup ready—had kept it filled and waiting beside the bed for exactly that moment. Her hand shook as she lifted it to his lips, supporting his head with gentle care while he drank. He managed three swallows before collapsing back against the pillows, breathing hard from even that small effort.

“How long?” he asked.

“Four days.” She set the cup aside, her hand finding his again. “Ye’ve been unconscious fer four days. Brighde said it was yer body’s way of healing, but saints, Euan—I thought⁠—”

“I’m all right. Takes more than one bastard with a blade tae kill me.”

“One bastard nearly did. Ye could’ve died. Should’ve died from the amount of blood ye lost. If Brighde hadnae gotten tae ye when she did⁠—”

“But she did. And I’m still here.”

Tears streamed down her face despite her attempt at sternness. “Ye scared me. Terrified me. Watching ye collapse, all that blood⁠—”

“I’m sorry. I dinnae mean tae frighten ye. I just—when Keith came at ye with that blade, I couldnae⁠—”

“I ken.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his carefully. “I ken why ye did it. And I love ye fer it, even though I want tae strangle ye fer being so reckless.”

“Love ye too.” His free hand lifted—slowly, painfully—to cup her face. “Even when ye’re threatening violence.”

She kissed him softly, tasting salt from her own tears. “How dae ye feel? Brighde said yer shoulder might never⁠—”

“Might never what?” A familiar voice came from the doorway. “Because I distinctly remember telling ye that he’d be fine with proper rest and care.”

Moyra turned to find Brighde entering with her healer’s bag, the Covenant brothers trailing behind her like oversized ducklings. Calum’s grin was bright enough to light the room. David’s hawk-like features showed open relief. And Archibald—the massive warrior actually looked like he might cry.

“About bloody time,” Calum said, moving to the bedside. “Four days we’ve been listening tae Moyra read fairy tales. If ye’d slept much longer, I’d have learned all the Highland legends by heart.”

“We took shifts.” David moved to Euan’s other side, his hand gripping his brother’s shoulder carefully. “Someone needed tae make sure ye both ate and slept. Though convincing yer wife tae leave yer side was like trying tae move a Highland stone—impossible and likely tae get us injured in the attempt.”

“She’s stubborn like that.” Euan’s mouth curved despite the obvious pain movement caused. “It’s one of her more endearing qualities.”

“One of many,” Archibald rumbled from the foot of the bed. “The lass organized the entire refugee situation while ye were unconscious. Fed everyone, found housing, even convinced half the surrendered MacKenzie forces tae swear fealty tae MacLeod rather than scattering tae the winds.”

Moyra felt heat crawl up her neck. “Someone had tae dae it. And ye were all busy with defense preparations in case more ships arrived.”

“She’s being modest.” Calum’s expression turned serious. “Truth is, she held this castle together while ye were out. Made decisions a laird would make and made them well. Yer clan’s lucky tae have her.”

“I ken that.” Euan’s eyes found Moyra’s, and the warmth there made her chest ache. “Luckiest bastard in the Highlands.”

“Enough sentiment.” Brighde shooed the Covenant brothers back. “Let me examine him properly. All of ye—out. Except ye, Lady Moyra. I’ll need yer help with the bandages.”

The brothers filed out reluctantly, though Calum paused at the door. “We’ll be just outside if ye need anything. And Euan? Good tae have ye back, braither.”

When they were alone—just Moyra, Euan, and Brighde’s efficient ministrations—the healer’s expression grew more serious.

“The wound in yer side is healing well,” she said, unwrapping bandages with care. “But yer shoulder—that’s going tae take time. Months, maybe longer. And ye may never regain full mobility in that arm.”

“I can live with that.” Euan’s jaw clenched as Brighde probed the injury, but his voice remained steady. “As long as I can still hold a sword when needed, and hold me wife always, that’s enough.”