Page 12 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“A problem.” Niall swung his boots off the hearth and sat forward, his weathered face serious in the firelight. “A complication we cannae afford—a lass wandering yer corridors at night in naething but a shift, found at yer office door.”

Heat crept up the back of Euan’s neck. “She heard a sound. Got turned around in the corridors.”

“Did she now?” Skepticism colored every word. “And ye believe that?”

Did he? Euan took another swallow of whisky, letting the question settle. Those green eyes had held nothing but confusion and exhaustion when he’d found her. No calculation. No deception. Just a woman lost in an unfamiliar place, trying to help someone she thought was in pain.

“Aye,” he said finally. “I dae.”

Niall’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “Saints preserve us. Ye’ve kenned the lass all of four days and already she’s got ye defending her.”

“I’m nae—” Euan caught himself, jaw tightening. “I’m assessing the situation objectively.”

“Objectively.” Niall snorted. “Right. And I’m the King of France.” He stood, moving to refill his cup. “Tell me everything. From the beginning. How exactly did ye end up with a MacKenzie in yer custody?”

Euan settled into his chair, the familiar leather creaking beneath his weight. The fire crackled between them, casting dancing shadows across stone walls that had witnessed generations of MacLeod councils. He thought of Moyra in that cell—filthy, defiant, breathtaking despite three months of captivity.

“She was in Norham’s dungeons,” he began. “Locked in the deepest cell, treated like a common prisoner. When I questioned her, she said she’d been counting the meals. Three months.”

“Three months?” Niall’s hand stilled on his cup. “And nay word tae her clan? Nay ransom demand?”

“None that I could determine.” Euan rotated his scarred shoulder, feeling the old injury pull. “Sir Geoffrey’s men were prepared tae kill fer her when she tried tae run. English soldiers, willing tae die fer a Highland lass. That’s nay random capture, Niall.”

“Nay” His friend’s expression darkened. “That’s strategy.”

“Aye.” Euan stared into the amber depths of his whisky. “She daesnae ken. Of our suspicions about her faither.”

Niall was quiet for a long moment, his soldier’s mind working through the implications. “Keith MacKenzie sends his daughter tae a priory—or so she claims. But she ends up in an English dungeon instead. Leaves her there fer three months with nay rescue attempt. Then ye raid Norham fer entirely different reasons and stumble across her.” He looked up, brown eyes sharp. “That’s either the worst luck in Highland history, or the best-laid trap I’ve ever seen.”

The same thought had occurred to Euan. Multiple times. “What would be the purpose? What daes he gain by having me find her?”

“Access.” Niall’s voice went hard. “A MacKenzie in yer castle, under yer roof. And she might be bait fer something larger.”

“She’s nay spy.” Even as he said it, Euan wondered at his certainty. He barely knew the woman. But those bruised wrists, that haunted look in her eyes when she’d spoken of the dungeon—that couldn’t be fabricated.

Could it?

“Maybe nae willingly.” Niall stood, beginning to pace. “But Keith MacKenzie is nay fool, Euan. The man married Ishbel specifically fer her MacLeod blood, weak as that claim might be. He wants yer lands. Everyone kens it. And now his daughter conveniently appears in yer custody?”

“Mayhaps fer him but nae fer me. I had tae fight me way through half of Norham’s garrison tae reach her.”

“But it could appear that way tae those looking fer reasons tae doubt us.” When Euan started to protest, Niall raised a hand. “I’m nae saying that’s what happened. I’m saying it’s what others might think. Especially when they learn ye brought her here instead of sending her back tae her faither.”

The accusation hit its mark. Euan’s grip tightened on his cup. “And what would ye have me dae? Send her back tae the man who likely had her imprisoned? Let her become a pawn in whatever game he’s playing?”

“Nay. She could be useful,” Niall said carefully. “Keith MacKenzie’s daughter, willing or nae, gives us leverage. Information about his household, his plans, his weaknesses.” He paused. “But only if we handle this right. The Council need tae understand why ye kept her.”

Euan turned from the fire, meeting his friend’s gaze. “Aye, I’ll call them fer a meeting first thing in the morning. Give them the full account of what happened at Norham. Let them help decide what’s tae be done with her.”

“And the Covenant braithers?” Niall asked quietly. “Calum, David, Archibald, Lachlann—they’ll want to ken about this too. A MacKenzie under yer roof affects more than just Clan Macleod.”

The Loch Eilein Covenant. The five boys who’d survived the Battle of Loch Eilein together, raised as brothers to prevent another such bloodshed. That bond still held strong, even now that they ruled their own clans—a network of trust and counsel that had served them all well.

“Aye,” Euan said slowly. “I’ll write tae them. But the Council decides first—this is MacLeod business before it becomes Covenant business.”

“Fair enough.” Relief flickered across Niall’s face. “That’s the smart play.

Even as he said it, something in his gut twisted. The thought of subjecting Moyra to the scrutiny of his Council, their suspicions, their potential verdict—it sat wrong. But Niall was right. This decision was too large for one man, even a laird.