Page 16 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

CHAPTER SEVEN

Moyra woke to morning light streaming through her window and the distant sound of waves against stone. For a moment, she simply lay there, savoring the softness of the bed, the warmth of clean blankets, the absence of damp stone walls pressing in around her.

Dunvegan Castle. Euan MacLeod’s home. Her current prison, however gilded it might be.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Me lady?” Catriona’s cheerful voice filtered through the wood. “I’ve brought yer breakfast.”

“Come in.”

The maid entered bearing a tray laden with more food than Moyra had seen in months—fresh bread still warm from the ovens, butter and honey, cold meat, cheese, and a pot of what smelled like heaven. Real food. Not the thin broth and stale bread that had kept her alive at Norham.

Her stomach growled so loudly that Catriona laughed. “Eat what ye can, me lady. Brighde says ye need tae build yer strength back slowly, but there’s plenty more where this came from.”

Moyra tried to eat with dignity, but hunger won out. The bread practically melted on her tongue, and the butter—saints, when had butter tasted this good? She forced herself to slow down, to savor each bite instead of wolfing it down like an animal.

“The laird asked me tae tell ye he’d be by later,” Catriona said, moving to open the curtains wider. “He has some news tae discuss with ye.”

News. Moyra’s appetite dimmed slightly. What kind of news? A decision about her fate? Word from her father?

The thought of Keith MacKenzie made something twist in her chest. Three months she’d waited in that cell, convinced he’d come for her. Convinced that rescue was just a matter of time.

But no one had come. And the longer she’d waited, the harder it had become to maintain that hope.

She finished what she could of the breakfast, then let Catriona help her into a proper gown—nothing fancy, just a simple wool dress in deep green that brought out her eyes. Having clothes that were clean and whole felt like a luxury beyond measure.

“There now,” Catriona said, arranging Moyra’s hair into a simple braid. “Ye look much more yerself, me lady.”

Did she? Moyra studied her reflection in the looking glass. The hollow cheeks and shadows under her eyes remained, but at least she looked like a person again instead of a ghost.

The morning passed slowly. Moyra tried to rest as Brighde had ordered, applying the poultice to her wrists and ankles. The rope burns were healing, but they still ached—a constant reminder of her captivity.

Around midday, another knock came. But this time, the voice that followed made her pulse quicken.

“Moyra? It’s Euan. May I come in?”

She stood quickly, smoothing down her skirts. “Aye.”

The door opened, and there he was—all six feet of intimidating Highland warrior, somehow seeming to fill the entire room with his presence. His dark hair was still slightly damp, suggesting he’d just come from washing, and those storm-grey eyes found hers immediately.

Saints help her, but the man was devastatingly handsome when he wasn’t covered in blood and battle fury.

“I hope I’m nae disturbing yer rest,” he said, his deep voice sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine.

“Nae at all.” She gestured to the chairs by the fire. “I’ve been going mad with boredom, actually. Turns out months of imprisonment make one appreciate simple conversation.”

“Then I’m glad I came when I did. I have news.”

Her stomach tightened. “What kind of news?”

“The Council met this morning.” He settled into the chair across from her, his large frame somehow making the furniture look delicate. “We discussed what’s to be done with ye.”

“And?” Her voice came out steadier than she felt.

“We’re sending a letter tae yer father. Offering yer safe return in exchange fer his sworn oath tae abandon all claims tae MacLeod lands.”

The words took a moment to process. Her father. A letter. Her return.

She should feel relieved. Grateful. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To go home?