Page 17 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

Except... where was home now? Her mother was dead. Her father had married a stranger. And he’d sent her away to the priory for safety, though she had never arrived.

“I see.” She folded her hands in her lap, hiding how they trembled. “And if he refuses?”

“Then we’ll discuss other options.” Euan’s gaze never left her face. “But I dinnae think it will come tae that. Whatever else yer faither may be, surely he wants his daughter back.”

“Thank ye,” she said finally. “Fer making a decision so swiftly. Fer nae holding me prisoner indefinitely when ye easily could have in this setting.”

“Ye’re nae a prisoner, Moyra.” His voice gentled. “Ye’re under me protection. There’s a difference.”

“Call it what ye may,” she met his eyes, “ but both situations involve me being unable tae leave.”

“Fair point.” His mouth curved in what might have been a smile. “But at least this imprisonment comes with decent food and soft beds.”

Despite everything, she felt her own lips twitch. “Aye, the accommodations are significantly better than Norham. Though I must say—” she paused, letting her expression turn deliberately wistful. “The only things I’ve truly missed, beside human contact, are seeing the stars again and tasting food that’s nae thin broth and stale bread.”

“All of which ye now have access tae.”

“The food and people, certainly. But the stars?” She gestured toward the window. “I dinnae suppose yer protection extends tae allowing me out ontae the battlements at night?”

Those grey eyes studied her, and she could practically see him weighing the request against the risk. Finally, he shook his head. “Nae yet. But soon, perhaps. When we’ve settled things with yer faiher.”

Disappointment flickered through her, but she’d expected as much. She bit her lip, then decided another approach. “Could I send a letter? Tae my lady-in-waiting, Kirstin?”

His brow furrowed. “Yer lady-in-waiting?”

“She made it tae the priory that night—I saw her reach the gates before they took me.” The memory made Moyra’s chest tight. “She’s with child, and she risked everything tae stay with me, but I forced her to run and seek shelter. She’ll be sick with worry, nae kenning if I’m alive or dead.”

Euan was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Aye. Ye can write tae her.”

“Truly?”

“I’ll have Catriona bring ye parchment and ink.” He held up a hand before she could thank him. “But I’ll need to read it before it’s sent. I cannae have information about our defenses or numbers leaving these walls.”

It was more than fair. “Of course. I just want her tae ken I’m safe.”

“Then write what ye need tae ease her mind.” His voice softened slightly. “Just be careful what ye say about yer faither. We dinnae ken yet how he’ll respond tae our letter.”

The warning dampened her relief, but she nodded. “I understand⁠—”

He stood, and she thought he might leave. Instead, he paused, looking down at her with something almost like approval in those grey eyes. “Ye’re loyal tae yer people. That’s a rare quality.”

She’d planted the seed. And something about the way Euan looked at her—like he actually cared about her comfort, her happiness—suggested that seed might take root.

Euan looked at her once more. “Moyra?”

“Aye?”

“Yer faither’s letter should arrive within a fortnight. Until then...” Those grey eyes held hers. “Try tae rest.”

Then he was gone, leaving her alone with the fire and her tumultuous thoughts.

The afternoon patrols took Euan away from the castle, riding the borders of MacLeod territory with a dozen of his best men. It was routine work—checking for signs of raiders, ensuring the clan’s defenses remained strong, showing force to any who might consider encroaching on their lands.

But his mind wasn’t on the patrol.

It was on a red-haired woman who’d talked of stars and stale bread, whose green eyes had held both hope and resignation when he’d told her about the letter to her father.

Ye’re getting soft. She’s Keith MacKenzie’s daughter. A means tae an end. Naething more.