Page 21 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“More what?”

“More trouble than ye’re worth,” he finished, making his voice light.

She laughed—that same surprised sound from earlier, like she’d forgotten how. “I’ve been called worse things, Laird MacLeod.”

“Have ye now?” He shifted closer, drawn by some force he couldn’t name. “And who would those be?”

“Oh, English soldiers mostly. Sir Geoffrey had particularly creative insults.” Her smile turned sharp. “Though none of them could match me faither’s talent fer cutting words.”

The mention of Keith MacKenzie made his jaw clench. “What did he say tae ye? Before sending ye tae the priory?”

Her expression shuttered. “It daesnae matter now.”

“It daes if it hurt ye.”

For a long moment, she simply stared at him. Then, slowly, she spoke. “He said I was a complication. That his marriage tae Ishbel meant my presence created... difficulties.” Her voice went flat. “He said the priory would keep me safe. That it was temporary, just until certain political matters settled.”

“But ye dinnae believe that.”

“I wanted tae.” Her fingers twisted in the plaid. “I wanted tae believe he cared enough tae protect me. But three months is a long time tae wait fer a rescue that never comes.”

Euan was quiet for a moment, then gestured back toward the oatcakes. “Eat. Brighde will have me head if I return ye half-starved.”

The shift in topic was deliberate, and she was grateful for it. She reached for another oatcake, letting the honey sweetness chase away the bitterness of old memories.

“Tell me about the stars,” she said, tilting her head back. “Ye said yer faither taught ye. What else did he teach ye up here?”

His expression softened at the change of subject. “Everything worth kenning, according tae him. How tae read the weather. Where the trade winds blow. Which constellation leads home when ye’re lost at sea.”

“Were ye often lost at sea?”

“Only once.” A hint of humor crept into his voice. “I was barely six and thought I could sail tae the outer isles by meself. Made it about two miles afore me faither’s men hauled me back.”

Despite everything, she laughed. “What did he dae?”

“Brought me up here. Made me find north by the stars. Then told me I could sail anywhere I wanted—once I learned tae navigate properly.”

“Sounds like a wise man,” she said softly.

“He was.” Euan’s hand went to his shoulder unconsciously.

She saw the shadow cross his face and understood.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Fer what happened tae him. Tae ye both.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and something shifted in his expression. “Ye’ve nothing tae apologize fer. Ye weren’t even born when Loch Eilein happened.”

“Still. I’m sorry ye both suffered.”

“And I’m sorry fer what ye’ve suffered,” he said in return.

Her smile turned sad. “At least I’m alive, Euan.”

The sound of his name on her lips did something to his chest. No title, no formality—just his name, soft and almost intimate in the darkness.

“Ye should hate me,” he said. “Fer keeping ye here.”

“I should.” She studied his face, and he wondered what she saw there. Scars and shadows? Or something else? “But I dinnae. I cannae quite manage it.”

“Why nae?”

“Because—” She stopped, seeming to gather courage. “Because ye look at me differently. Like I’m a person. Nae a pawn, nae a problem, nae a tool tae be used. Just... me.”

The honesty of it stole his breath. He’d been trying so hard to maintain distance, to remember she was his enemy’s daughter, to think strategically about every interaction.

But right now, with starlight in her hair and honey on her lips, he couldn’t remember why any of that mattered.

“Ye are just ye,” he said roughly. “And that’s the problem.”

Her eyebrows rose. “How is that a problem?”

“Because it would be easier if ye were the enemy I expected,” he said instead. “Some spoiled laird’s daughter who needed tae be taught humility. Someone I could use without conscience.”

“But I’m nae.”

“Nay,” he agreed. “Ye’re nae.”