Page 31 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“Good. Now, the key tae staying alive isnae being the strongest or the fastest.” Euan circled him slowly, letting all the recruits hear his words. “It’s about reading yer opponent. Anticipating their next move before they make it.”

He faced Tavish again, sword raised. “Come at me. Dinnae think about it—just react.”

From her window high in the east tower, Moyra watched the training unfold with a fascination she absolutely shouldn’t have been feeling.

She’d woken with the intention of ignoring Euan MacLeod’s existence as thoroughly as possible. The marriage proposal still burned like acid in her chest, mixing with her father’s betrayal until she couldn’t separate one pain from the other. But the sound of steel on steel had drawn her to the window, and now she couldn’t look away.

Euan moved through the recruits like a force of nature—correcting stances, demonstrating techniques, his massive frame somehow graceful despite its size. Unlike his men, who’d stripped to the waist in the cool morning air, he kept his shirt on. The dark fabric clung to his broad shoulders as he moved.

Around him, his soldiers worked bare-chested, muscles gleaming with sweat as they drilled. But her gaze kept returning to Euan—to the way he commanded attention fully clothed, to the controlled power in every movement, to the patience he showed these frightened boys who’d probably never held a sword before that day.

That was true leadership, she realized. Not demands or threats, but teaching. Showing them how to survive rather than simply ordering them to fight.

“Me lady?” Catriona’s voice made her jump. The maid stood in the doorway, a breakfast tray in hand and knowing amusement in her grey eyes. “Breakfast is ready. Though I can return later if ye’re... occupied.”

Heat flooded Moyra’s cheeks. “I was just—the noise drew me attention⁠—”

“Of course it did.” Catriona set the tray down with a smile that said she believed none of it. “The laird does make quite a sight when he’s training. Half the serving girls find reasons to visit the kitchens during morning drills, just tae catch a glimpse through the windows.”

“I’m nae one of the serving girls.”

“Nae, me lady.” Catriona moved to the window, looking down at the training yard with open appreciation. “Though I cannae blame any of them. The man commands attention even when he’s the only one still dressed.”

Below, Euan had moved on to demonstrating more advanced techniques with Niall. The two men circled each other with the easy confidence of warriors who’d trained together for years. Niall had shed his shirt like the others, but Euan remained fully clothed as they engaged, and when their practice swords met, it was poetry written in steel.

Niall struck first—a testing blow that Euan deflected almost casually. They moved faster, the practice swords blurring as they traded strikes and parries with a skill that made Moyra’s breath catch. This wasn’t training anymore. These were two masters testing each other’s limits, and the raw display of power and precision made something low in her belly tighten.

Euan’s body moved with lethal grace despite his size—the dark shirt emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders, the way fabric pulled tight across his back with each swing, every motion controlled yet somehow wild. She watched the way he pivoted, how his scarred shoulder didn’t slow him, the absolute focus in his expression as he matched Niall blow for blow.

“Magnificent indeed,” Catriona murmured.

Moyra tore her gaze away, heat still burning in her cheeks. “Ye can take the breakfast back. I’m nae hungry.”

“Are ye certain? Ye barely touched dinner last night⁠—”

“I’m certain.” She moved from the window before temptation could draw her back. “I think I’ll visit the library instead. Try tae find something tae occupy me mind.”

Something other than grey eyes and the memory of strong hands holding her when she’d tried to flee.

Something other than the traitorous part of her that had wondered, for just a moment, what those hands would feel like without that anger between them.

“Ye’re distracted.”

Niall’s observation came between strikes, his practice sword meeting Euan’s with a clash that sent vibrations up both their arms. Sweat gleamed on Niall’s bare chest, but Euan’s shirt remained stubbornly in place despite the heat building from their exertion.

“I’m fine.” Euan pivoted, aiming for his friend’s ribs.

Niall blocked, but barely. “Ye’re thinking about her.”

“I’m thinking about training these lads so they dinnae get themselves killed.” He pressed the attack, forcing Niall back three steps.

“Ye’re thinking about Moyra MacKenzie and how she reacted yesterday when ye mentioned marriage.” Niall’s blade found an opening, the flat slapping against Euan’s shoulder hard enough to sting. “And ye’re wondering how tae fix it.”

Euan stepped back, lowering his sword. Around them, the recruits had stopped their own drills to watch, and he realized they’d drawn quite an audience. “Break!” he called to the watching men. “Water and rest. We’ll resume in fifteen minutes.”

The training yard cleared quickly, leaving just him and Niall standing in the center of churned earth and morning shadows.

“Say what ye came tae say,” Euan growled.