Page 33 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The knock came soft as a whisper, but Moyra heard it through the silence of her chamber like thunder.

She sat curled in the window seat where she’d spent most of the day, staring at the darkening sea without really seeing it. Her father’s letter lay on the writing desk across the room—she’d read it so many times the words had burned themselves into her memory. I’ll nae be blackmailed intae abandoning legitimate territorial claims. As if she were nothing more than a piece of property to be haggled over.

“Come in,” she called, not bothering to move from her perch.

The door opened to reveal Euan MacLeod filling the frame, his massive shoulders nearly brushing the stone archway. He’d changed since the morning’s training session—the dark shirt replaced by a fresh one of deep green that made his grey eyes seem to glow in the firelight. His hair was still damp from washing, falling in waves that made her fingers itch to⁠—

No. She would not think about touching him.

“I hope I’m nae disturbing ye,” he said, his voice carrying that whisky-rough quality that did dangerous things to her pulse.

“Ye are.” She turned back to the window. “But since when has that stopped ye?”

She heard rather than saw his mouth curve. “Fair point.” He moved into the room with surprising grace for someone his size, and she caught his scent. “Have ye eaten?”

“I’m nae hungry.”

“That wasnae what I asked.” He moved to the door, speaking quietly to someone in the corridor. Moments later, Catriona appeared with a tray laden with enough food for three people—roasted chicken, fresh bread, cheese.

Moyra’s stomach betrayed her with a loud growl.

“As I thought.” Euan took the tray from Catriona, dismissing her with a nod. “Ye’ve barely eaten since yesterday morning. Brighde will have me head if I let ye starve out of stubbornness.”

“Then leave the food and go.” She kept her gaze fixed on the darkening horizon. “I dinnae need a nursemaid.”

“Nay. Ye need someone who gives a damn whether ye eat or fade away.” The words came out rougher than she expected, and despite herself, she turned to look at him.

He stood beside her writing desk, the tray balanced in his large hands, and something in his expression made her chest tighten. Not pity—she would have thrown something at him for pity. But concern. Real concern, the kind that came from someone who actually cared whether she lived or died.

“Why?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. “Why dae ye care?”

He was quiet for a long moment, those grey eyes holding hers with uncomfortable intensity. “Because I ken what it’s like,” he said finally. “Tae feel like everything ye are has been reduced tae political strategy. Tae wonder if anyone sees ye as more than a piece on a chess board.”

The honesty of it stole her breath. She remembered the slight favor he gave his left shoulder, the way he’d kept his shirt on when every other man was bare-chested. He understood what it meant to be defined by trauma, by the things done to you rather than the choices you made.

“Fine.” She moved from the window seat, gesturing to the small table near the fire. “Set it there. But I’m only eating because Brighde’s terrifying when she’s angry.”

His mouth twitched. “A wise decision. The woman once threatened tae dose me with sleeping draught if I didnae rest properly after taking a blade tae the ribs.”

“Did she follow through?”

“I didnae give her the chance.” He arranged the food on the table with surprising care, making sure everything was within her reach. “I’ve learned nae tae cross healers. They have too many ways tae make ye miserable while claiming it’s fer yer own good.”

Despite everything, Moyra felt herself smile. She settled into the chair, breaking off a piece of bread more because it gave her hands something to do than from actual hunger. “Ye can leave now. I’ll eat, I promise.”

But Euan didn’t move toward the door. Instead, he stood there looking oddly uncertain—a strange expression on a man who commanded a castle full of warriors without breaking a sweat.

“Or...” She heard herself say the words before her mind could object. “Ye could stay. Dine with me.”

Euan’s heart did something complicated in his chest at the invitation. After the disaster of the day before—the letter, the marriage proposal, the fury in her eyes when she’d told him she’d rather die alone—he’d expected her to throw him out on sight.

Instead, she was offering to share a meal.

“Are ye certain?” He kept his voice carefully neutral, not wanting to spook her. “I ken I’m probably the last person ye want company from right now.”

“Probably.” She took a bite of bread, and he watched her throat work as she swallowed. Saints, but even that simple gesture made heat coil low in his gut. “But the alternative is sitting here alone with me thoughts, and that’s proven tae be rather miserable company.”