Page 34 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“Then I’d be honored.” He moved to the other chair, hyperaware of how small the table suddenly seemed. Their knees nearly touched beneath it, and he caught himself wondering what it would be like to close that distance, to feel her leg pressed against his⁠—

Stop. She’d made her position on marriage abundantly clear. The last thing she needed was him thinking about touching her.

They ate in silence for several minutes, though it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. More like two people who’d spent too much time in their own heads and were grateful for any distraction. Euan watched her from beneath his lashes, noting how she picked at the chicken but devoured the bread and cheese, how her shoulders gradually relaxed as food settled in her stomach.

“Another letter arrived this morning,” he said finally, figuring she deserved to know. “From yer faither.”

Her hand stilled on her cup. “And?”

“He’s threatening tae involve the king. Claims we’re holding ye as a bargaining chip against his legitimate territorial rights.” Euan’s jaw tightened. “The bastard’s trying tae paint himself as the concerned faither while we’re the villains keeping his daughter prisoner.”

“But he more or less told ye tae dae what ye wanted with me.” Her voice had gone flat. “That letter was clear enough.”

“Aye. But that was private correspondence. This new one?” He reached into his jacket, pulling out the folded parchment. “This one’s designed tae be shared. Tae spread word throughout the Highlands that the MacLeods are holding a helpless woman hostage.”

She took the letter, her fingers brushing his for just a heartbeat. The brief contact sent electricity up his arm, and from the way her breath caught, she felt it too.

Focus, ye fool. This isnae the time.

Moyra read quickly, her expression growing darker with each line. When she finished, she set the parchment down with deliberate care. “He really is making things impossible fer ye, isnae he?”

“Aye.” Euan wanted to reach across the table, to take her hand and offer some kind of comfort. But he kept his hands wrapped around his own cup instead. “I’m sorry, lass. Ye deserved better than this.”

“Did I?” Her laugh held no humor. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve spent me whole life being exactly what everyone needed me tae be—the dutiful daughter, the political pawn, the complication tae be managed. Maybe this is all I ever was.”

“That’s nae true.” The words came out sharper than he intended, and her eyes snapped to his. “Ye’re nae what they made ye. Ye’re what ye choose tae be, despite everything they’ve done.”

“And what am I choosing tae be?” She leaned forward, and he caught the scent of lavender. “A prisoner in a prettier cage? A woman so desperate fer safety that she’d consider marrying her enemy?”

“I’m nae yer enemy, Moyra.”

“Aren’t ye?” Her gaze held his, and he saw the hurt there beneath the anger. “Ye’re using me just like me faither did. Different methods, maybe, but the same goal—turn me intae something useful fer yer political games.”

The accusation hit home because part of it was true. His Council wanted him to marry her for strategic advantage. Every day she stayed there unmarried was another day the other clans whispered about MacLeod weakness.

But saints help him, when he looked at her—really looked at her—strategy was the last thing on his mind.

He stood abruptly, needing space before he said something he’d regret. “I should go. Before I say something else that ruins whatever fragile peace we’ve managed taenight.”

“Wait.” Her hand shot out, catching his wrist. The touch burned like a brand, and when he looked down at her, he saw the same confusion in her expression that he felt in his chest. “Dinnae go. Nae yet.”

“Moyra,” he breathed, and despite the softness in his voice, her name came out like a warning. “Ye should let me go.”

“Should I?” She stood slowly, not releasing his wrist. They were close now—close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “What if I dinnae want ye tae go? What if fer some reason I prefer the company of me captor tae being alone?”

“I’m nae keeping ye prisoner. I’m trying tae keep ye safe, and I dinnae ken how tae make ye see the difference.”

“Then show me.” The words came out breathless, reckless. She released his wrist but didn’t step back, and the air between them crackled with everything they weren’t saying. “Show me why I should trust ye instead of hating ye. Because right now, Euan MacLeod, I dinnae ken which one terrifies me more.”

Euan went still, his expression unreadable as he studied her face—the furrow between her brows, the trembling defiance in her chin, the desperation she was trying so hard to hide. “I’ll show ye,” he said finally, his voice rough. “But it’ll take time, lass. Trust isnae built in a night.”

He stepped back deliberately, putting proper distance between them before the temptation to close it became too strong. “Eat. Rest. And try nae to let yer faither’s poison seep any deeper into yer heart.”

He moved to the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. “If ye need anything—anything at all—send Catriona. I’ll come.”

Then he left, closing the door softly behind him, his heart still hammering from how close he’d come to forgetting every reason why he needed to keep his distance.