Page 35 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Moyra shouldn’t have been there.

The thought whispered through her mind even as her feet carried her down the darkened corridor toward Euan’s office, drawn by the thin line of lamplight bleeding beneath his door. It was well past midnight—the castle had settled into that particular silence that came when even the guards grew drowsy at their posts. She should have been in her chamber, safe behind locked doors, not prowling through MacLeod territory like some wayward spirit.

But sleep had proven impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father’s letter—those cold, calculated words that had reduced her entire existence to an inconvenience. The confusion of it all had driven her from her bed, seeking... what? Answers? Distraction? Some proof that she could understand the man who held her fate in his scarred hands?

She pressed her ear to his office door. Silence. Perhaps he’d left the lamp burning and retired for the night. Perhaps she could slip inside, satisfy her curiosity about what kind of man he was when no one was watching, and return to her chamber with some answers.

The door opened silently beneath her hand—unlocked, as if he hadn’t considered someone might intrude on his private space. Moyra stepped inside, her eyes immediately drawn to the desk illuminated by a single oil lamp. Papers scattered across the dark wood surface, maps weighted at the corners with daggers, correspondence marked with various clan seals.

And there, half-hidden beneath a ledger, a bundle of letters tied with faded cord.

Instinct overrode caution. She lifted the bundle, surprised by how soft the parchment had become—worn thin by years and yearning hands. The ink had faded to sepia, but the names remained clear: Calum, David, Archibald, Lachlann. Strangers’ names in familiar handwriting—the kind that came from education, from caring enough to write well. These were letters meant for someone’s eyes alone.

She was reading the first line—Braither, I hope this finds ye well—when a voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“Looking fer something specific, or just prying in general?”

Moyra spun, the letters nearly slipping from her startled grip. Euan stood in the doorway, still fully dressed despite the late hour, his broad shoulders filling the frame. Those eyes that had looked at her with such concern over dinner now held something harder, sharper—accusation mixed with something that looked dangerously like hurt.

“I—” Her voice caught. She’d been caught red-handed, literally holding his private correspondence. “I’m sorry. I couldnae sleep, and I saw the light⁠—”

“So ye decided tae rifle through me personal letters?” He moved into the room, and despite his size, there was nothing clumsy about the way he closed the door behind him. Nothing safe about the deliberate care with which he approached. “Were ye hoping tae find something useful tae send tae yer faither? Some tidbit of information he could use against us?”

The accusation stung worse than it should have. “Nay! I wasnae—I would never⁠—”

“Wouldn’t ye?” He stopped an arm’s length away. “Ye’re Keith MacKenzie’s daughter. Fer all I ken, this whole injured innocent act is exactly that—an act. Maybe ye’ve been playing me from the start, gathering information while I’ve been fool enough tae trust ye.”

“That’s nae fair!” The words burst out before she could stop them, hurt and anger mixing in her chest. “I’ve done naething but tell ye the truth since I arrived here. I’ve answered every question, followed every rule⁠—”

“Except the one about staying out of places ye dinnae belong.” His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. “Me office. Me private papers. What exactly were ye hoping tae find, Moyra?”

Her gaze dropped to her hands. She was still holding the letters. Shame crept through her chest, then bloomed hot across her skin. He was right—she’d violated his privacy, crossed a line she had no business crossing. But the accusation that she was spying for her father made something fierce and wounded rise in her throat.

“I wasnae looking fer anything.” She thrust the bundle toward him, meeting those eyes despite how they made her pulse race. “I saw the light and thought... I dinnae ken what I thought. That maybe understanding ye better would help me understand why ye keep saying ye’re nae me enemy when everything about this situation suggests otherwise.”

Something shifted in his expression—the hard edge softening just a fraction. He took the letters from her hands, his fingers brushing hers for a heartbeat.

“These are from the Covenant,” he said finally, his voice losing some of its sharp edge. “Five men who were once me sworn enemies before we became braithers.”

Moyra blinked, trying to process that. “Enemies? But I thought the Loch Eilein Covenant was formed tae prevent⁠—”

“It was.” He moved past her to the desk, setting the bundle down with careful reverence. “After the Battle of Loch Eilein, when we were all just lads barely six years old, it was decided the only way to prevent another bloodbath was tae raise us taegether. Five heirs from five different clans, trained side by side, bound by oath and shared trauma.” His hand went unconsciously to his scarred shoulder. “We grew up taegether. Learned tae trust each other despite everything our families’ histories said we shouldn’t.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard. This wasn’t the calculating politician or the commanding laird—this was just a man remembering something precious and painful all at once.

“Dae ye truly believe that?” she asked quietly, moving closer despite her better judgment. “That transformations like that—from distrust tae loyalty—are truly possible?”

Euan said nothing. His eyes went somewhere else—somewhere years away, full of battles and blood-brothers. When his gaze finally returned to her, she forgot how to breathe.

“Aye,” he said finally. “I dae. Because I experienced it. We all did.” He gestured to the letters. “These men—Calum, David, Archibald, Lachlann—they’re closer tae me than blood. We’ve saved each other’s lives more times than I can count. Trust each other with things we’d never tell our own clans.” His jaw tightened. “So aye, Moyra. I believe people can change. That enemies can become allies. That trust can be built even when everything says it shouldn’t be possible.”

The words hung between them like a challenge and an offer all at once. Was he talking about his Covenant brothers? Or about something else entirely?

“Were ye going tae write to them?” She nodded toward the fresh parchment on his desk, the quill still wet with ink. “When I... interrupted?”

“Aye.” Some of the tension had left his shoulders, though wariness still lingered in his eyes. “They need tae ken what’s happening here. About yer faither’s letters, the threats, the—” He stopped, something almost like embarrassment crossing his scarred face.