Page 40 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The horse stumbled, and Moyra’s breath caught.

Not from fear—the mare recovered quickly, sure-footed despite the treacherous path—but from the sheer impossible beauty spread before them. The hidden northern route clung to cliffs so steep they seemed to defy reason, yet Euan guided his destrier along the narrow track with the confidence of someone who’d ridden it a thousand times.

Dawn painted the sea in shades of fire and gold, waves crashing against rocks far below with a violence that should terrify but instead made something wild and free unfurl in her chest. Salt wind whipped her braid loose, sending copper strands dancing around her face, and for the first time since leaving the Highlands months before, Moyra felt like she could breathe.

“Careful here.” Euan’s voice carried back to her, rough and warm despite the wind. “The path narrows.”

She urged Mist closer to his destrier, close enough to see the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his scarred hands held the reins with gentle confidence.

The path opened suddenly onto a small plateau—barely twenty feet across, sheltered by towering rock formations that blocked the worst of the wind. Below, the sea raged eternal. Above, the sky stretched endless and vast.

Euan dismounted first, his limp more pronounced after the hard ride but his movements still fluid as he moved to help her down. Those large hands found her waist again, and Moyra’s pulse kicked as he lifted her from the saddle with that same effortless strength that made her feel delicate and protected all at once.

“Welcome tae me favorite place in all the Highlands.” He released her slowly, as if reluctant to break contact. “Few ken it exists. Fewer still can reach it.”

Moyra moved to the cliff’s edge, drawn by the raw power of waves battering stone. The drop was dizzying—hundreds of feet of sheer rock face before the churning sea below. One wrong step would mean death, swift and final.

She leaned forward slightly, drinking in the view.

“Careful, lass.” Euan’s voice held warning. “The edge is unstable in places.”

“I’m being careful.” She took another step, wanting to see the exact point where cliff met ocean. “I just want tae⁠—”

The ground shifted.

Not dramatically—just a subtle give beneath her boot, stone crumbling where erosion had weakened the cliff face. But it was enough to send her balance tilting forward, momentum carrying her toward empty air and rocks that would shatter bones like glass.

A scream tore from her throat.

Then strong arms wrapped around her waist, yanking her backward with such force they both crashed to the solid ground several feet from the edge. Euan’s body cushioned her fall, his chest pressed against her back, one arm banded across her ribs while the other hand splayed protectively over her stomach.

For several heartbeats, neither moved. Moyra’s pulse hammered against her ribs, adrenaline making her shake as the reality of how close she’d come to death crashed through her mind. Beneath her, Euan’s chest rose and fell in harsh pants, his heart pounding so hard she could feel it through both their layers of clothing.

“Are ye hurt?” His voice came out ragged against her ear, breath warm on her neck. “Moyra, are ye hurt?”

“Nay.” The word came out breathless. “I’m—ye caught me. Ye caught me.”

His arms tightened fractionally, as if the thought of releasing her was physically painful. “Aye. I caught ye.”

She should move. Should put proper distance between them before this embrace turned into something neither of them could take back. But her body refused to cooperate, too busy trembling with the aftershocks of near-death to care about propriety.

And beneath the fear, beneath the shock, something else sparked to life. Awareness of every point where their bodies touched. The solid warmth of his chest against her back. The careful strength in arms that could have crushed her but held her as if she were made of spun glass. The way his thumb traced small, soothing circles against her ribs, probably unconscious but devastatingly intimate all the same.

“That’s twice now,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. “Twice ye’ve saved me life.”

“Why dae ye insist on giving me heart failure on me watch?” But there was no anger in his tone, only relief so profound it made her chest ache. “Can ye sit up? Let me see if ye’re injured.”

Moyra rolled carefully, bracing one hand on his chest as she shifted to face him. The movement brought them impossibly closer—her legs tangled with his, her face mere inches from the scar that traced his jaw, close enough to count individual lashes framing those beautiful eyes that watched her with an intensity that stole what little breath she’d managed to recover.

“I’m fine.” She pressed her palm against his chest, feeling his heart still racing beneath muscle and bone. “Just shaken.”

“Just shaken,” he repeated flatly. His hands moved to her shoulders, running down her arms as if checking for breaks, then back up to cup her face with a gentleness that made tears prick behind her eyes. “Ye nearly went over that cliff, Moyra. If I’d been a second slower⁠—”

“But ye weren’t.” She covered one of his hands with hers, anchoring him to the present instead of whatever terrible scenario was playing in his mind. “Ye saved me. Again.”

Something shifted in his expression—the concern giving way to something darker, more dangerous. His thumb traced her cheekbone, and she watched his gaze drop to her mouth before snapping back up to her eyes with visible effort.