Page 42 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“Then he claims we’re afraid of what she’d say. That we’re keeping her isolated because the truth would expose our cruelty.”

Euan dragged a hand through his hair, exhaustion and frustration warring in his chest.

And through it all, Moyra remained caught in the middle—a pawn neither side would relinquish but neither truly protected.

Except she wasn’t just a pawn anymore. Not to him.

The realization settled over him like a weight and a benediction all at once. Somewhere between finding her in that dungeon and holding her on the clifftop, she’d become something else entirely. Something dangerous and precious and utterly terrifying.

“I need tae talk tae her.” He moved toward the castle, ignoring Niall’s knowing look. “About the letter. About what Keith’s demanding.”

“Or ye could let her rest first.” Niall’s voice followed him. “Given that she nearly died this morning and all.”

“Which is exactly why I need tae talk tae her now.” Euan paused at the entrance, glancing back at his friend. “Before Keith’s next scheme puts her in even more danger.”

He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t want to hear whatever wisdom Niall might offer about the foolishness of his growing attachment to Keith MacKenzie’s daughter. Some truths were better left unspoken until they couldn’t be ignored any longer.

Moyra was still shaking when Catriona found her.

“Me lady?” The maid’s voice came soft with concern. “Are ye all right? Ye look pale as a ghost.”

“I’m fine.” The lie tasted bitter. “Just tired from the ride.”

“The laird sent word.” Catriona moved to the wardrobe, pulling out a fresh gown. “He needs to speak with ye. Says it’s urgent.”

Of course he did. Because apparently the universe had decided today needed to be as complicated as possible.

“Tell him—” Moyra stopped, catching sight of herself in the mirror. Wild hair, flushed cheeks, eyes too bright with emotions she didn’t want to examine. She looked like a woman who’d nearly died and nearly kissed a man in the span of minutes. “Tell him I’ll be in his office in an hour.”

Catriona’s knowing smile made heat crawl up Moyra’s neck. “As ye wish, me lady.”

Alone again, Moyra sank onto her bed, pressing both hands to her racing heart. She could still feel the imprint of Euan’s arms around her. Could still see the way his eyes had darkened when he’d touched her hair. Could still remember the devastating pull toward him that had nothing to do with gratitude and everything to do with the dangerous attraction she’d been trying desperately to ignore.

This was a disaster. She was supposed to be planning her escape, maintaining her distance, remembering he was a MacLeod and she was a MacKenzie and their families had been enemies for generations.

Instead, she was replaying the way his thumb had traced her cheekbone. The rough timbre of his voice when he’d said her name. The absolute certainty that if those birds hadn’t startled them, she would have kissed him and damn the consequences.

A knock at her door made her jump.

“It’s just me again, me lady.” Catriona’s voice held apology. “The laird says he cannae wait an hour. He’s coming up now.”

“What? Nay—I’m nae ready⁠—”

But the door was already opening, and there stood Euan MacLeod, filling the frame with his broad shoulders and intense grey eyes and that scar that traced his jaw like a brand.

The same jaw she’d almost kissed not two hours past.

“We need tae talk,” he said, his voice rough and determined. “About yer faither. About what comes next.”

Moyra straightened her spine, trying to look composed despite her wild hair and racing pulse. “Then talk, Laird MacLeod. I’m listening.”

But as he stepped into her chamber and closed the door behind him, she couldn’t help wondering if either of them were ready fer whatever conversation was about tae happen.

Or if some words, once spoken, could never be taken back.