Page 58 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“That’s nae an answer.”

“It’s the only answer ye’re getting taenight.” He finally looked at her, and the protectiveness blazing in those grey eyes made her breath catch. “Ye dinnae need that burden right now.”

“Because I’m too fragile tae handle it?” Edge crept into her voice despite her best efforts. She was tired of being treated like glass, tired of people making decisions for her supposed benefit. “Too broken by me time in the dungeon tae deal with me own faither’s schemes?”

“Because ye’ve had a terrible night and deserve a few hours of peace before dealing with more of Keith MacKenzie’s cruelty.” His tone stayed level, but she heard the frustration beneath it. “That’s nae about weakness, lass. That’s about me trying tae give ye what little comfort I can.”

The fight drained out of her as quickly as it had risen. “I’m sorry. I just—I hate feeling useless. Like all I dae is cause problems while everyone else deals with the consequences.”

“Ye’re nae useless.” The words came out rough, almost fierce. “And the problems aren’t yers. They’re yer faither’s, and he’ll answer fer them eventually.”

“The Council must hate me,” she said quietly.

“The Council will accept what I tell them tae accept. And I’ve made me position very clear.”

He settled back against the blankets, deliberately putting space between them. The distance felt like a reminder of all the reasons they shouldn’t have been there together in the pre-dawn light. “Now stop worrying about things that aren’t yer concern and try tae rest. Dawn’s coming, but we’ve got a few hours before the castle truly wakes.”

Moyra studied him for a long moment, taking in the strong lines of his profile, the way the growing light caught in his dark hair, the tension in his shoulders that spoke of burdens he carried alone. He’d given her so much—rescue, safety, understanding when she’d expected judgment.

And he’d asked for nothing in return except that she trust him.

She lay down on the blankets, curling onto her side. The grass was soft beneath the wool, and the sound of the stream rushing past soothed something in her battered soul. But she didn’t feel quite safe yet. Didn’t feel like the nightmare had truly released its grip.

“Will ye stay?” The question came out softer than she’d intended, almost tentative. “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Aye.” His voice rumbled through the quiet garden, rough with something she couldn’t quite name. “I’ll stay.”

The promise settled over her like a warm and secure blanket. Moyra let her eyes drift closed, listening to the eternal rush of water and the steady rhythm of Euan’s breathing behind her. The nightmare’s claws finally loosened their grip, replaced by the certainty that she was safe—not locked in darkness but lying under open sky with a man who’d promised to protect her.

A man who’d kept every promise so far.

She slept, falling into darkness that held no terror because she could hear the stream, could feel fresh air on her face, could sense Euan’s solid presence keeping watch over her.