Page 61 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Fire Fair exploded around Moyra like a living thing.

The sky was darkening, torches blazing against it, flames whipping in the wind. Music poured out from all directions—fiddles and drums, people singing songs she’d never heard. Everything smelled like roasted meat and pastries and smoke. It made her hungry all over again.

She’d never seen anything like it.

The villagers had transformed the meadow into something special. Stalls lined the field with bright fabric stretched overhead, dancers circled the bonfire, and children ran shrieking and laughing through the crowds. Even the air felt different—alive with energy that made her heart beat faster.

“Careful, lass.” Euan’s voice rumbled beside her, warm with amusement. “Close yer mouth before ye swallow a moth.”

Moyra snapped her jaw shut, heat flooding her cheeks. But when she looked up at him, his eyes held nothing but gentle teasing. He’d dressed for the occasion—a fresh shirt, dark leather breeches that made her pulse stutter, his hair tied back to keep it from his scarred face. The firelight caught on the strong lines of his jaw, the exact curve of his mouth, and she had to force herself to look away before she did something foolish.

Like rise on her toes and kiss him again.

“I’ve never been tae a Fire Fair,” she admitted, trying to redirect her thoughts. “Me faither said they were—” She stopped, not wanting to ruin the night with Keith MacKenzie’s opinions.

“Barbaric?” Euan supplied, his mouth quirking. “Pagan? Beneath the dignity of proper Highland nobility?”

“All of the above.” She let him guide her deeper into the fair, his large hand warm at the small of her back. “He preferred formal gatherings. Controlled events where everyone knew their place.”

“This is the opposite of controlled.” He gestured to the chaos around them—a juggler tossing flaming torches while a crowd cheered, two men engaged in what looked like a friendly wrestling match, women dancing with abandon that would scandalize any formal gathering. “But that’s the point. One night where rank daesnae matter. Where a laird can laugh with his crofters and everyone’s equal under the fire’s light.”

The philosophy behind made her smile. This was what leadership should look like—not her father’s cold manipulation, but genuine connection with the people he protected.

“Come.” Euan’s hand found hers, his scarred fingers threading through her smaller ones. “Let me show ye what ye’ve been missing.”

He pulled her toward a stall where an older woman stood behind rows of wooden bows and quivers bristling with arrows. An archery contest, from the look of the targets set up fifty paces away.

“Fancy trying yer hand?” The challenge in his eyes made her spine straighten.

“I’ve never shot a bow in me life.”

“Then it’s past time ye learned.” He selected one of the smaller bows, testing its draw before handing it to her. “Every Highlander should ken how tae shoot.”

Moyra took the weapon, surprised by its weight. The wood was smooth beneath her fingers, warm from the fire’s heat. She notched an arrow the way she’d seen done, drawing back the string⁠—

“Nae like that.” Euan moved behind her, his chest pressing against her back as his hands covered hers. “Ye’ll shoot yer own foot off with that stance.”

His breath ghosted across her neck as he adjusted her grip, sending fire racing down her spine. She felt the solid warmth of him surrounding her, the careful strength in hands that guided rather than controlled, the way his voice dropped to that rough whisper that made her stomach clench.

“Like this.” He moved her arms slightly, positioning the bow. “Feet wider. Weight balanced. And dinnae hold yer breath—let it flow out as ye release.”

Moyra tried to focus on his instructions rather than how his body felt pressed against hers. The bow. The target. Anything except the heat pooling low in her belly or the way her pulse hammered in places it absolutely shouldn’t.

“Ready?” His lips brushed her ear, probably by accident but it felt deliberate enough to make her shiver.

She released.

The arrow wobbled through the air, barely making it halfway to the target before dropping into the grass with an anticlimactic thud. Around them, a few spectators chuckled.

Euan’s chest rumbled against her back. “Well. At least ye hit the ground.”

“Ye’re supposed tae be teaching me, nae mocking me.” But she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her mouth.

“I can dae both.” He handed her another arrow, stepping back just enough to give her space. “Try again. This time, remember what I showed ye.”

She did better on the second attempt—the arrow at least reached the target, though it bounced off the outer edge rather than sticking. The third shot actually embedded itself in the wood, albeit nowhere near the center.