Page 69 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The scream of metal on metal ripped Moyra from sleep.

She bolted upright in bed, heart hammering against her ribs, disoriented by the unfamiliar weight of Euan’s arm still draped across her waist. Dawn light spilled through the window and the sight of him—solid and real beside her—made last night’s intimacy crash back with devastating clarity.

Saints, what had she done?

His grey eyes opened, finding hers immediately. A slow smile curved his mouth, softening the harsh lines of his face in ways that made her chest ache. “Morning, lass.”

The tenderness in his voice was too much. Moyra scrambled backward, yanking the sheet up to cover herself despite how his hands had mapped every inch of her skin just hours ago. “I need—I should⁠—”

“Moyra.” He reached for her, concern replacing the warmth in his expression. “What’s wrong?”

Everything. Nothing. She didn’t know anymore. The night before had been perfect—overwhelming and terrifying and more than she’d ever imagined possible. But morning light brought reality crashing back: her father’s threats, the Council’s expectations, the impossible situation she’d somehow made worse by surrendering to feelings she couldn’t afford.

“I need tae get dressed.” She slid from the bed, grabbing her discarded shift with shaking hands. “People will talk if ye’re seen leaving me chamber.”

Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. When she finally dared glance at him, Euan’s expression had gone carefully neutral—that laird’s mask sliding into place, hiding whatever he’d been feeling behind cold stone.

“Aye.” He rose, retrieving his own clothing with controlled movements. “Wouldnae want tae damage yer reputation.”

The bitterness in his tone made her flinch. “That’s nae what I meant⁠—”

“Isnae it?” He pulled his shirt over his head, wincing slightly as fabric caught on his injured shoulder. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like ye regret last night. Like I took advantage when ye were vulnerable and now ye want tae pretend it never happened.”

“That’s nae fair.” Hurt and confusion warred in her chest. “Ye ken that’s nae what⁠—”

“Then what, Moyra?” He turned to face her fully, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes stole her breath. “What is this? Because I need tae ken if last night meant something or if it was just⁠—”

A horn blast from the courtyard cut him off. Then another, followed by the organized chaos of guards mobilizing.

Euan’s posture shifted immediately, warrior replacing wounded man. He moved to her window, looking down at the commotion below. Whatever he saw made his expression lighten fractionally.

“The Covenant braithers.” Something almost like relief crossed his features. “They’re here.”

“Now?” Her voice came out strangled.

“Apparently.” He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. When he looked back, his eyes held none of their earlier warmth. “We’ll finish this conversation later. Whether ye want tae or nae.”

Then he was gone, and Moyra stood alone in her chamber, still clutching the sheet to her chest, wondering how something so beautiful had turned complicated so quickly.

Euan descended the stairs three at a time, his shoulder protesting the movement but his mind too turbulent to care. The look on Moyra’s face when she’d woken—like she’d made a terrible mistake, like touching him had been something to regret—that cut deeper than any blade ever had.

He’d known. Had known letting himself feel this deeply would end in disaster. But saints help him, when she’d gasped his name the night before, when she’d surrendered herself so completely, he’d thought⁠—

He’d thought wrong. Clearly.

The courtyard was controlled chaos. Three horses bearing the colors of MacKinnon, MacDonald, and MacRae stood near the gate, their riders already dismounted and laughing with his guards. Euan felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders at the sight of them—three of his brothers in all but blood, the men who’d survived Loch Eilein’s nightmare alongside him.

“Well, well.” Calum MacKinnon spotted him first, his tawny hair catching sunlight as he grinned. “The laird emerges. And here we thought ye’d sleep through our arrival.”

“Some of us were awake before dawn.” Euan clasped Calum’s forearm, feeling the familiar strength of his friend’s grip. “Unlike lazy bastards who sleep until midmorning.”

“We traveled through the night,” David MacDonald corrected, his dark eyes sharp with the intelligence that made him their strategist. “And arrived at a perfectly reasonable hour. Ye’re just growing soft in yer old age.”

“Soft,” Archibald MacRae rumbled, his massive frame making Euan look almost delicate by comparison. “Is that what we’re calling it? Because from the looks of ye, brother, I’d say something else entirely has been keeping ye awake.”

Heat crawled up Euan’s neck. “Dinnae start.”