Page 73 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“That’s nae true.” But Moyra’s protest lacked conviction. Euan had been avoiding her since his brothers had arrived, throwing himself into patrols and training with single-minded intensity that spoke of a man running from something.

Running from her.

“Ignore them,” Calum said, leaning closer. “They’re just bitter because Euan’s always been the responsible one while the rest of us caused chaos.”

“Caused chaos?” Archibald’s eyebrows climbed. “Ye set fire tae the MacRae stables when ye were twelve.”

“It was an accident!”

“Ye were trying tae impress a lass.”

“Which makes it completely justified.” Calum turned back to Moyra, his expression turning sly. “Speaking of which, have I mentioned how lovely ye look today? That green brings out yer eyes.”

She laughed and swatted his arm. “Ye’re shameless.”

Euan’s hands clenched on the stone parapet hard enough to hurt.

From his vantage point, he could see everything—the easy way Moyra laughed at Calum’s jokes, the way she leaned into his space as if they’d known each other for years instead of hours. Something dark and vicious coiled in his chest, sharp enough to steal breath.

Jealousy. Raw and unfiltered and utterly unreasonable.

She’d made her position clear that morning after they’d—after he’d—Saints, he couldn’t even think about it without heat flooding his face and fury tightening his gut. She’d woken up regretting everything, had practically fled from his presence, and now she was down there letting Calum MacKinnon flirt with her like she’d never gasped Euan’s name in the darkness.

“Ye’re going tae break that stone if ye grip any harder.” Niall’s voice came from behind him, dry and knowing. “Or possibly yer own hand.”

“I’m fine.”

“Ye’re about three seconds from storming down there and daeing something ye’ll regret.” His friend moved to stand beside him, following his gaze to the courtyard below. “Such as murdering yer oldest friend fer the crime of making the lass smile.”

“I’m nae going tae murder anyone.”

“Nay?” Niall’s tone suggested he didn’t believe that for a second. “Because the look on yer face says otherwise. Ye ken Calum’s just being Calum. He flirts with everything that moves. It daesnae mean anything.”

“I ken that.” But knowing and accepting were two different things. Especially when Moyra laughed again—that genuine sound of delight that made something in his chest crack open.

“Then why are ye up here instead of down there?” Niall asked quietly. “Why are ye letting him have all her attention when ye clearly want it fer yerself?”

Because she’d made it clear she didn’t want his attention. Because every time he got close, she pulled away like he burned her. Because that morning had proven that whatever connection he’d felt between them had been one-sided delusion.

“She’s free tae spend time with whoever she chooses,” Euan said, his voice coming out rougher than intended.

“Aye. And ye’re free tae be a miserable bastard about it.” Niall shook his head. “But I’m telling ye if ye keep this up, ye’re going tae lose her. Nae tae Calum necessarily, but tae yer own stubborn pride.”

Before Euan could respond, Calum’s laugh rang out again, followed by Moyra’s delighted shriek as he evidently said something particularly outrageous. Euan watched her swat his arm, watched Calum catch her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles with exaggerated gallantry.

Something inside him snapped.

He was moving before conscious thought caught up, taking the stairs three at a time. By the time he reached the courtyard, his pulse hammered and his vision had narrowed to a single point—Moyra’s hand still held in Calum’s, their heads bent close together.

“Moyra.” Her name came out harsh. “A word. Now.”

She looked up, startled, and something flickered across her face—guilt? Defiance? He couldn’t read it through the red haze clouding his judgment.

“We’re in the middle of lunch,” she said carefully.

“It cannae wait.”

“But—”