Page 74 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“Now.” He bit out the word like a command, ignoring the way his brothers had gone silent, ignoring everything except the need to get her away from Calum’s easy charm before he did something spectacularly stupid.

Moyra’s eyes narrowed. “Ye dinnae get tae order me about like⁠—”

“Please.” The word tasted like ash but he forced it out anyway. “I need tae speak with ye. In private.”

For a long moment, she simply stared at him. Then slowly—reluctantly—she stood. “Fine. But this better be important.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, just turned and strode toward the small herb garden behind the kitchens where they’d have privacy. Behind him, he heard her footsteps, heard her muttering that suggested she was as angry as he felt.

Good. Let her be angry. At least anger was honest.

Moyra barely cleared the garden gate before Euan rounded on her, his grey eyes blazing with something that looked dangerously like fury.

“What exactly dae ye think ye’re daeing?” he demanded.

“Having lunch?” She crossed her arms, matching his anger with her own. “Is that suddenly forbidden?”

“That’s nae what I mean and ye ken it.” He moved closer, crowding her against the stone wall in ways that made her pulse race. “Ye’re playing games, Moyra. Dangerous games.”

“Games?” Indignation flared hot in her chest. “I was enjoying the company of yer friends. Friends who, I might add, have been kinder tae me than yer clan’s been in⁠—”

“Kinder?” The word came out harsh. “Is that what we’re calling Calum’s flirting? Kind?”

Understanding crashed through her fury. “Ye’re jealous.”

“I’m nae—” He stopped, jaw clenching. “Ye’re under me protection. Under me roof. That means ye follow certain rules.”

“Rules.” Her laugh held no humor. “And what rules would those be, exactly? The ones where I cannae speak tae other men? Where I have tae sit quietly and pretend I dinnae exist unless ye deign tae acknowledge me?”

“That’s nae what I said.”

“Then what are ye saying?” She pushed away from the wall, getting right in his face despite how he towered over her. “Because it sounds an awful lot like ye want tae control who I spend time with. Like ye think ye have some claim on me just because I⁠—”

She stopped, heat flooding her face.

Euan’s eyes darkened. “Just because ye what, Moyra? Finish that sentence.”

“Ye ken what.” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “This morning. When I woke up and everything felt wrong and I panicked. That’s what this is about, isnae it? Ye’re angry because I⁠—”

“I’m angry because ye looked at me like I’d hurt ye. Like what we’d shared was something tae regret instead of—” He cut himself off, turning away with visible effort. “And now ye’re down there laughing with Calum like I dinnae even exist.”

“Euan—”

“Ye’re right. I dinnae have rules about who ye speak tae.” He faced her again, and the devastation in his eyes made her breath catch. “But watching ye with him, watching him touch ye, watching ye give him the smiles that were mine—Saints, Moyra, it’s killing me.”

Before she could respond and tell him that the smiles were easy because they meant nothing, that Calum’s flirting felt safe precisely because it stirred none of the overwhelming feelings Euan did—a horn blast shattered the moment.

Euan’s entire body went rigid, warrior instincts snapping into place. “Stay here.”

“Like hell.” She followed him as he strode back toward the courtyard, where chaos had already erupted.

People streamed through the gates—villagers, from the look of them, their faces soot-stained and terrified. Women clutched children. Men supported wounded companions. And over everything hung the acrid smell of smoke.

“What’s happening?” Moyra grabbed a passing servant.

The girl’s eyes were wide with shock. “Attack on the western village. Fire. They used fire.”

Ice flooded Moyra’s veins. She fought through the crush of bodies until she spotted Euan, commanding the center of the maelstrom. His brothers had already closed ranks beside him, their jovial masks replaced by the hard focus of warriors who’d seen it all before.