Page 86 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“When is the time? When Keith’s forces are battering down our gates? When more villages burn?”

“Once again, I’ll nae force her intae anything she daesnae want. I’ll nae trap her the same way her faither did.”

“Even if refusing means watching yer people die?”

Moyra watched emotions war across Euan’s scarred face—duty battling desire, responsibility fighting fierce protectiveness.

She was tired of men making decisions for her.

Time to start making her own moves.

“Then we should get married.”

Both men’s heads snapped toward her. Euan’s eyes widened, his mouth opening then closing.

“Moyra—” He found his voice first. “Ye dinnae have tae⁠—”

“Dinnae tell me what I have tae dae.” She crossed the distance between them, chin lifting. “Ye just finished saying I get tae make me own choices. Well, this is me choosing.”

“Ye’re choosing marriage tae solve a political crisis.” His eyes searched her face. “That’s nae what I want fer ye.”

“What dae ye want fer me, then?” The challenge came out sharp. “Tae watch more people die while I sit here being useless? Tae let me faither destroy everything because I’m too proud?”

“It’s nae about pride⁠—”

“Then what is it about?” She stepped closer. “Unless ye dinnae want tae marry me?”

“That’s nae even a question worth answering.”

“Then answer it anyway.”

“Christ, Moyra.” His scarred hand cupped her face. “I want ye. But wanting ye and forcing ye intae marriage because of political necessity—those are different things.”

“Who says ye’re forcing me?” She covered his hand with hers. “Maybe I’ve come tae care about yer clan enough that I’ll dae whatever it takes tae keep them safe.”

“Even marry a man ye barely ken?”

“I ken ye well enough.” The truth settled over her. “I ken ye’re stubborn and brooding and entirely too noble. I ken ye make children smile and refugees feel safe.”

Niall cleared his throat. “I’m going tae check on those ships. And give ye two some privacy.”

He fled.

Alone with Euan, Moyra felt the weight of her offer settle over her shoulders.

“Are ye certain?” Euan’s voice had gone rough. “Once we dae this, there’s nay going back.”

“I’m certain.” And she was. “I’m tired of running from things that scare me. Tired of letting fear make me choices.” She rose on her toes, bringing their mouths close. “So aye, Euan MacLeod. I’ll marry ye. I’ll stand beside ye against me faither. And I’ll dae it because I choose tae.”

His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that tasted of promise and possession. When he pulled back, his eyes blazed.

“Then we’d better make it official,” he said roughly. “Before I change me mind about being noble and take ye against that bookshelf again.”

Despite everything, Moyra felt her mouth curve. “Who says I’d object?”

His answering growl made her toes curl. But he stepped back, putting proper distance between them.

“After we deal with yer faither. After we make ye me wife in truth,” he promised. His scarred hand found hers. “Then I’ll take me time showing ye exactly what marriage tae me entails.”

The promise in his voice made her shiver. But outside, danger approached. Inside, refugees huddled in halls that should have been safe.

The time fer passion was later. Now was the time for survival.

“Then let’s go tell yer Council,” Moyra said, squeezing his hand. “Before I lose me nerve entirely.”