Page 91 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

His entire focus had narrowed to the woman before him—copper hair caught back simply, green eyes wide with nerves and determination, cream gown making her look ethereal despite the very real courage it had taken to walk down this aisle. She was beautiful. Always had been, even filthy and defiant in that Norham cell. But seeing her there, choosing him⁠—

“The vows,” Father Dougal prompted gently.

Right. Euan forced his attention to the priest, though his hands never released Moyra’s. Her fingers trembled in his grip.

“Euan MacLeod, will ye have this woman tae be yer wedded wife? Will ye protect her, honor her, forsaking all others as long as ye both shall live?”

“I will. I swear before God and these witnesses—I’ll protect her with me life. I’ll honor her choices. And I’ll stand between her and anyone who tries tae harm her, including her own faither if necessary.”

Moyra’s breath caught. Those weren’t traditional vows, but he needed her to understand. This wasn’t just strategy.

“Moyra MacKenzie,” Father Dougal continued, “will ye have this man tae be yer wedded husband? Will ye stand beside him, support him, forsaking all others as long as ye both shall live?”

She met Euan’s gaze, and he saw fear give way to certainty.

“I will.” Her voice carried stronger than expected. “I’ll stand beside ye against whatever comes. I’ll help protect yer clan. And I’ll choose ye—every day, fer as long as we both draw breath.”

The addition made Euan’s throat tight. She’d just promised to choose him. Not from necessity, but because she wanted to.

“Then by the power vested in me,” Father Dougal said, “I pronounce ye husband and wife. What God has joined, let nay man put asunder.” He paused, ancient face crinkling. “Ye may kiss yer bride, Laird MacLeod. Though I’d suggest keeping it brief—I can hear yer men getting restless.”

Nervous laughter rippled through witnesses. But Euan didn’t care about them.

“Come here, wife,” he murmured.

Moyra rose on her toes as he bent down. His free hand cupped her face and then his mouth found hers.

The kiss was supposed to be chaste. Proper. A simple seal on vows.

It was none of those things.

Heat exploded between them—tension igniting like dry kindling. Euan’s control cracked, his mouth opening over hers, claiming her with thoroughness that had nothing to do with propriety. She was his now. His wife. His to protect and⁠—

Moyra made a soft sound against his mouth, her free hand fisting in his cloak, pulling him closer despite the armor between them. She kissed him back with equal fervor, all hesitation burned away.

Calum whistled appreciatively.

Father Dougal cleared his throat. Loudly.

Euan forced himself to pull back, though it took every ounce of willpower. Moyra’s lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with awareness that made his blood run hot.

“That was nae brief,” she breathed.

“Nay. But necessary.”

“Necessary?”

“Tae make it real. Tae make sure ye ken exactly what ye’ve just agreed tae.”

“And what’s that?”

“Being married tae a man who’s nae going tae be patient or proper when it comes tae ye.” His voice dropped lower, meant only for her ears. “A man who’s going tae want ye—often and thoroughly.”

Color flooded her cheeks, but her eyes held challenge. “Good. Because I’m nae interested in a husband who treats me like glass.”

“Congratulations, braither!” Calum’s voice shattered the moment, grin wide. “Though I have tae say, that kiss was entirely too enthusiastic fer a chapel.”

David joined them. “Welcome tae the family, Lady MacLeod. May ye survive yer husband’s stubbornness with yer sanity intact.”