Page 92 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“Lady MacLeod.” Moyra tested the name. “That’s going tae take some getting used tae.”

“Ye’ve time.” Archibald massive hand clapped Euan’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him. “Assuming yer faither daesnae kill us all first.”

The reminder of Keith’s approaching forces cast a shadow over the chapel’s warmth. Around them, witnesses began filing out—returning to duties that couldn’t wait, to defenses that needed manning.

“We should go,” Euan said. “There’s much tae be done.”

“Wait.” Moyra caught his arm. “Just... one more moment. Please.”

He understood. This small pocket of peace—this brief window where they could be just Euan and Moyra—wouldn’t last. Once they left this chapel, duty would consume them both.

So he gave her that moment. Stood with her in candlelit space while Father Dougal tidied his prayer book, while Catriona dabbed at her eyes, while the last witnesses disappeared into the cold dawn.

“Are ye all right?” he asked.

“I just married a man I met barely a few weeks ago. A man whose clan has been enemies with mine fer generations. A man who’s about tae go tae war with me faither.” Her laugh held an edge of hysteria. “So nay, I’m nae all right.” She paused, her hand finding his. “But I’m nae sorry either.”

“Neither am I.”

“Even though this is going tae be complicated?”

“Especially because of that.” He pulled her closer, conscious of armor between them but needing contact anyway. “I’ve spent me whole life daeing what’s expected. Following duty. Making safe choices.” He cupped her face, making sure she saw truth in his eyes. “But ye? Choosing ye—that’s the first thing I’ve done purely because I wanted tae. Because when I look at ye, I see something worth fighting fer. Something that goes beyond duty or obligation.”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said tae me.”

“Is it? Because I was going fer honest rather than romantic.”

“It can be both. Now come on, husband. Let’s go face whatever the hell me faither’s bringing.”

He took her hand, threading their fingers together, and led her from the chapel into the grey dawn. Outside, Dunvegan bustled with organized chaos—guards manning walls, refugees being moved to safer quarters, the Covenant brothers already deep in discussion about defense strategies.

And somewhere on the horizon, Keith MacKenzie’s ships prowled closer.