Page 103 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"It's about Alba."

Every muscle in Lachlann's body went tense. "What about her? Has somethin' happened?"

"Nay, naethin' like that." James moved closer, lowering his voice even though they were alone. "But we need tae talk about yer intentions."

"Me intentions?"

"Aye." James crossed his arms. "I've kenned ye since we were lads, Lachlann. I've seen ye with women before—flirtations, passing interests, even a few serious courtships. But the way ye look at Alba MacKinnon?" He shook his head. "That's different. That's⁠—"

"More," Lachlann finished quietly. "Aye. It is."

"So, what are yer intentions?"

"I want her." The words came out rougher than intended. "Fer meself. Properly. Nae just as someone under me protection or me best friend's sister or any other excuse I've been tellin' meself. I want Alba MacKinnon as me wife."

Silence fell between them.

James studied him for a long moment. "Ye're certain? Because once ye say that out loud, once ye act on it, there's no goin' back."

"I'm certain." Lachlann had never been more certain of anything in his life. "I ken it's complicated. I ken Calum might refuse. But I cannae keep pretendin' this is just duty or honor or protectiveness. It's more than that."

"Then ye need to ask him." James's voice was firm. "Properly. Before this goes any further. Because if Calum finds out ye've been courtin' his sister without his knowledge or permission⁠—"

"He'll have me head. Aye, I ken." Lachlann rubbed his face tiredly. "But he's in England. It could be weeks before we hear back."

"Then ye write the letter taenight. Send it with riders tomorrow." James's expression softened slightly. "And Lachlann? Make it good. Make it clear this isnae just about protectin' her from Torquil or fulfillin' some obligation. Make him understand what she means tae ye."

The thought of putting his feelings into words, of confessing to Calum that he'd fallen for Alba despite every reason he shouldn't have, made Lachlann's chest tight.

But James was right.

He couldn't keep hiding this. Couldn't keep pretending it was anything less than what it was.

"I'll write it taenight," Lachlann said. "And I want Donald tae deliver it, like last time. He is the only one I trust with this. The only one who willnae let the letter fall into the wrong hands."

James moved toward the door, then paused. "Fer what it's worth? I think ye're good fer each other. I've seen the way she looks at ye too. And because that lass is as stubborn and brave as ye are, ye'll either make each other completely miserable or deliriously happy. Probably both."

Despite everything, Lachlann felt his mouth curve. "That's reassurin'."

"Just bein' honest." James grinned. "Now go write that letter before ye lose yer nerve."

He left, and Lachlann was alone with his thoughts and the weight of what he was about to do.

Two hours later, Lachlann sat at his desk surrounded by crumpled parchment. He'd started the letter four times, each attempt feeling more inadequate than the last.

How did you tell your best friend, your Covenant braither, that you'd fallen in love with his sister?

Finally, on the fifth try, the words began to flow:

Calum,

I'm writin' tae ye about a matter that cannae wait fer yer return, though God knows I wish I could have this conversation face tae face rather than through ink and parchment.

Alba is here, at Barra, under me protection as ye ken. Ye also ken about the incident at Dunstaffnage, Torquil MacLean's attempt tae force her hand. That I intervened and brought her tae me lands, where she'd be safe from his schemes.

That's the simple version. The truth is more complicated.

I've developed feelings fer yer sister. Deep feelings that go far beyond duty or obligation or the bonds of the Covenant. I've tried tae fight them, tried tae convince meself it was just protectiveness or concern. But I cannae lie tae ye, Calum. Nae about this.