Page 105 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

Alba settled onto the blanket, her skirts pooling around her, still holding the scroll like a treasure. "It's perfect."

Lachlann sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "Open it. Tae the part about the battle itself."

She did, carefully unrolling the parchment to the marked section. The illustrations were faded but still visible—crude drawings of warriors, of the loch, of the five young boys who would become the Covenant brothers.

"Read it to me," Alba said softly. "The way yer faither read it tae ye."

So Lachlann did.

His voice carried across the small beach, mixing with the sound of waves and wind as he recited the words he'd heard countless times as a child. Words about courage and sacrifice. About boys forced to become men too soon. About bonds forged in blood and terror that would last a lifetime.

Alba listened, her head gradually tilting to rest against his shoulder. Her hand found his, their fingers threading together naturally.

When he reached the part about the oath, the promises the five survivors had made to each other, his voice grew rougher with emotion.

"We swear by blood and blade, by honor and heart, that we stand as braithers from this day until our last. What threatens one threatens all. What protects one protects all. We are bound beyond clan, beyond politics, beyond even death itself."

"That's beautiful," Alba whispered. "And terrible. Ye were so young."

"Aye. I was six. The others ranged from six to eight. Old enough tae remember everythin'. Young enough that it shaped us completely."

Alba turned to look at him, her dark eyes serious. "Is that why ye're so protective? Because of what happened then?"

"Partly." Lachlann set the scroll aside carefully. "But it's more than that with ye, Alba. It's nae just the Covenant bond. It's⁠—"

He stopped, words failing him.

Alba's hand came up to cup his face. "I ken," she said softly. "I feel it too."

The kiss happened naturally, inevitably.

Lachlann's hand slid into her hair as he pulled her closer, tasting salt air and something uniquely Alba on her lips.

She responded immediately, her arms winding around his neck, pressing against him with a desperate kind of need that matched his own.

"Alba," he breathed against her mouth. "We should—we cannae⁠—"

"Why?" Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "Because of propriety? Because someone might see?"

"Because once we cross this line, there's nay goin' back."

"I dinnae want tae go back." Her fingers curled into his shirt. "I want this. Want ye. Here, now, where it's just us."

"I've written tae Calum," Lachlann admitted, his voice rough. "Asked his permission tae court ye properly. Donald is deliverin' the letter as we speak."

Alba's breath caught. "Ye did?"

"Aye. Because I want more than stolen moments, lass. I want—" He cupped her face in both hands. "I want everythin' with ye."

"Then take it." She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "Take me. Right here, right now. Before the world intrudes again."

Lachlann's control, already hanging by a thread, snapped completely.

He kissed her again, deeper, his hands moving to the laces of her dress with trembling fingers. Alba helped him, both of them fumbling with fabric and ties until finally⁠—

Skin against skin.

Lachlann pulled back just enough to look at her, sprawled on the blanket with her hair spread like dark silk and her eyes heavy with want.