Page 109 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

Alba handed one over, stepping into the kennels properly.

The familiar smell of dogs and hay washed over her, comforting and warm. Storm immediately appeared at her side, his great grey head butting against her hand for attention.

"Hello, lad." Alba scratched behind his ears, balancing the remaining bowls carefully. "Hungry, are ye?"

She set the bowls down in their designated spots and stood back as all three dogs dove in with single-minded enthusiasm.

Captain ate with dainty precision despite his excitement. Bracken inhaled his food as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. Storm ate steadily and methodically, pausing twice to check on Alba's whereabouts before returning to his bowl.

"Right." Orla leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and her eyes dancing. "Out with it."

"Out with what?"

"Ye're practically glowin', me lady. Ye've been glowin' since ye rode through those gates." Orla tilted her head. "And ye came back with pine needles in yer hair and sand on yer boots, which is interestin' given the direction ye went ridin' this mornin'."

"I fell." Alba kept her eyes on the dogs. "On the path."

"Ye fell." Orla's tone made it very clear she believed nothing of the sort. "Right."

Silence stretched.

Storm finished his bowl and came to lean against Alba's leg with his full considerable weight, as though sensing she needed the support.

"He asked me to marry him," Alba said finally.

The sound Orla made was somewhere between a gasp and a shriek that made all three dogs look up from their bowls.

"He what?" Orla pressed both hands to her mouth. "Lachlann? In the courtyard, just now, when ye rode back? Was that what happened?"

"Aye."

"And ye said aye?"

"Aye."

Orla made the sound again, louder this time.

Bracken abandoned his bowl entirely to investigate, sniffing at her boots with concerned intensity.

"And he's written tae Calum," Alba continued, smiling despite herself at Orla's reaction. "Fer permission. James left with the letter this mornin'."

"He wrote tae yer braither first." Orla's eyes were shining. "He did it properly."

"Well, he asked me before the letter technically arrived," Alba admitted. "But the intent was there."

"Me lady." Orla crossed the distance between them and grasped both her hands, heedless of the dogs circling their feet. "Dae ye love him?"

The question was simple and direct. Just like Orla.

"Aye." No hesitation. "I dae. I think I have fer longer than I want tae admit."

"And he loves ye?"

"He said as much." Alba felt warmth bloom in her chest at the memory of Lachlann's voice, rough and certain and completely sincere. "On his knee, in the middle of the courtyard, with grooms watchin’."

Orla laughed, the sound bright in the quiet kennels. "Oh, I wish I'd seen that. Lachlann MacNeil, kneelin' in the courtyard like a besotted lad."

"He was very dignified about it," Alba said, though she was grinning.