Page 137 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"He hit ye."

"Aye. When I tried tae fight him."

Something dark flickered across Lachlann's face. "Good that he's dead, then."

"Aye," she said. "Good that he's dead."

He finished with her arm and stood to get a clean cloth for her face. When he turned back, she was looking at him with that same unreadable expression.

"What?" he said.

"Ye're bleedin'," she said.

He looked down.

There was blood on his shirt, not a lot, but enough. He'd taken a glancing blow across his ribs during the fight and hadn't registered it until now.

"It's naethin'," he said.

"Let me see."

"Alba."

"Lachlann." She stood and crossed to him. "Let me see."

He sighed and pulled off his shirt.

The cut wasn't deep, barely more than a scratch, really, but it was bleeding steadily and would need cleaning.

"Sit," she said, pointing at the chair.

"I'm fine."

"Sit."

He sat.

She cleaned the wound with the same careful attention he'd used on her, her hands gentle despite the slight tremor in them.

He watched her work.

The concentration in her face, the way she bit her lower lip when she was focusing.

He felt the last of the urgency drain out of him, leaving only exhaustion and a profound, bone-deep relief.

"Thank ye," she said quietly, still focused on his ribs. "Fer comin' fer me." She paused, her hands stilling.

He reached up and tilted her chin so she was looking at him. "I'll always come fer ye," he said. "That's nae negotiable."

She held his gaze for a long moment, and then she leaned down and kissed him, soft and careful and entirely deliberate.

When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with tears.

"Ye're mine," she said. "Ye ken that, aye? Legally, formally, in every way that matters. I protect what's mine too."

He smiled, the first real smile he'd managed since the bells had woken him that morning.

"Aye," he said. "I ken."