Page 18 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

Stop it. She's Calum's sister. Under yer protection.

"Drink the tea. Try tae rest. We'll be sailin' fer another while, but ye're safe here. I promise."

"I ken."

And the way she said it—with absolute trust, with complete certainty—did something dangerous to his heart.

"Thank ye again, Lachlann. Fer everything."

He nodded once. “Goodnight, Alba."

Then he turned and walked back down the passage. Each step away from her door felt wrong, like he was abandoning his post, leaving her unguarded.

He went back to the deck, into the cold salt air, and stood at the rail while the mainland lights grew small behind them and let himself think about exactly none of it.

The boat moved steadily south toward Barra, and Lachlann MacNeil looked at the dark water ahead and reminded himself, carefully and thoroughly, of every reason why Calum MacKinnon's sister was the one person on this boat he had no business thinking about.

He stood there until he had almost convinced himself.

Alba cradled the warm cup in her hands. She took a small sip, letting the soothing herbs wash over her tongue, and felt some of the tension begin to drain from her shoulders.

The boat creaked softly around her, a constant gentle rhythm that was oddly comforting. She could hear footsteps above, crew members moving about, securing lines and adjusting sails. The sound of water against the hull. The distant call of night birds from the shore they were leaving behind.

She drank the tea slowly, savoring its warmth, and tried not to think about what was to come. About what would happen when they reached Barra or how Calum would react when he learned what had happened.

About the way Lachlann had looked at her when he'd handed her the tea, like she was something precious that needed protecting.

By the time she'd finished the cup, her eyelids were growing heavy. She set it aside carefully and lay down on the narrow bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

But sleep didn't come easily.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of the attack. Heard Torquil's voice promising her a marriage she didn't want. Felt the cold press of his dagger against her throat.

She shifted restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position, trying to quiet her racing mind.

The boat creaked. The water lapped.

Time passed—she didn't know how much. An hour, maybe more. The sounds of the crew gradually faded as the night watch was set and the others retired below deck.

And then, cutting through the gentle sounds of the ship, she heard it.

Snoring.

Loud, rattling snoring that echoed through the narrow passages like a dying beast struggling for breath.

Alba sat up, listening in disbelief. It was coming from somewhere very close, the cabin next to hers, she realized. And it was so loud, so utterly impossible to ignore, that she knew sleep was now completely out of the question.

She lay back down and pulled the blanket over her head, but it did nothing to muffle the sound.

Another rattling snore, this one ending in a slight whistle.

Alba gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the other sounds—the water, the creaking wood, anything but the ungodly noise coming from the next cabin.

It didn't work.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only another ten minutes, Alba gave up. She threw off the blanket, grabbed her shawl, and stepped into the passage.

The snoring was even louder out there, and she had no trouble identifying which door it was coming from. The cabin directly next to hers, just as she'd suspected.