Page 19 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

She raised her hand and knocked, perhaps a bit harder than strictly necessary.

No response. Just another rattling snore.

She knocked again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

"Fer the love of—" Alba muttered, and knocked a third time, practically pounding on the door.

The snoring stopped abruptly. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of movement inside the cabin.

Alba suddenly realized what she'd done. Realized that she was standing in a narrow passage in her ruined dress, about to complain about snoring to whoever it is. She turned to leave and just then the door opened.

Lachlann stood there, shirtless, wearing only his trousers, his hair mussed from sleep and his eyes still heavy-lidded. The lamplight from the passage cast shadows across his bare chest, highlighting the lean muscle and the old scars that marked his skin. The fresh wound on his shoulder had been cleaned and bandaged, she noticed absently, though blood was already seeping through.

Alba froze, her mouth going dry.

"Alba?" His voice was rough with sleep, concerned. "What's wrong? Are ye hurt? Did something happen?"

She should speak. Should explain. Should do literally anything other than stand there staring at his chest like some sort of besotted fool.

"I—" she started, then had to clear her throat. "I heard a noise."

Lachlann's brow furrowed. "A noise? What kind of noise? Where?"

"A... a loud noise. Very loud. Like a..." She gestured vaguely, her cheeks burning. "Like a dyin’ beast."

Understanding dawned on his face, and to her absolute mortification, his lips twitched with amusement. "Are ye tellin’ me," he said slowly, his voice rich with barely suppressed laughter, "that ye woke me up tae complain about me snorin’?"

"It's nae snorin’," Alba said defensively, finally finding her voice even as her face flamed hotter. "It was... that was like something was dyin’ in there!"

"The injustice of it," Lachlann said, his grey eyes dancing with mirth despite his sleepy state. "Being accused of disturbin’ the peace in me own boat."

"Ye were shakin' the very boards with that racket!"

"Was I now?"

"Aye! I mean it!"

Lachlann leaned against the doorframe, and Alba tried very hard not to notice how the movement made the muscles in his chest shift, or how the lamplight caught the planes of his stomach.

"Me deepest apologies, Lady MacKinnon," he said, his tone solemn but his eyes still laughing. "I'll try tae snore more quietly in future."

Alba sputtered, embarrassment and frustration stopping her reply. She spun on her heel and fled back to her cabin before he could respond, his quiet chuckle following her down the passage.

She slammed her door perhaps harder than necessary and stood with her back against it, her heart racing and her face burning so hot she could probably light a candle from it.

She'd just complained about Lachlann MacNeil's snoring. While he was standing there half-naked.

While she was supposed to be a lady. A guest on his boat. Someone he was protecting out of obligation to her brother.

Alba groaned and buried her face in her hands.

From the cabin next door, she heard nothing. Blessed, wonderful silence.

She climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over her head, mortification still burning through her veins.

But despite everything—despite her embarrassment, despite the lingering fear from the day's events, despite the impossible situation she now found herself in—Alba felt her lips curve into a small, helpless smile in the darkness.