Page 23 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"I've always loved being outdoors," she said, more to herself than to Orla. "Gardens make me feel... steady. Like the world makes sense again."

"I can understand that," Orla said quietly. She pointed to a section near the back wall. "That's where the kitchen herbs are grown. Cook comes out herself every mornin’ tae pick what she needs. And over there"—she gestured to a sunny corner—"that's where the laird grows his medicinal plants. He learned from his maither, he did. Kens more about healin’ herbs than half the trained healers."

Alba moved toward the medicinal garden, examining the plants with interest.

Yarrow for wounds. Chamomile for calm, like the tea he'd brought her the night before. Comfrey and calendula and a dozen others she recognized from her own limited knowledge.

She touched a leaf gently, and for the first time since the attack, she felt herself truly relax.

"This area gets the most sun," Orla continued, warming to her subject. "And over there, by the fountain, that's where the roses are. They're nae bloomin’ yet, but when they dae, the whole garden smells like heaven."

They walked slowly through the garden as the morning warmed around them. Orla pointed out which areas were tended daily, which plants needed the most care, which paths were the laird's favorites for his early morning walks.

Alba absorbed it all, feeling the peace of the garden seep into her bones. There, surrounded by growing things and sunlight and the gentle hum of bees, Torquil and his threats seemed very far away. There, she could almost believe everything would be all right.

"Thank ye," she said to Orla, meaning it more deeply than the simple words could convey, "fer showin’ me this."

"It's me pleasure, me lady." Orla smiled. "Would ye like tae sit fer a bit? There's a bench under that apple tree that catches the breeze."

Alba nodded, and they settled onto the stone bench together, the dappled shade cool and welcoming.

For a long moment, they sat in comfortable silence, listening to the sounds of the garden—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of seabirds, the gentle splash of water from the fountain.

For the first time since leaving Dunstaffnage Castle, Alba felt like she could breathe.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“We need tae prepare fer winter…”

The council chamber was warm despite the open windows, and Lachlann found his attention drifting as Malcolm Maclyon, one of his father's oldest advisors—droned on about grain stores and winter preparations.

Important matters, certainly. Necessary matters. But after two days with almost no sleep and the constant worry about Alba gnawing at his gut, Lachlann was finding it difficult to focus.

"—and if we increase the tithin’ from the southern farms by even half a percent…"

"We're nae increasin’ the tithin’," Lachlann interrupted. "The southern farms had a poor harvest last year. They're still recoverin’. We'll make dae with what we have."

Malcolm's bushy eyebrows drew together. "But me laird, with an extra mouths tae feed⁠—"

"A few extra people willnae strain our resources," Lachlann said flatly. "What else?"

The men around the table exchanged glances.

James, sitting at Lachlann's right hand, kept his expression carefully neutral, but Lachlann could feel his friend's amusement.

"Speakin’ of extra mouths," Duncan, the head of the castle guard, said carefully, "there's been talk. About our... guest."

"What kind of talk?" Lachlann's voice went cold.

"Just questions, me laird. About Lady MacKinnon and why she's here. About whether harborin’ her might bring trouble from this Torquil MacLean we've been hearin’ about."

"Let me make this very clear." Lachlann leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. "Lady MacKinnon is under me protection. This is the type of protection that the covenant established. She's here because circumstances required it, and she'll remain here until it's safe fer her tae return tae her clan. That is nae open fer debate. Is that understood?"

Duncan nodded quickly. "Aye, me laird. I meant nay disrespect."

"Then there's naething more tae discuss on that matter." Lachlann's gaze swept the table, meeting each man's eyes in turn. "Alba MacKinnon is a guest in this castle, tae be treated with the same respect ye'd show any visitin’ lady. Anyone who has a problem with that can bring it tae me directly."

Silence settled over the council chamber. No one seemed inclined to argue.