Page 6 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"I'm askin' fer yer hand, Alba." His voice dropped lower, more intense. "Marry me. Become Lady MacLean."

Alba stiffened, recognizing the danger immediately. This was no polite inquiry or a tentative courtship—this was a demand dressed up as an offer, and the possessive way Torquil held her made it clear he'd already decided she would be his.

"I'm afraid that's nae possible," she managed, trying to keep her voice steady. "Any discussions about marriage would need tae go through me braither, as is proper⁠—"

"Yer braither is in England." Torquil's smile turned cold. "And from what I understand, he's made nay arrangements fer ye. I'm offerin' ye security, Alba. Protection. Nae many lairds would be so generous tae a woman whose braither left her so... vulnerable."

The threat beneath his words was unmistakable. Alba's mind raced, searching for a way out of the conversation, out of the dance, away from that man who was holding her too tight and smiling like a predator who'd cornered his prey.

"I must respectfully decline," she said firmly, lifting her chin. "I have nay interest in marriage at this time, and even if I did⁠—"

"Ye misunderstand, lass." Torquil's fingers dug into her waist hard enough to bruise. "I wasnae askin' fer yer permission. I was extendin' ye the courtesy of hearin' it from me first, before I make the formal arrangements with yer clan."

Alba's heart hammered against her ribs. She opened her mouth, though she had no idea what words would come out⁠—

"I'm afraid the lady has already promised this next dance tae me."

CHAPTER TWO

"I'm afraid the lady has already promised this next dance tae me."

The voice was deep and familiar, and it sent relief flooding through Alba's veins like whisky warmth.

Lachlann MacNeil stood at her shoulder, his storm-grey eyes fixed on Torquil with an intensity that could have frozen a loch in summer.

He was taller than the MacLean laird, broader through the shoulders, and there was something in his posture—relaxed but ready—that spoke of a warrior who'd seen real battle.

Torquil's smile tightened. "I wasnae aware Lady MacKinnon had made any prior commitments."

"Well, now ye are." Lachlann's tone was pleasant enough, but there was steel beneath it. He turned to Alba, and his expression softened slightly. "Are ye ready, lass?"

Alba's heart hammered against her ribs for an entirely different reason now. "Aye," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. "I am."

She placed her hand in Lachlann's, and the warmth of his palm against hers made her breath catch.

His fingers closed around hers—gentle but sure—and she felt the calluses from years of sword work, of hauling ropes on longships, of a life lived in service to his clan.

Torquil's jaw clenched. "Perhaps after this dance, Lady MacKinnon⁠—"

"I'm afraid Lady MacKinnon's evenin' is quite full," Lachlann interrupted smoothly. "But I'm sure ye'll find nay shortage of willin’ partners, Laird MacLean. Lady Blair was just mentionin' how much she enjoys dancin'."

It was a dismissal, polite but absolute.

Torquil's cold blue eyes flickered between them, and Alba could practically see him calculating whether to push the matter. But Lachlann was a laird in his own right and one of the five men bound by the Loch Eilein Covenant. Challenging him publicly would be foolish.

"Of course," Torquil finally said, his smile sharp as broken glass. "Enjoy yer dance."

He melted back into the crowd, but Alba could feel his gaze on her like ice water down her spine.

"Come," Lachlann murmured, his hand moving to the small of her back as he guided her toward the center of the ballroom where other couples were forming sets. "Let's get ye away from that bastard."

"Lachlann…"

"Later." His voice was low, meant only for her ears. "Smile, Alba. Half the room is watchin'."

She was suddenly, acutely aware of the attention they'd drawn.

Lady Campbell was whispering behind her fan to another woman. Several young warriors were watching with poorly concealed interest. Even David MacDonald had turned from his conversation to observe them with a thoughtful expression.