Page 7 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

Alba lifted her chin and let Lachlann lead her into position as the musicians began a reel. His hand settled on her waist, and she placed hers on his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath it.

"Ye shouldnae have done that," she said quietly as they began to move through the steps. "Torquil MacLean isnae a man who takes kindly tae bein' thwarted."

"Torquil MacLean can go straight to hell," Lachlann replied, his tone conversational despite the venom in his words. "Did ye want tae dance with him?"

"Nay."

"Then I did exactly what I should have done." His grey eyes met hers, and there was something fierce in them that made her pulse quicken. "Ye looked like a hare caught in a snare, Alba. Did ye truly think I'd just stand there and watch?"

"It wasnae yer responsibility."

"Aye, it was." They turned in time with the music, his hand firm and steady at her waist. "Calum asked me tae keep an eye on ye while he's in England. That's exactly what I'm daein'."

Alba's stomach dropped. Of course. Of course that's why he'd intervened. Her brother had asked him to watch over her, to protect her in his absence. It had nothing to do with her specifically, and everything to do with Lachlann's loyalty to Calum.

She should be grateful. She was grateful. But beneath the relief was a treacherous thread of disappointment that she had no right to feel.

"I didnae ken Calum had asked that of ye," she said, keeping her voice light.

Lachlann's hand tightened fractionally on her waist as they moved through a turn. "Yer braither's in England dealin' with trade negotiations, and ye're at a ball full of ambitious lairds and too much wine. Of course I've been watchin' ye."

"How... reassurin'."

His lips quirked. "Ye're angry."

"I'm nae angry."

"Ye are. Yer shoulders just tightened, and ye get this particular look in yer eyes when ye're tryin' nae tae lose yer temper." He guided her through another series of steps with easy confidence. "I've known ye since ye were a wee lass, Alba. I can read ye better than ye think."

That was precisely the problem, wasn't it? Lachlann had known her for years—watched her grow from a grieving child into a woman. But he still saw her as Calum's little sister, someone to be protected and watched over. Not as...

Not as what? What did she want him to see when he looked at her?

Alba pushed the dangerous thought away. "I'm nae angry," she repeated, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I'm grateful ye intervened. Torquil was makin' me uncomfortable."

"I noticed." Something dark flickered across Lachlann's face.

Lachlann was quiet for a moment as they moved through the dance. Around them, other couples swirled and laughed, but Alba was hyperaware of the man holding her—the warmth of his hand, the way he smelled of leather and salt air, the small scar above his left eyebrow that she'd never dared ask about.

"If he approaches ye again taenight," Lachlann finally said, his voice low and serious, "ye come find me immediately. Dae ye understand?"

"Lachlann, I'm nae helpless."

"I ken ye're nae helpless, Alba. But Torquil MacLean is dangerous." His grey eyes held hers, and she could see genuine concern there beneath the command. "He's ambitious and cunnin’, and he daesnae take nay fer an answer. Promise me ye'll be careful."

The intensity in his gaze made her throat tight. "I promise."

"Good."

They finished the reel in silence, moving through the final steps with a synchronicity that felt natural, inevitable. When the music ended and Lachlann released her, Alba felt the loss of his touch like cold wind against her skin.

He glanced around the ballroom, and his jaw tightened. "When are ye leavin'?"

"Soon. Me escorts are probably waitin' already, I told them I wouldnae stay late."

"Good. I'll walk ye out."

"Ye dinnae need tae."