Page 70 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Give me yer hand, me lady."

Alba extended her palm, keeping her other hand firmly wrapped around Lachlann's. She barely felt the needle pierce her skin, too focused on watching his face, on the way his jaw clenched despite the pain he had to be in.

"There," Morag said, tying off the final stitch. "Both of ye are patched up now. Me laird, ye'll need tae rest fer at least three days. Nay ridin', nay trainin'."

"Three days?" Lachlann tried to sit up. "I have a prisoner tae question, patrols tae⁠—"

"Three. Days." Morag's voice brooked no argument. "Or those stitches will tear and ye'll be stuck in that bed fer three weeks instead. Yer choice."

Lachlann's jaw worked, but he nodded.

"Good." Morag turned to Alba. "Keep him still, me lady. And dinnae let him convince ye otherwise. He's worse than a child when it comes tae followin' orders."

"I heard that," Lachlann muttered.

"Ye were meant tae." Morag gathered her supplies, heading for the door. "I'll check on ye both tomorrow. Try nae tae dae anythin' foolish before then."

The door closed behind her, leaving them alone.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and their slightly uneven breathing.

"Ye should rest," Alba said finally, though she made no move to release his hand.

"So should ye."

"I'm fine."

"Ye're exhausted. I can see it in yer eyes."

"That goes fer us both."

His mouth curved. "Aye, well. We make quite a pair, dinnae we?"

"A pair of stubborn fools," Alba agreed. But she was smiling now, the terror of earlier slowly fading into something softer.

They sat like that for a long while, hands clasped, neither willing to be the first to let go.

Outside, the castle settled into evening rhythms. Footsteps passed in the corridor. Voices drifted up from the courtyard.

Eventually, James returned to help Lachlann back to his own chamber—a process that involved considerably more cursing and stubborn pride than strictly necessary.

Alba walked beside them, steadying Lachlann when he swayed, ignoring his protests that he was perfectly capable of walking on his own.

By the time they got him settled in his bed, full darkness had fallen outside the windows.

"Thank ye," Lachlann said quietly as James left to check on the prisoner.

"Fer what?"

"Fer bein' here. Fer stayin'." His hand found hers again. "Fer carin' enough tae worry."

"Of course I worried." Alba's voice went soft. "I told ye tae be careful."

"I was careful."

"Clearly nae careful enough."

"Alba—"