Page 71 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"I ken." She squeezed his hand. "I ken it wasnae yer fault. But that daesnae make it any easier tae see ye hurt."

"I'm sorry, lass."

"Dinnae be." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Just... heal. Please."

"Aye." His eyes were already drifting closed, exhaustion and pain finally catching up. "I will."

Alba stayed until his breathing evened out, until she was certain he was truly asleep. Then she carefully extracted her hand and slipped from the room.

Alba couldn't sleep.

She tried. God knew she tried. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lachlann bleeding in the courtyard, saw the arrow protruding from his side, felt the terror that had gripped her chest like a vice.

Finally, she gave up.

The castle was quiet as she slipped from her chamber, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders against the chill.

Her feet carried her through familiar corridors, up winding stairs, toward the walls where the night air would be cold and clear and might somehow settle the chaos in her mind.

She emerged onto the battlements, expecting solitude.

Instead, she found Lachlann.

He stood at the far edge, one hand braced against the stone, looking out over the dark expanse of ocean.

Moonlight painted him in shades of silver and shadow, catching in his hair, outlining the strong line of his shoulders.

"Ye should be restin'," Alba said softly, moving toward him.

He turned, unsurprised by her presence. "So should ye."

"I couldnae sleep."

"Neither could I."

She reached his side, noting the careful way he held himself, favoring his injured side. "Daes it hurt?"

"Aye." He didn't bother lying. "But I've had worse."

Alba wanted to argue, to scold him for being out of bed when Morag had explicitly ordered rest. But instead she moved closer to enjoy the view of the island.

Wind whipped across the battlements, cold and sharp. Alba shivered.

Immediately, Lachlann carefully shrugged off the cloak he'd draped over his shoulders and wrapped it around her instead.

"Ye'll freeze," she protested.

"I'm fine." He adjusted the fabric, pulling it snug around her shoulders before drawing her against his side. "Better now, actually."

They stood like that, pressed close for warmth, watching the waves crash against the rocks far below. The ocean stretched endless and dark, broken only by scattered moonlight dancing across the surface.

"We have the prisoner," Lachlann said after a while. "The archer. Tomorrow I'll have tae question him."

Alba nodded against his shoulder. "What will ye ask?"

"How many men Torquil has. What his plans are. Whether this was just a scoutin' party or somethin' more." His arm tightened around her. "Anythin' that might help us prepare."

"And if he willnae talk?"