Page 79 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"She's breathin'. But they struck her." Lachlann's voice shook with barely controlled fury. "Hard, from the look of it."

"We should get her back tae the castle. Let Morag tend tae her properly."

"Aye." Lachlann carried Alba to his own horse, mounting carefully with her cradled against his chest. "James, take command. Get those bastards secured and bring them back. I'm ridin' ahead."

He didn't wait for a response.

Just turned his horse toward home and urged it into a careful canter, fast enough to cover ground quickly, but smooth enough not to jostle Alba too badly.

She remained unconscious throughout the ride, her breathing steady but shallow. Lachlann kept one arm locked around her waist, the other controlling the reins, his attention divided between the path ahead and the woman in his arms.

Please be all right. Please, God, let her be all right.

The prayer repeated itself over and over as they rode, the castle growing larger on the horizon.

I cannae lose her. I cannae.

The gates opened as they approached.

Guards rushed forward, voices calling out questions, but Lachlann ignored them all. He dismounted still holding Alba, refusing to let anyone else touch her, and carried her straight through the halls to his own chamber.

Not hers. His.

Where he could watch over her. Where he'd know immediately if she woke.

Morag was already waiting, summoned by a runner who'd seen them coming. She took one look at Alba and immediately began barking orders for water, clean cloths, and her medicine bag.

"Set her on the bed, me laird. Gently now."

Lachlann laid Alba down carefully, his hands reluctant to release her. Morag shooed him back, but he only moved a few steps, watching as the healer began her examination.

"The bruise is bad but the skull daesnae seem fractured," Morag said after a moment. "She'll have a fierce headache when she wakes, and probably some nausea. But I think she'll be all right."

"Ye think?" Lachlann's voice came out rougher than intended. "Or ye ken?"

"I'm a healer, nae a prophet." But Morag's tone was gentle. "These head wounds are tricky things. But her pupils respond tae light, and her breathin' is steady. Those are good signs. "

It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. But it was all he had.

Time blurred as Morag worked, cleaning the wound, applying a cool compress, covering Alba with blankets. Lachlann stood by the window, his arms crossed, watching every movement with hawk-like intensity.

Eventually, James arrived with news that both kidnappers were secured in the dungeon and Thomas had been found hiding in the stables.

"What dae ye want done with them?" James asked.

"Keep them locked up. I'll deal with them when—" Lachlann's gaze went to Alba. "Later. When I ken she's safe."

James followed his look, something shifting in his expression. "Ye should rest, me laird.”

"I'm fine."

"Ye're exhausted. And if she wakes tae find ye collapsed from lack of sleep⁠—"

"She'll wake tae find me here. That's all that matters."

James was quiet for a long moment. "Calum's goin' tae hear about this eventually. About how far ye went tae get her back. About what she means tae ye."

The words hung heavy in the air.