Page 80 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"I ken," Lachlann said quietly. "And I'll face that when the time comes. But right now, me only concern is her."

James nodded slowly. "I'll post guards outside yer door. Let me ken when she wakes."

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

Morag finished her ministrations and straightened. "There's nothin' more I can do now except wait. Call me when she wakes, aye?"

"Aye. Thank ye, Morag."

The healer paused at the door. "She's strong, me laird. She'll come through this. And as tae ye, me laird, ye must rest as well. I will pretend I dinnae ken that ye disobeyed me and went ridin’ tae find her.”

He nodded but said nothing.

Then she was gone, and Lachlann was alone with Alba.

He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat, his elbows on his knees, watching her breathe. The bruise on her temple stood out starkly against her pale skin. Her dark hair spread across his pillow like spilled ink.

I almost lost her.

The thought kept circling back, relentless and terrible. If he'd been slower. If he hadn't guessed the right route. If those bastards had reached the boat⁠—

He would have lost her forever.

And the Covenant, his duty to Calum, his promises—none of it would have mattered because Alba would have been gone.

Lachlann reached out, his fingers finding hers where they lay on the blanket. He held her hand carefully, as though she might break, and bowed his head.

"Come back to me, lass," he whispered. "Please. Just come back."

The hours stretched on. Afternoon light gave way to evening, then to darkness. Servants came and went, bringing food he didn't eat, stoking the fire, lighting candles.

Lachlann never moved from his chair.

He sat there through the night, keeping vigil, his hand wrapped around Alba's, waiting for her to wake.

Alba's first awareness was pain.

Sharp, throbbing pain centered behind her left eye, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

She tried to move away from it, but that just made everything worse—her stomach lurching, the room spinning even with her eyes closed.

"Easy, lass. Dinnae move too fast."

Lachlann's voice. Low and rough and infinitely welcome.

Alba forced her eyes open slowly, squinting against the candlelight. The room swam into focus—unfamiliar walls, a large hearth, dark wooden furniture. Not her chamber.

"Where—" Her voice came out as a croak.

"Me chamber. I had Morag tend tae ye here." A hand touched her forehead, gentle and warm. "How dae ye feel?"

"Like someone hit me with a tree." Alba tried to sit up and immediately regretted it as the room tilted violently. "Oh God."

Lachlann's arms were around her instantly, supporting her weight, holding a basin under her chin as she retched. Nothing came up, her stomach was too empty, but the spasms went on for what felt like forever.

Finally, they subsided. Alba slumped back against the pillows, breathing hard, tears streaming down her face from the effort.

"Sorry," she whispered.