Page 82 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Rest," he murmured. "Ye need tae rest."

"Stay with me?"

"Always, lass." He shifted, making room beside her on the bed. "Always."

Alba settled against his chest, his arm secure around her shoulders. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear, steady and strong and alive.

"Tell me more," she said quietly. "About yer braither. About what he was like."

So Lachlann did.

He spoke softly in the darkness, sharing memories of a younger brother who'd been brave and reckless and full of life. Of the guilt that had haunted him ever since. Of how every person he'd failed to protect since then—every close call, every near-miss—brought it all rushing back.

And Alba listened, her hand over his heart, offering what comfort she could simply by being there. By being safe. By being alive.

Time passed in quiet conversation and long silences filled only with breathing and the crackle of the fire.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"Ishould let ye rest."

Lachlann started to rise from the bed, careful not to jostle Alba too much. But her hand shot out, catching his wrist.

"Wait."

He froze, looking down at her. "Lass, ye need tae sleep. Properly."

"I ken what I need." Alba's fingers tightened on his wrist. "And right now, that's fer ye tae stay."

"Alba—"

"Please." Her eyes met his, dark and earnest in the candlelight. "But first... there's a book. In me chamber. On the table beside the window. Could ye fetch it fer me?"

Lachlann frowned slightly. "Ye should be restin', nae readin'."

"I willnae be able tae rest if me mind keeps churnin' through everythin' that happened." She released his wrist, settling back against the pillows. "The book will help. It always daes."

He understood that. The need to escape into something outside yourself when your own thoughts became too heavy to bear.

"All right," he said quietly. "I'll get it. But then ye need tae actually sleep, aye?"

"Aye."

Lachlann left his chamber and moved quickly through the corridors, nodding to the guards he passed but not stopping to speak with any of them. Alba's room was exactly as it had been when he'd found it empty—the window still open, the brush still on the floor.

He crossed to the table she'd mentioned and found the book there. Small, leather-bound, well-worn from frequent reading. He picked it up, catching the faint scent of lavender that seemed to cling to everything Alba touched.

She had been there and then she wasn’t.

The thought sent fresh anger flooding through him. Anger at himself for not posting more guards. Anger at Thomas for his betrayal. Anger at Torquil for orchestrating all of it.

But mostly anger at the helpless terror he'd felt when he'd realized she was gone.

Lachlann closed his fingers around the book and headed back to his own chamber.

Alba was exactly where he'd left her, propped against the pillows with her eyes closed. But they opened when he entered, a small smile touching her lips.

"Ye found it."