Page 90 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

Lachlann returned to the table and pulled out the stack of letters James had left for him—reports from scouts, requests from clansmen, correspondence from neighboring lairds.

He began working through them methodically, but his awareness never left the woman sitting quietly across the room.

"So," Alba said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "When ye all saw me at Loch Moy... did ye talk about it afterward?"

Lachlann looked up, grinning. "Oh, aye. Extensively."

"Lachlann!"

"I cannae believe—" Alba shook her head, but she was smiling now. "All this time..."

"Ye were adorable." The word slipped out before he could stop it.

Silence fell.

Lachlann kept his eyes fixed on the letter in front of him, not daring to look up and see her reaction.

"Adorable," Alba repeated finally, her voice strange.

"Aye. Sixteen, thinkin' ye were invisible in those trees while ye watched us swim. It was—" He risked a glance. "Sweet."

Their eyes met across the room. Alba's cheeks had gone pink again, but not from embarrassment.

"Ye're terrible at correspondence when I'm here," she observed, her voice softer now. "Ye've been starin' at the same letter fer five minutes."

"That's because ye're distractin'."

"I'm just sittin' here."

"Aye. And it's very distractin'."

Alba's smile turned mischievous. "Should I leave then? Let ye focus?"

"Nay." The answer came too quickly, too certainly. "Stay. I'll manage."

"If ye're sure."

"I'm sure."

He returned to his work; or tried to.

But every few minutes, his gaze would drift back to Alba, watching the way afternoon light caught in her hair, the small smile that played at her lips, the peaceful contentment in her expression.

And Lachlann found he didn't mind the distraction at all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Ye're late."

Alba rounded the corner of the castle wall and found Lachlann waiting near the bird enclosure, arms crossed, but his eyes were warm with amusement rather than actual reproach.

"I am not," she protested, slightly breathless from hurrying. "Ye said after the noon meal, and it's barely⁠—"

"Quarter past." He gestured to the sundial on the garden wall. "Definitely late."

"Fifteen minutes is hardly—" Alba stopped when she saw his grin. "Ye're teasin' me."

"Aye. And ye're adorably flustered about it." Lachlann turned toward the enclosure, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Come on then. She's been waitin' fer ye."