Page 94 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Hence the letter."

"Aye."

Alba looked down at their still-clasped hands. "I liked the letter. The idea that ye'd think of me even when ye couldnae be there."

"I'm always thinkin' of ye, Alba." The words came out quiet but certain. "More than I probably should."

Her pulse jumped. "What daes that mean?"

"It means—" Lachlann paused, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "It means with ye, I want tae share everythin'."

"Everythin'?"

"Aye." His free hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "The good parts and the hard parts. The things I'm proud of and the things I regret. All of it."

Alba's heart felt too large for her chest. "I want that too. Tae ken all of ye."

"Even the parts that might frighten ye?"

"What could possibly frighten me about ye?"

Lachlann's expression turned serious. "The depth of what I feel. How much I want things I have nay right tae want." His thumb traced her cheekbone. "How badly I want to keep ye here, safe with me, even kennin’ what that might cost."

"Cost?" Alba's voice wavered. "Ye mean Calum."

"Aye." The single word carried weight. "Me best friend. Me Covenant braither. The man who would be furious if he kent I was touchin' his sister like this. Lookin' at her like this."

"And are ye? Touchin' me? Lookin' at me?" Alba's breath had gone shallow. "In ways ye shouldnae?"

"Every chance I get," Lachlann admitted roughly. "And I keep tellin' meself tae stop. Tae step back. Tae remember me duty and his trust. But then ye smile at me, or ye spy on me council meetin's, or ye learn tae fly me falcon—" His hand slid into her hair. "And I ferget every reason why I should stay away."

Alba leaned into his touch despite knowing she shouldn't. "I'm nae askin' ye tae stay away."

"Ye should be. Fer both our sakes."

"Maybe I'm tired of daein' what I should."

Lachlann's eyes darkened. "Alba⁠—"

"I'm nae afraid of what ye feel, Lachlann. Or what I feel." She lifted her free hand to his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath her palm. "The only thing that frightens me is the thought of ye pullin' away."

"Ye dinnae ken what ye're askin'."

"Then tell me. Explain it. Help me understand." Her fingers curled into his shirt. "But dinnae pull away. Please."

For a long moment, Lachlann just looked at her—conflict and desire warring in his expression. Then his forehead dropped to rest against hers.

"Ye're goin' tae be the death of me, lass," he whispered.

"Or maybe yer salvation."

His laugh was rough and breathless. "Maybe both."

They stood like that as the sun continued its descent, wrapped in each other's space, breathing the same air. Branwen dozed peacefully on her perch, unbothered by the humans and their complicated feelings.

And Alba felt something shift and settle in her chest, a certainty that whatever happened next, whatever complications arose with Calum or the Covenant or anything else—that was where she wanted to be.

Right there, with Lachlann's hand in her hair and his heart beating against her palm and the future stretching before them uncertain but undeniably theirs to shape.