Page 101 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

The casual admission stole her breath. Not a grand declaration or dramatic confession—just simple truth spoken in a firelit library while she held a book of fairy tales and he looked at her like she was the cleverest heroine in any legend.

“Fairly certain?” She managed to keep her voice steady despite how her heart hammered. “That’s quite the romantic declaration, husband.”

“I’m nae good at romantic declarations.” His mouth quirked. “But I’m excellent at truth. And the truth is ye’ve gotten under me skin in ways I never expected. Every note ye leave, every sketch of hedgehogs, every moment ye make me stop brooding long enough tae breathe—it makes me realize I dinnae just want ye safe. I want ye happy. I want ye laughing. I want—” He paused. “I want ye tae stay. Even after this war is over, even when there’s nay strategic reason tae bind us together. I want ye tae choose tae stay because ye want tae, nae because ye have tae.”

“Euan—”

“Ye dinnae have tae say anything.” He released her hand, turning back toward the maps as if he could hide behind military strategy. “I just needed ye tae ken. Before Keith’s forces arrive. Before everything becomes complicated again. I needed ye tae ken that this—us—it’s real fer me. Whatever happens next.”

Moyra set the book aside carefully. Then she caught his face, turning him back toward her with gentle insistence.

“Ye’re an idiot,” she said, but warmth colored the words. “I’m already in love with ye. Have been since ye carried me from the garden after me nightmare and didnae once make me feel weak fer needing comfort.” She kissed him softly. “So aye, I’m staying. Nae because strategy demands it, but because I cannae imagine me life without yer brooding presence and notes.”

His laugh came rough, almost disbelieving. “Ye’re sure? Because once Keith’s defeated, once the threat is gone⁠—”

“I’ll still be here.” She kissed him again, deeper this time. “Being irritated by yer stubbornness and charmed by yer rare smiles and absolutely certain I made the right choice.” She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I love ye, Euan MacLeod. War or peace, strategy or sentiment—that’s nae changing.”

He pulled her into his lap with sudden urgency, the maps scattering as his mouth found hers. The kiss was desperate and claiming and full of emotions neither of them had quite dared voice until now. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against hers.

“Read more,” he said roughly. “About the clever heroine. I want tae hear how the story ends.”

So she did, settled in his lap with his arms around her waist, reading fairy tales in a firelit library while the castle slept and war approached. Her voice wove through the quiet, telling tales of heroines who won through wit rather than force, of impossible quests completed through determination and love.

And occasionally—between chapters, during quiet moments—Euan would interject observations that made her laugh or ask questions that showed he was paying attention to every word. His comments grew more relaxed as the hour stretched, his grip on her waist loosening from desperate hold to comfortable embrace.

“That’s terrible logic,” he observed when the heroine made a particularly risky bargain. “She’s going tae regret that.”

“Have some faith.” Moyra turned the page. “The clever ones always find a way out.”

“Like ye?” His lips brushed her temple. “Finding a way out of yer faither’s schemes?”

“Like us,” she corrected. “Finding a way through whatever hell is coming.”

She continued reading, her voice soft and steady, while Euan held her close and the library fire burned low and for just that moment, the world beyond those walls ceased to exist.