Page 11 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

His hands loosened slightly on her arms, and she saw something shift in his expression. “Ye’re right. They dae.”

The admission surprised her enough that she stopped struggling.

“I dinnae ken how tae treat ye,” he continued, his voice rougher now. “Ye’re Keith MacKenzie’s daughter—me enemy’s blood. Ye’re a threat tae my clan’s safety, but also...” He trailed off, seeming to catch himself.

“But also what?” she asked quietly.

“But also someone who daesnae deserve tae be treated as yer faither treated ye,” he said instead.

The sincerity in his voice made her throat tighten. She’d expected more accusations, more suspicion. Not this admission of his own uncertainty.

“Then stop treating me like a spy,” she said. “I heard a sound. I followed it. I ended up at the wrong door. That’s all.”

He studied her face for a long moment, those storm-grey eyes searching hers. Finally, he released her arms and stepped back, giving her space to breathe.

“The sound ye heard likely came from the healer’s chambers,” he said. “They’re on the floor below, but these old stones channel noise upward through the corridors.”

Understanding dawned. “The groaning I heard—that was from yer wounded men?”

“Aye.” He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaustion suddenly visible in the lines around his eyes. “I was coming from checking on them when I saw ye at me office door.”

So he’d simply come upon her there and assumed the worst.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Fer being where I shouldnae have been. I truly was only trying tae help.”

“I ken that now.” He gestured down the corridor toward her chamber. “Come. Ye should be resting, nae wandering dark halls in yer shift.”

His eyes flicked briefly over her linen shift, and she saw heat flash through them before he looked away. The awareness between them crackled like lightning, dangerous and undeniable.

She moved past him, acutely conscious of the small space and the way her shoulder brushed his chest. He fell into step beside her, his presence somehow both threatening and protective.

“There are rules ye need tae follow while ye’re here,” he said as they walked. “Stay away from me office and the council chambers. If ye hear strange sounds at night, wake Catriona or call for a guard rather than investigating on yer own.”

“Because ye dinnae trust me.”

“Because I dinnae trust these situations nae tae put ye in danger.” He stopped outside her chamber door, turning to face her. “Whether that danger comes from crumbling stones, hostile forces, or misunderstandings that make us both look like fools.”

Despite everything, her mouth twitched. “Are ye calling yerself a fool, Laird MacLeod?”

“Try tae stay out of trouble, Lady Moyra. Fer both our sakes.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with everything they weren’t saying. Then Euan stepped back, deliberately putting space between them.

“Get some rest, lass. We’ll talk more on the morrow.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The heavy oak door of Euan’s office slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the stone corridor. He leaned against it for a moment, eyes closed, trying to banish the image of Moyra MacKenzie standing in nothing but a thin linen shift, her damp auburn hair falling around her shoulders like flame.

“Took ye long enough.”

Euan’s eyes snapped open to find Niall sprawled in the chair beside the fire, boots propped on the hearth, a cup of whisky dangling from one hand. His friend’s expression held that particular blend of curiosity and concern that meant questions were coming—questions Euan wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.

“I was ensuring our guest was settled.” Euan moved to the sideboard and poured himself a generous measure of whisky. The burn down his throat did nothing to ease the tension coiling through his muscles.

“Our guest.” Niall’s tone was dry as Highland wind. “Is that what we’re calling Keith MacKenzie’s daughter now?”

“What would ye have me call her?”