Page 20 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

It did. Plus she had no desire to flee at that moment. Not when the stars spread above them like a blessing, and Euan MacLeod looked at her as if she were something precious rather than a pawn.

“Besides,” he continued, his mouth quirking, “I brought insurance.”

He produced a cloth-wrapped bundle from somewhere within his plaid, and the scent that wafted up made her stomach clench with sudden hunger. “Are those⁠—”

“Oatcakes with honey. And a wee dram of whisky tae keep the cold at bay.” He settled onto a stone bench built into the rampart wall, gesturing for her to join him. “Cook made them special, though I cannae imagine why she’d go tae such trouble fer a MacKenzie.”

The teasing note in his voice made her smile despite herself. She sat beside him—far enough for propriety but near enough to feel his warmth—and accepted the oatcake he offered. The first bite was heaven. Warm, sweet, perfectly crisp on the edges. She’d thought the breakfast bread was good, but this⁠—

“Careful,” Euan murmured, amusement threading through his words. “Ye look ready tae devour me fingers along with the cake.”

Moyra realized she’d already finished half of it. Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I—three months of stale bread makes one forget table manners.”

“Dinnae apologize.” His expression gentled. “Eat as much as ye want. That’s why I brought them.”

She forced herself to slow down, to savor each bite. But it was difficult when they tasted so good. The honey was rich and golden, the oats perfectly toasted, and the hint of butter made everything melt on her tongue.

Euan handed her a small flask. “Here. Whisky helps.”

She took a careful sip, expecting the burn—but this was smooth, warming her from the inside out without the harsh bite of cheap spirits. “This is good whisky.”

“MacLeod whisky. We make it ourselves.” He took the flask back, his fingers brushing hers. “Consider it compensation fer the circumstance.”

She took another oatcake. “The circumstances could be far worse,” she admitted quietly.

“Aye.” His voice went rough.

Silence stretched between them, comfortable despite everything left unsaid. Above, the stars wheeled in their ancient patterns, and the sea whispered against the rocks far below.

“Thank ye,” she said finally. “Fer bringing me up here. Fer the oatcakes. Fer…” She gestured vaguely at the sky, at the night, at everything she couldn’t quite put into words.

“Fer treating ye like a person instead of a pawn?” His mouth quirked, but there was no humor in it.

“Aye.” She met his gaze. “Fer that.”

Euan watched Moyra devour another oatcake, trying desperately to ignore how the starlight turned her auburn hair to flame, how her green eyes sparkled with something that looked dangerously like happiness. This had been a mistake. Bringing her up here, sharing this space that had always been his sanctuary, watching her come alive under the open sky⁠—

All of it was a mistake he couldn’t bring himself to regret.

“Tell me something,” she said, licking honey from her fingers in a way that made his thoughts scatter. “Why did ye really bring me up here? It cannae just be about the stars.”

Because she looked so lost. Because she’d been caged fer three months and he couldn’t bear it another moment. Because watching her stare out that window like a bird with clipped wings made something in his chest crack open.

“Because ye asked,” he said simply. “Ye mentioned wanting tae see the stars. And I...” He paused, surprised by his own honesty. “I’ve spent enough time trapped inside stone walls. I wouldnae wish that on anyone.”

Her eyes softened. “I heard about what happened tae ye. Yer injuries from Loch Eilein. They kept ye inside fer a long time?”

“Aye.” His hand went unconsciously to his shoulder. “Months of healing. Learning tae walk with a limp, tae fight despite the scars.” He met her gaze. “The worst part wasnae the pain. It was the confinement. Being trapped when everything in me screamed tae run.”

“I ken that feeling,” she whispered.

Of course she did. Three months in a cell would teach anyone about confinement’s particular cruelty.

“The stars helped,” he continued, gesturing to the sky. “When I could finally leave my chambers, I’d come up here every night. Just tae breathe. Tae remember the world was bigger than four walls and pain.”

“And now ye share them with yer prisoners?” Her tone held gentle teasing.

“Only the ones with green eyes and a stubborn streak wider than the Highlands.” He reached for the flask, took another sip. “Though I’m starting tae think ye’re less prisoner and more...”