Page 32 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“The Council’s right about marriage being the solution.” Niall moved to the water barrel, filling two cups. His bare torso showed the marks of their practice—red welts that would fade by evening. “But they’re wrong about forcing it.”

“I ken that.” Euan accepted the offered cup, draining half of it in one pull. His shirt clung uncomfortably to his back, but he made no move to remove it. “Which is why I asked her to consider it rather than simply announcing it as fact.”

“And she refused.”

“Aye. Rather spectacularly.” He could still see the fury in her eyes, hear the crack in her voice when she’d said she’d rather die alone. “So now I’m trapped between me Council’s expectations and a woman who’d sooner spit on me than marry me.”

Niall was quiet for a moment, studying him with uncomfortable perception. “What dae ye want, Euan? Forget the Council, forget politics—what dae ye actually want?”

The question hit harder than any practice sword. What did he want?

He wanted Moyra safe. Protected from her bastard father and the political machinations that had used her as a pawn since birth. He wanted to erase the haunted look that sometimes crossed her face when she thought no one was watching, the one that spoke of months in a dungeon cell and a father’s cruel abandonment.

He wanted to make her smile the way she had under the stars, to hear that surprised laugh that said she’d forgotten how to be happy.

When had that happened? When had Keith Mackenzie’s daughter stopped being a problem to be managed and become someone whose happiness mattered more than strategy? Was it the moment he’d found her in that cell, all defiance and bruised courage? Or later, when she’d stood on his battlements and looked at the stars like they were gifts instead of distant points of light?

Perhaps it had been gradual—each conversation chipping away at the walls he’d built around his heart since Loch Eilein. Each time she’d made him laugh despite the weight of his responsibilities. Each moment she’d shown him trust when she had every reason not to.

The realization should terrify him. A laird couldn’t afford to care this deeply about someone who complicated everything. But standing here, remembering the terror that had lanced through him when he’d seen those bastards’ hands on her, Euan knew it was already too late for caution.

He wanted...

“I want her tae trust me,” he said finally. “Tae see me as something other than another man trying tae control her life.”

“Then earn that trust.” Niall’s voice was gentle. “Forget marriage fer now. Just... be someone she can trust. The rest will follow or it willnae, but at least ye’ll have given her a choice.”

“The Council willnae like it.”

“The Council can wait.” Niall gripped his shoulder, the gesture speaking of years of friendship and battles survived together. “Ye’ve spent yer whole life daeing what’s right fer the clan. Maybe it’s time tae dae what’s right fer ye.”

The words settled over Euan like a benediction and a burden all at once. What was right for him had never mattered before—couldn’t matter when hundreds of lives depended on his choices. But standing here in the training yard, his shirt clinging to sweat-dampened skin while his men caught their breath around him, he wondered if Niall might be right. If earning Moyra’s trust—truly earning it, without manipulation or force—might be the one thing that could solve this impossible tangle Keith MacKenzie had created.

“Then I’ll find a way,” Euan said quietly, his gaze drifting to the east tower window where he’d seen her watching earlier. The window was empty now, but something in his chest tightened at the memory of her green eyes tracking his movements across the yard. “I’ll find a way tae make her see I’m nae her enemy.”

Niall followed his gaze and smiled—that knowing expression that said his friend saw far more than Euan wanted to admit. “Aye. I believe ye will.”