Page 36 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“The what?” Moyra pressed, genuine curiosity overriding caution.

“The situation,” he finished, but the way he said it made heat creep up her neck.

“Ye mean me.” It wasn’t a question. “Ye were writing tae them about me.”

“Aye.” He held her gaze steadily. “They’re me braithers in all but blood. When something threatens our clans or affects our strategies, we counsel each other. And ye, lass, definitely qualify as a situation that needs counsel.”

Should she have been offended? Should she have bristled at being reduced tae a “situation” that required consultation with his fellow lairds? Something about the frank admission—the lack of pretense—made her lips twitch despite herself.

“A situation,” she repeated dryly. “How flattering.”

“Would ye prefer ‘complication’?” His mouth quirked. “Because that’s what me Council calls ye.”

“I can imagine.” She crossed her arms, suddenly aware of how thin her nightshift was, how improper this entire encounter had become. “Let me guess—they think I’m a spy. Or a curse. Or both.”

“They think ye’re Keith MacKenzie’s daughter in me castle, which makes ye either leverage or a liability, depending on who’s speaking.” He moved to the window, putting distance between them that felt both necessary and disappointing. “They’re nae wrong tae be wary.”

“But ye are writing tae yer braithers about the MacKenzie situation instead of simply solving it the way yer Council suggests?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

He turned from the window, those grey eyes catching the lamplight. “I’m trying tae find a path that daesnae require ye tae sacrifice what’s left of yer autonomy fer me clan’s security. Me braithers... they ken me well enough tae offer counsel that goes beyond cold strategy.”

The admission hung between them—another crack in that armor she kept expecting to find impenetrable. Moyra found herself studying him, noting the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his scarred hand gripped the window frame as if anchoring himself.

“What were ye planning tae tell them?” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “About me?”

“The truth.” He moved closer, and suddenly the air between them felt charged. “That Keith MacKenzie abandoned his daughter. That I found her in a dungeon and brought her here because leaving her there was unthinkable. That me Council wants me tae marry her fer political advantage, and she quite reasonably told me tae go tae hell when I suggested it.”

Despite everything, Moyra felt her lips curve. “I didnae say ‘go tae hell.’”

“In so many words, ye did. Ye said ye’d rather die alone.”

“Aye, well.” She looked away, uncomfortable with the memory of her own fury. “Ye caught me at a bad moment. Being told yer father daesnae want ye tends tae make a lass... reactive.”

“Ye had every right tae yer anger.” He was closer now. “I should have found a better way to present the option. Made it clear it was a choice, nae a command.”

“Was it?” She met his eyes, saw him flinch at the question. “Because from where I stood, it sounded like ye werenae asking what I wanted.”

“Then I misspoke.” His jaw clenched. “Because despite what ye think of me, Moyra MacKenzie, I’ll nae force ye intae anything ye dinnae want. Even if it costs me me Council’s support. Even if it makes me look weak tae every other clan in the Highlands.”

The vehemence in his voice startled her. “Why?”

“Because I’ve spent me whole life being defined by what was done tae me at six years old.” His hand went to his shoulder, that unconscious gesture she was beginning to recognize. “By scars I didnae choose and a limp that reminds me every day that I survived when others didnae. I’ll nae inflict that same helplessness on another person. I’ll nae be the sort of man who robs others of their will simply because honor demands more effort. I’ll nae take yer choice from ye just because the alternative is harder.”

His honesty knocked the air from her lungs. That wasn’t calculation. It was truth laid bare.

“So ye’re writing tae yer braithers,” she said slowly, “asking them tae help ye find another way. One that daesnae require forcing me intae marriage.”

“Aye.” Something that might have been relief crossed his features. “Even if they tell me I’m a fool fer letting honor complicate strategy.”

Moyra bit her lip, a thousand thoughts warring in her mind. She should mistrust all that—she should assume it was just another manipulation, another way to make her compliant. But the look in those eyes, the tension in his scarred frame...

He meant it. Every word.

“I should let ye write then,” she said finally, backing toward the door. “Before I interrupt any more of yer correspondence.”

“Moyra.” Her name stopped her mid-step. When she looked back, he was watching her with an intensity that made her pulse stutter. “Thank ye.”

“Fer what? Breaking intae yer office and rifling through yer private letters?”

His mouth quirked. “Fer listening. Fer nae assuming the worst of me even when ye have every reason tae.” He paused. “Fer giving me a chance tae explain meself.”

Heat crept up her neck at the unexpected honesty. “Ye’re welcome, I suppose. Though I still think ye should have better locks on yer doors if ye want tae keep intruders out.”

“Perhaps I dinnae want tae keep all intruders out.” The words were quiet, almost contemplative. “Perhaps some interruptions are worth the breach of protocol.”

The air between them felt suddenly charged with meaning she didn’t dare examine too closely. Moyra wrapped her arms around herself, acutely aware of her nightshift, the late hour, the impropriety of every moment she lingered.

“I’ll let ye write yer letter,” she said, reaching for the door.

“Aye.” His voice followed her into the corridor, rough and warm and entirely too appealing.

Moyra fled, her heart hammering against her ribs for reasons that had everything to do with the dangerous pull she felt toward a man who should have been her enemy but kept insisting he wasn’t.

She wondered what exactly Euan MacLeod would tell his brothers about the MacKenzie lass racing back to her chamber with flushed cheeks and entirely too many confusing feelings.

What she was beginning to feel toward him was much more complicated than their situation.

And that terrified her more than anything her father had done.