Page 50 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“Well, well.” The largest one grinned, showing teeth gone black at the edges. “Laird MacKenzie said his daughter might try something foolish. Looks like he was right.”

Terror locked Moyra’s legs. She should run, scream. Anything except stand there like a rabbit before wolves.

But her body had forgotten how to move.

“Come along now, lass.” A second man moved to flank her, his hand already reaching for the rope at his belt. “Yer Da wants ye home. Says it’s time ye stopped playing at being a MacLeod’s whore.”

The crude words broke through her paralysis. Moyra spun and ran, branches whipping her face as she crashed blindly through underbrush. Behind her, she heard laughter and heavy footsteps—men who now knew these woods, who didn’t need to fear twisted ankles or dead-end ravines.

A hand caught her cloak. She jerked forward, the fabric tearing with a sound like a scream. Kept running. Another hand snagged her braid, yanking so hard her neck wrenched and stars exploded across her vision.

“Feisty little thing.” Hot breath against her ear made her stomach heave. “That’ll make this more interesting.”

Moyra twisted, her elbow connecting with something soft. The man cursed and loosened his grip just enough for her to wrench free. She stumbled forward three steps before strong arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her clear off the ground despite her kicks and clawing fingers.

“Enough!” The third man’s voice cut through her screams. “Laird MacKenzie wants her alive and undamaged. Bind her wrists and let’s⁠—”

The arrow took him through the throat.

One moment he was speaking. The next, he stood swaying with a shaft protruding from his neck, blood bubbling around the fletching. He toppled backward, dead before he hit the ground.

Chaos erupted.

The man holding Moyra shoved her away hard enough that she crashed into a tree trunk, bark scraping her palms raw. Through her dazed vision, she saw him draw his sword just as a massive figure exploded from the tree line.

Euan.

He moved like violence given form—his blade singing through the air to meet the MacKenzie scout’s desperate parry with enough force to drive the man back three steps. No limp now. No visible injury. Just lethal precision honed by years of training and absolute fury blazing in those storm-grey eyes.

The second scout rushed into him from the side. Euan spun, his sword deflecting the attack while his free hand shot out to grip the man’s wrist, twisting with brutal efficiency. Bone cracked. The scout screamed, his weapon falling from useless fingers before Euan’s blade opened his throat in one smooth motion.

Two men down in as many heartbeats.

The remaining MacKenzie—the one who’d held Moyra—backed away, his face gone grey with terror. “The laird said—we were just following orders⁠—”

“Then tell yer laird,” Euan’s voice came rough as gravel, “that the next man who touches what’s mine will die slower.”

The scout ran.

Euan let him go, his attention already swinging to Moyra where she’d collapsed against the tree. In three strides, he crossed the distance, his hands finding her shoulders with a grip just shy of painful.

“Are ye hurt?” His eyes raked over her—checking for blood, for injuries, for proof that he’d been too late. “Did they⁠—”

“Nay.” The word came out shaky, her entire body trembling with adrenaline crash. “They didn’t have time tae—ye came before⁠—”

His arms went around her then, crushing her against his chest with a fierceness that stole what little breath she’d managed to recover. She felt his heart hammering against her cheek, felt the fine tremor running through his massive frame, felt the careful way his scarred hand cradled the back of her head as if she might shatter.

“Dinnae ever dae that again.” The words vibrated through his chest, rough with something that might have been fear. “Dinnae ever run from me like that.”

“I wasn’t running from ye.” Her voice muffled against his shirt. “I was trying tae protect yer clan. Three men died last night because of me, because me faither⁠—”

“Three men died because Keith MacKenzie sent killers tae me walls.” Euan pulled back just enough to grip her chin, forcing her to meet his blazing gaze. “Ye dinnae get tae take responsibility fer his choices. Ye dinnae get tae sacrifice yerself tae solve problems he created.”

“But if I hadn’t been here⁠—”

“If ye hadn’t been here, those men would have died attacking us fer some other reason Keith manufactured.” His thumb traced her jaw with devastating gentleness despite the fury still burning in his eyes. “He wants our lands. He wants his marriage tae Ishbel tae mean something. Ye’re just the excuse he’s using this time.”

“I can’t stay.” The words burst out before she could stop them, raw and desperate. “I can’t keep being the reason yer people suffer. The reason ye have tae stand in the rain checking patrols, the reason men die protecting walls that are only targets because I’m inside them.”