Page 60 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

Euan had known teaching Moyra MacKenzie proper sword work would be a terrible idea.

He simply hadn’t anticipated how terrible.

She moved like water—fluid and adaptable, compensating for lack of strength with speed and cunning that suggested a natural talent he couldn’t help but admire. Her hair had come loose from its braid during the earlier chaos, falling around her face in waves that caught morning light and turned it to flame. Her green eyes blazed with concentration as she pressed her attack, forcing him to actually focus rather than simply go through the motions.

Beautiful. Deadly in ways that had nothing to do with the wooden blade in her hands.

He parried her strike, redirecting her momentum with just enough force to throw her off balance. She recovered instantly, pivoting to avoid his counter with grace that made something low in his gut tighten. Around them, the boys had gone silent, transfixed by the display.

“Yer footwork’s improved,” he observed, blocking another strike. “Been practicing?”

“Watching ye train yer men.” She ducked under his swing, her hair brushing his arm and leaving fire in its wake. “I’m a quick study.”

“Aye but watching isnae the same as daeing.” He advanced, forcing her back three steps. “Ye’re telegraphing yer moves. Any experienced fighter would read them before ye struck.”

“Then stop talking and show me how tae fix it.” Her breath came faster now, cheeks flushed from exertion.

Saints preserve him.

Euan circled behind her in one smooth motion, his chest pressing against her back as his hands found her arms. The contact sent electricity arcing between them—he felt her sharp inhale, felt the way her pulse jumped beneath his fingers.

“Like this.” He guided her through the proper form, conscious of every point where their bodies touched. “Ye dinnae announce yer intention. Ye keep yer weight balanced, ready tae shift in any direction. And ye watch yer opponent’s center—” His hand moved to her waist, feeling her stomach muscles clench beneath his palm. “This is where their movement originates. Read it, and ye’ll ken what’s coming afore they dae.”

“That’s cheating.” Her voice came out breathless, and he felt the tremor that ran through her frame.

“That’s surviving.” He stepped back before temptation to pull her closer became overwhelming. “Again. Try that strike, but this time⁠—”

She spun and attacked in one fluid motion. Her unexpected speed caught him off-guard. He blocked barely in time, her blade skimming past his guard close enough that he felt the whisper of wood through air.

Pride sparked through his chest. “Better. Much better.”

“Ye’re nae the only one who can surprise people, Laird MacLeod.” The challenge in her eyes made his blood heat in ways that had nothing to do with combat.

Strike. Block. Strike again—faster now, harder, until his control cracked like ice under spring thaw. Her teeth caught her lip. Her body flowed with unconscious grace. And saints, that fierce determination in her expression—the promise she’d never yield, never surrender—was destroying him one heartbeat at a time.

He’d created a monster. A beautiful, stubborn, utterly captivating monster who made him forget every reason he should maintain distance.

“Enough.” He lowered his sword, breathing harder than the simple drill warranted. “Ye’ve learned well, lass. The boys are lucky tae have ye teaching them.”

“Even when I nearly get them killed?” Her mouth quirked, echoing his earlier teasing.

“Especially then. Builds character.” He turned to the watching boys, who’d been following the exchange like spectators at a tournament. “All right, lads. Pair up and practice what Lady Moyra showed ye earlier. And fer the love of all that’s holy, dinnae take each other’s heads off. We need ye in one piece fer the Fire Fair.”

The boys scattered to their drills, their chatter rising as they dissected every moment of the demonstration. Euan found himself alone with Moyra at the center of the training ground.

“Thank ye fer nae making me look foolish in front of them.”

“Ye could never look foolish. Reckless, perhaps. Overly enthusiastic. But never foolish.”

Moyra’s breath caught, her lips parting slightly, and Euan felt his control slip another dangerous notch. This close, he could see the exact shade of green in her eyes, could count the faint freckles dusting her nose, could remember with perfect clarity how she’d tasted when he’d kissed her five days before.

How she’d melted against him like she belonged there.

He should leave. Stride away and focus on preparations both in the castle as well as in the village for the Fire Fair. Instead, his thumb traced her jawline once, a fleeting touch that made her breath catch.

“This conversation isnae finished,” he promised. “Ye and I—we need tae talk. Properly. About what happens next.”

Then he was striding toward the eastern gates, his heart still hammering from more than just exertion, leaving Moyra standing in the training ground with fire in her hair and questions in her eyes.