Page 63 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

The scents hit her first—roasted chestnuts crackling over open flames, honeyed pastries glistening in the firelight, spiced meats that made her mouth water despite the nerves still jangling through her system.

“I dinnae even ken where tae start.” She stared at all the food, not sure where to start. After months of thin gruel and stale bread, having choices felt strange.

“Then we’ll try everything.” The determination in his voice made her laugh despite herself.

He led her to the first stall where a rotund man stood behind a brazier of roasting chestnuts. Euan purchased a paper cone full of them, their shells split and steaming, then held one out to her.

“Careful—they’re hot.”

Moyra took it gingerly, blowing on the chestnut before attempting to peel away the shell. The meat inside was soft and sweet, with a hint of smoke that made her close her eyes in appreciation.

When she opened them, Euan was watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

“Good?” His voice had gone rough.

“Aye.” She licked honey residue from her thumb, not missing how his gaze tracked the movement. “Very good.”

He cleared his throat, looking away with what might have been embarrassment. “There’s more. Come.”

The next stall offered honeyed pastries—flaky layers that dissolved on her tongue, sweet enough to make her teeth ache but somehow perfect. Moyra tried to eat delicately, conscious of Euan watching, but the pastry crumbled despite her best efforts. Honey dripped down her chin.

“Here.” Euan’s thumb caught the drop, wiping it away with a gentleness that made her breath stutter. “Ye’ve got⁠—”

His hand lingered on her jaw, thumb tracing her lower lip in a caress that definitely wasn’t necessary to clean up honey. Their eyes locked, and Moyra felt the world narrow to just this—his hand cradling her face, his eyes dark with want, the barely controlled tension in his frame that said he was thinking about kissing her again.

“Euan,” she breathed.

“Aye?” But he didn’t move, didn’t pull away.

“People are watching.”

“Let them.” Still, his hand dropped.

The final stall offered skewered meat—venison, from the smell, seasoned with spices. Euan bought two skewers, handing her one before taking a bite of his own.

Moyra watched the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the way his tongue caught a drop of juice at the corner of his mouth and felt heat pool low in her belly that had nothing to do with the fair’s bonfires. Watching him eat shouldn’t affect her so. Yet there she was, transfixed by the simple act of him taking another bite, by the obvious pleasure in his expression.

“What?” He’d caught her staring.

“Naething.” She bit into her own skewer to avoid answering, the flavors exploding across her tongue. “This is incredible.”

“Wait until ye try it at the autumn harvest feast. Cook makes a version with wild boar that’ll ruin ye fer all other meat.”

They ate in comfortable silence, watching the fair carry on around them. Dancers spun past, laughing and red-faced. Children ran between stalls with their prizes. A fiddle started up somewhere and people began clapping along.

“We should go,” Euan said finally, though he made no move to leave. “Before I dae something foolish in front of half me clan.”

“Like what?” The question slipped out before wisdom could stop it.

His eyes darkened. “Like kiss ye until ye forget every reason this is complicated.”

The admission stole her breath. They stood in the middle of the fair, surrounded by his people, and he’d just confessed to wanting her with a bluntness that made her pulse hammer.

“That would be foolish,” she managed.

“Aye.” But he stepped closer. “Completely mad. Probably the worst decision I could make.”

“Probably.”