Page 1 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

PROLOGUE

Afew hours before the ball

"If ye pull that any tighter, Maisie, I willnae be able tae breathe."

"Ye need tae breathe less and look even more beautiful," Maisie said from behind her, tugging at the laces of Alba's stays with the determination of someone who took her duties very seriously. "Now hold still."

Alba gripped the bedpost and tried not to think about how her ribs were slowly being compressed into her spine.

Around them, her chamber was in a state of controlled chaos. Gowns spread across the bed, jewelry scattered on the dressing table, ribbons and pins and pots of rouge everywhere.

"I can feel me heart beatin' in me throat," Alba said.

"That's just nerves," Orla said, giving another firm tug. "Ye're always like this before a ball."

"I'm nae always like this."

"Ye are. Remember the Midwinter feast last year? Ye made me re-lace ye three times because ye said it didnae feel right."

"That was different," Alba protested. "The Duke of Atholl was goin' tae be there."

"And tonight Lachlann MacNeil is goin' tae be there," Maisie said, and Alba could hear the grin in her voice even without seeing her face. "Which is clearly much more terrifying."

Alba felt heat rise in her cheeks. "I dinnae ken what ye mean."

"Ye ken exactly what I mean. Ye've been talkin' about him fer weeks."

"I've mentioned him twice."

"Ye've mentioned him at least a dozen times," Maisie corrected, giving one final tug before tying off the laces. "And every time ye dae, ye get that look on yer face."

"What look?"

"The look ye're wearin' right now." Maisie came around to face her, hands on her hips. "There. Perfect. Now sit so I can dae yer hair."

Alba moved to the dressing table and sat, grateful to finally be able to draw a full breath, even if it was somewhat restricted.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Face flushed, hair still hanging loose down her back, eyes bright with what she was absolutely not going to admit was excitement.

Maisie appeared behind her in the reflection, already reaching fer the brush.

"So. Are ye actually goin' tae talk tae him taenight, or are ye just goin' tae stare at him from across the room like ye did at the last gatherin’?"

"I talked tae him at the last gatherin’."

"Aye, but ye acted like ye barely kenned him, forget havin’ grown up with him around."

"That's still talkin'."

"That's barely acknowledgement," Maisie said, beginning to work through Alba's hair with practiced efficiency. "Ye need tae actually have a conversations with the man if ye want him tae see ye as anything other than Calum’s sister."

"He kens I exist, that’s enough."

"Daes he? Because from what ye've told me, lately yer conversations are stilted."

Alba opened her mouth to argue, then closed it because Maisie was, unfortunately, correct.

"He's just, he's very, how dae I put it?" She gestured vaguely. "He's him."