Page 119 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

She gripped his arm with both hands and stayed there, her heart hammering, the stairwell very narrow and very cold around them.

"I have ye," he said, low and even. "Ye're all right."

"I ken," she said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "I ken, I just misstepped." She exhaled.

"I should have warned ye."

"Aye," she said. "Ye should have."

She was still gripping his arm. She was aware of this. She was also aware that he had not moved to increase the distance between them, and that his hand remained at her waist with a matter-of-fact solidity that was, at present, the most welcome thing in the world.

"Are ye ready tae continue?" he asked.

"Give me a moment."

"Take what ye need."

She took a breath. Then another.

The stone under her remaining foot was steady, and Lachlann was steady behind her, and above them Captain had paused on the landing and was peering down with his ears forward and his tail moving cautiously, as though he understood the situation called for a modified level of excitement.

The landing was three steps further. She reached it and put her back against the wall and breathed.

Lachlann came up beside her. He didn't say anything. He stood close, his shoulder warm against hers in the cold dark, and let her have the moment without commentary, which she was beginning to understand was one of the things she valued most about him.

Captain shoved his nose into her hand.

"I'm fine," she told the dog. "I wasnae talkin’ tae ye."

Lachlann said nothing, but she felt he was smiling.

"Dinnae," she said.

"I'm nae daeing anythin'," he said and offered her his hand for the remaining steps.

She took it.

The top of the tower opened onto her like a held breath releasing.

She had expected it to feel exposed. It did, the parapet came to her shoulders and the wind hit immediately, cold and carrying the smell of salt and heather and something else, something wide and clean that had no name except open.

But it was the view that stopped her.

The glen spread below them in every direction, silver-grey in the evening light, the hills folding into each other in long quiet lines.

To the west, the water caught what was left of the sky and held it, hammered pewter all the way to the headland, and beyond that, the darker suggestion of the sea. The village below was a scatter of warm lights. The fields were dark. Everything was very still.

"Oh," she said.

Lachlann came to stand beside her at the parapet. He didn't say anything for a moment, just looked out with her, and she was grateful for that, for the understanding that some things needed a moment before words were useful.

"There," he said finally, pointing west. "That's the headland I told ye about. On a clear mornin’ ye can see the far isle from here, just barely, but enough."

"And that?" She pointed to a cluster of darker shapes along the near hillside.

"The old settlement. Before me grandfaither's time. They moved down to the glen when the winters got harder." He paused. "There's still a chapel up there. The roof is mostly gone but the walls are standin’."

"Have ye been inside?"