Page 136 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

Captain pushed his nose into Lachlann's leg, demanding attention, and Lachlann crouched down to check him over.

"Ye're a good lad," Lachlann said, scratching behind the dog's ears. "A very good lad. Ye protected her."

Captain’s tail wagged harder.

Alba crouched beside him, her hand joining his on the dog's head. "He bit Torquil," she said. "Wouldnae let go. They had to hit him to get him off."

"He's earned every piece of meat in the kitchen," Lachlann said.

"And probably a place on the bed," Alba added.

"Dinnae push yer luck."

She laughed, shaky and breathless but real, and he felt some of the tightness in his chest ease.

The courtyard was still chaos, but it was organized chaos now.

Men were carrying water to the last of the fires, tending to the wounded, rounding up the horses that had scattered during the fight. James appeared at Lachlann's shoulder.

"The ships are leavin'," he said. "All of them. Torquil's men want nay part of this without him."

"Good." Lachlann scanned the courtyard. "Casualties?"

"Five wounded, none serious. Three dead, two of ours, one of theirs." James paused. "We were lucky, me laird."

"Aye," Lachlann said. "We were. And the village?”

“The fires have been contained and stopped and nae too much has been lost. A few people slightly injured but nay dead”.

“Very lucky indeed, we were…”

He turned back to Alba.

She had a cut on her arm, not deep, but bleeding, and the bruise on her face was darkening by the minute.

She looked exhausted and battered and entirely unbowed, and he felt a surge of something fierce and protective that he had mostly stopped trying to analyze.

"Come," he said. "Let's get ye cleaned up."

They retreated to his chambers, away from the noise and the aftermath.

Alba sat on the edge of the bed while Lachlann retrieved water and clean linen from the basin, and when he knelt in front of her she looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read.

"Ye killed him," she said quietly.

"Aye." He began cleaning the cut on her arm with careful, methodical movements. "I did."

"Dae ye regret it?"

He looked up at her. "Nay. Dae ye think I should?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Nay," she said finally. "He would have killed ye if he could have. And he would have taken me." She stopped, her jaw tightening. "Nay. I dinnae think ye should regret it."

He nodded and went back to cleaning the wound. It was shallow, like he'd thought, but it would need binding. He wrapped it carefully, his hands steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through him.

"Yer face," he said, touching the bruise on her cheek gently. "Daes it hurt?"

"Aye."