Page 32 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

Storm sat immediately, his intelligent eyes fixed on Lachlann's face.

"Good lad. Down."

The dog dropped to his belly, still watching.

They worked through the commands slowly—sit, down, stay, come. Lachlann kept his voice quieter than usual, his movements deliberate and controlled. The repetition was soothing, giving his mind something to focus on besides the hurt in Alba's eyes when she'd left him standing in the corridor.

She was right to worry. He knew that. Her reputation was already precarious after Torquil's attack and her sudden appearance at Barra. If people started thinking there was something improper between them⁠—

But there wasn’t. He was protecting her. Honoring his obligation to Calum. That was all.

Even if his heart raced every time she smiled. Even if he'd memorized exactly how she looked in the garden yesterday, sunlight catching in her dark braid. Even if the thought of keeping his distance from her made his chest ache.

What I want daesnae matter.

That was what he'd told James. And it was true. It had to be true.

Lachlann finished with the dogs and moved to the falcon's perch. The bird watched him approach with sharp, golden eyes, shifting on her feet but remaining calm.

"Easy, lass," he murmured, reaching up to remove her hood. "Let's have a look at ye."

She allowed him to inspect her—checking her feathers, her feet, her beak. She was in perfect condition, as always. His falconer took excellent care of her.

But Lachlann took his time anyway, running his fingers gently through her plumage, checking for any broken or damaged feathers. The falcon tilted her head, watching him with that unblinking stare that always made him feel slightly transparent.

"Ye're judgin’ me too, are ye?" he asked softly.

The falcon made a soft clicking sound.

"Aye, I thought as much."

He worked methodically, cleaning equipment and resetting the training tools he used with both dogs and birds. His movements were practiced, efficient—tasks he'd done a thousand times before. But that day they felt heavier, weighted with thoughts he couldn't quite shake.

Alba's voice echoing in his head.

People are talking. Dae ye nae see how this looks?

The worry in her eyes. The way she'd pulled away from him, putting distance between them because she had to. Because propriety demanded it.

Because anything else was impossible.

Lachlann finished his tasks and found himself still sitting there, his back against the fence, watching the grounds without really seeing them. The dogs had settled around him, Storm's head resting on his knee. The falcon dozed on her perch, one foot tucked up.

He should go back to the castle to deal with the matters waiting for his attention—the reports James had mentioned, the decisions that needed making, the dozen small crises that always seemed to arise.

But he stayed where he was, surrounded by animals who asked nothing of him except food and attention, trying to figure out how to do the right thing when every option felt wrong.

"That servant had nay right tae assume where I should sit!"

Alba paced across her chamber, her hands clenched at her sides. "Without even askin', without considerin'—"

"Me lady⁠—"

"And the way everyone stared! Like I was some sort of curiosity⁠—"

"Lady Alba!" Orla's voice cut through Alba's tirade, firm but gentle. "Please, sit down. Ye're workin' yerself into a state."

Alba stopped mid-pace, suddenly aware that she'd been ranting. She took a shaky breath and sank onto the edge of the bed.