Page 40 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Ye've got good land," she said after a while. "Better drainage than ours, I think. And closer tae the sea fer trade."

"Aye, the harbor's been good tae us. Though the weather can be rough in winter." Lachlann glanced at her. "Yer lands are more sheltered. Better fer growin' things."

"When it's nae rainin'." Alba's lips quirked. "Which is most of the time."

They fell into comfortable silence, the only sounds the steady thud of hooves, the jingle of tack, and the occasional call of seabirds overhead. The tension from the stable had faded completely, replaced by an ease that surprised Lachlann with how natural it felt.

This was... nice. Riding beside her, pointing out landmarks, sharing the land he'd grown up on. Like she was a part of it somehow. Like she belonged there.

The thought caught him off guard, and he pushed it away quickly. Alba was there temporarily, under his protection until it was safe for her to return home. That was all.

Even if his dog had chosen her. Even if his most temperamental horse was now following her lead like a devoted puppy. Even if watching her in the garden yesterday, laughing as Captain the dog rolled over for belly rubs, had made his chest ache with something he didn't want to name.

"There," James called from ahead, breaking through Lachlann's thoughts. "Village is just over the next rise."

Lachlann signaled for the group to slow.

As they crested the hill, the village spread out before them—a cluster of stone cottages, a larger building that served as both tavern and meeting hall, and the small kirk with its carefully tended graveyard.

People were already moving about despite the early hour.

A woman hanging washing paused to shade her eyes and look up at them. Children playing in the street stopped their game to stare. An old man sitting outside the tavern raised a hand in greeting.

And every single one of them noticed Alba.

Lachlann could see the curiosity on their faces, the whispers starting even before they'd fully entered the village proper. A stranger on MacNeil lands was unusual enough. A woman riding beside the laird was cause for immediate speculation.

"Easy," he murmured to Alba, though he wasn't sure if he was warning her or himself. "They're goin' tae stare. Let them. Just keep yer head up and ignore the gossip."

"I'm used tae bein' stared at," Alba said quietly, but there was tension in her shoulders again.

Lachlann slowed his horse to a walk, and the others matched his pace. He kept his expression neutral but welcoming as he rode into the village, nodding to familiar faces and keeping Alba close to his side.

Whatever happened next, whatever questions arose from her presence here, he'd deal with it. She'd asked to go and he'd agreed. He'd be damned if he let anyone make her feel unwelcome on his lands.

"Duncan," he said, not taking his eyes off the villagers ahead. "Find Angus and bring him tae the tavern. Tell him we need tae discuss the grazin’ rights before someone daes somethin' stupid."

"Aye, me laird."

"James, with me. And make sure someone keeps an eye on the horses."

"Already done."

"Stay close," he said quietly. "And if anyone gives ye trouble, ye tell me immediately."

"I can handle meself, Lachlann."

"I ken ye can." He held her gaze. "But let me handle them anyway. Please."

After a moment, Alba nodded.

And together, with his men around them and the entire village watching, they walked into the village proper ready to face whatever rumors would follow.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Right, let's see what needs daein'."

Alba watched as Lachlann swung down from his horse with easy grace, already scanning the village square with the practiced eye of someone who'd done it a hundred times before.