Page 5 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

Her breath caught. For a moment, their eyes met across the crowded ballroom, and the noise and movement around her seemed to fade. Lachlann's expression was unreadable behind his mask, but something in the intensity of his gaze made heat bloom in her cheeks.

Then someone said something that drew Lachlann's attention away, and the moment shattered.

This was madness. Lachlann was her brother's closest friend, one of the five men bound by the Loch Eilein Covenant.

They'd all grown up together after that terrible battle, forged into brothers through shared trauma and honor. Which made any attraction she felt toward him completely, utterly forbidden.

She set her empty goblet on a passing servant's tray and smoothed her hands over her blue silk gown. Perhaps she should find some of the other ladies, engage in the sort of social conversation expected of her. Or⁠—

"Lady Alba."

The voice was smooth as honey and twice as cloying. Alba's spine stiffened before she even turned around.

Torquil MacLean stood far too close, a goblet in one hand and a predatory smile on his lips. His mask was adorned with silver thread that matched the excessive embroidery on his doublet. She'd felt his eyes on her throughout the evening, watching her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

"Laird MacLean." Alba dipped her head in the barest acknowledgment courtesy demanded.

"Ye look absolutely enchantin’ this evenin'." His gaze traveled over her in a way that made her wish she'd worn something far less fitted. "That shade of blue is remarkably becomin' on ye."

"Ye're too kind."

"Nae at all. I speak only the truth." He shifted closer, and Alba caught the sharp scent of wine on his breath, too much wine. "I've been hopin' fer a chance tae speak with ye all evenin'. Ye're a difficult woman tae catch alone."

Alba forced her expression to remain neutral. "The celebration has kept me quite occupied."

"I'm sure it has. A woman of yer... qualities must be in high demand." His cold blue eyes glittered behind his mask. "But surely ye can spare a moment fer me? I've been most eager tae better make yer acquaintance."

Every instinct Alba possessed was screaming at her to leave, to make some excuse and put distance between herself and this man. But they were at a diplomatic gathering, surrounded by representatives from a dozen different clans. Insult him too obviously, and it would reflect poorly on the MacKinnons.

"What did ye wish tae discuss, Laird MacLean?" she asked carefully.

Torquil's smile widened, and there was something sharp and dangerous in it.

"Dance with me," he said, reaching for her hand. "The musicians are starting a new set, and I would be honored tae have ye as me partner."

Alba's fingers trembled as Torquil's hand reached for hers. She could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on her—the eyes of other guests who'd noticed the exchange, the rules of Highland hospitality and courtesy that bound her, the dangerous glint in Torquil's eyes that promised consequences if she refused.

Refusing a dance at a formal gathering like this would be seen as a grave insult. It would cause talk, speculation, possibly even offense that could ripple out into clan politics.

"Aye," she heard herself say, her voice steadier than she felt. "I would be honored."

Torquil's smile sharpened as he led her onto the dance floor. His hand settled on her waist—too tight, too possessive—and Alba fought the urge to pull away as they began to move through the steps of the reel.

"Ye dance beautifully, Lady Alba," Torquil murmured, leaning closer than the dance required. "Just as I knew ye would."

"Ye're too kind, Laird MacLean."

"Nae at all." They turned, and his grip tightened fractionally. "I've been watchin' ye all evenin', ye ken. Waitin' fer the right moment tae approach."

Alba's pulse quickened, but not with pleasure. "Have ye?"

"Aye. Because I have somethin' important tae discuss with ye." His cold blue eyes locked on hers. "Somethin' that concerns both our futures."

Dread pooled in Alba's stomach. "I dinnae understand⁠—"

"I think ye dae, lass." Torquil pulled her closer as they moved through another turn. "Ye're a clever woman. Surely ye've considered what a union between our clans could mean? The MacLeans and the MacKinnons, bound together… think of the power, the influence."

Alba's breath caught. "Laird MacLean, I⁠—"