Page 72 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Then we'll find other ways tae get the information we need." His voice had gone hard. "I willnae let Torquil threaten what's mine."

What's mine.

The possessiveness in those words should probably have bothered her, should have made her bristle at being claimed like property.

Instead, it sent warmth flooding through her chest.

"I'm sorry," Alba said quietly. "Fer all of this. Fer the danger I've brought tae yer home."

"Dinnae." Lachlann turned her to face him, his hands gentle on her shoulders. "Dinnae apologize fer things that arenae yer fault. Ye didnae ask fer any of this."

"But—"

"But naethin'." He leaned down until their foreheads touched. "Ye're here because I chose tae keep ye here. Because I wanted ye safe.”

“Thank ye.”

The wind picked up, carrying the salt-scent of the ocean and the distant cry of seabirds. Alba shivered again, but not from cold this time.

"We should go back inside," she said, though she made no move to step away. "Ye need tae rest. Morag will have both our heads if she finds us out here."

"Probably." But Lachlann didn't move either. "Just... a few more minutes?"

"Aye." Alba pressed closer, letting his warmth seep into her. "A few more minutes."

They stood together on the battlements, wrapped in the shared cloak and comfortable silence, watching the dark ocean and the darker sky beyond.

Time seemed to slow, to stretch, until Alba couldn't tell if they'd been standing there for minutes or hours.

Finally, reluctantly, she pulled back.

"Come on," she said softly. "Before ye fall over from exhaustion and I have tae carry ye back tae yer chamber."

"I'd like tae see ye try."

"Dinnae tempt me." But she was smiling as she took his arm, carefully avoiding his injured side. "I'm stronger than I look."

"I ken ye are, lass." His hand covered hers where it rested on his arm. "Stronger than ye think, even."

They made their way back down from the walls, moving slowly through sleeping corridors. At Alba's chamber door, Lachlann paused.

"Thank ye," he said quietly.

Alba rose on her toes and kissed him, soft and brief but full of promise.

"Sleep well, Lachlann MacNeil."

His smile was crooked and warm. "Aye, lass. Ye too."

She slipped into her chamber, closing the door softly behind her.

And for the first time that night, when she climbed into bed, sleep came easily.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Where the hell is he?"

Lachlann's voice echoed through the dungeon, sharp enough to make the guard on duty flinch. The cell—the one that should have contained Torquil's archer—stood empty, its door hanging open like a silent accusation.