Page 8 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Alba." He gave her a look that brooked no argument. "I'm walkin' ye tae yer carriage. Let me dae this without a fight, aye?"

She wanted to argue, to prove she didn't need constant watching over. But the memory of Torquil's cold eyes and possessive smile was still too fresh. "Aye. Thank ye."

They made their way through the crowd toward the castle's entrance. Alba could feel eyes following them, speculation and curiosity in equal measure.

The cool night air was a relief after the press and heat of the ballroom. Alba's escorts, two MacKinnon warriors, were indeed waiting near where the carriages had been arranged. They straightened when they saw her approaching with Lachlann.

"Lady MacKinnon," the older of the two, Finn, greeted with a respectful nod. "We were just about tae come fetch ye."

"I'm ready tae leave." Alba turned to Lachlann, suddenly unsure what to say. Thank ye seemed inadequate, but what else was there? "Will ye be stayin' much longer?"

"Nay. Another hour, perhaps, then I'll be headin' back tae me ship.” His grey eyes searched her face. "Ye'll be safe with Finn and Dougal. They're good men."

"I ken."

"And ye'll write to Calum about what happened taenight? With Torquil?"

Alba hesitated. Her brother had enough to worry about with the English trade negotiations. The last thing she wanted was to add to his burdens. "I'll... consider it."

"Alba."

"I'll be fine, Lachlann. Truly." She managed a smile. "Go enjoy the rest of yer evenin'. Dance with some of those lasses who've been watchin' ye all night."

Something flickered in his expression—surprise? amusement? —but before she could identify it, Finn stepped forward to help her into the carriage.

"Safe travels, Lady MacKinnon," Lachlann said formally, stepping back.

"And ye, Laird MacNeil."

The title felt strange on her tongue, too formal, too distant for someone she'd known most of her life. But it was proper, appropriate for a public farewell.

Alba settled into the carriage, and Dougal closed the door. Through the window, she could see Lachlann standing in the torchlight, watching as Finn climbed up to the driver's seat.

The carriage lurched into motion, and Alba let her head fall back against the cushioned seat, releasing a long breath. Her heart was still racing from the dance, from the warmth of Lachlann's hand at her waist, from the fierce protectiveness in his eyes when he'd faced down Torquil.

She was a fool. A complete and utter fool for letting herself feel anything beyond gratitude.

The road leading away from Dunstaffnage Castle was dark, lit only by the moon and the single lantern on the carriage. The sound of hoofbeats and creaking wheels filled the silence as they traveled through the wooded path toward the main road that would take them north to MacKinnon lands.

Alba closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing thoughts. In a few days, Calum would return from England, and life would return to normal. She'd go back to her duties, to managing the household and representing her clan at smaller gatherings. And Lachlann would go back to Barra, to his own responsibilities and his own life.

That night would become just another memory to lock away, another moment when she'd let herself pretend, just for a dance, that forbidden things might be possible.

The carriage continued through the darkness, carrying Alba away from the castle, from the ball, from Lachlann MacNeil and all the dangerous feelings he stirred in her heart.

“Something daes nae seem right.”

The first arrow struck the lantern as Finn was done making his quick observation.

Glass shattered, plunging the road into darkness save for the pale moonlight filtering through the trees. Alba lurched forward as the carriage jerked violently, Finn's shout of alarm cutting through the night.

"What—" Alba began, but her words were drowned out by the whistle of more arrows slicing through the air.

The horses screamed. The carriage tilted dangerously as one of them went down, and Alba was thrown against the side panel hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.

Wood splintered. Metal shrieked. The world became a chaos of sound and motion as the carriage tipped, skidded, and finally crashed onto its side with bone-jarring force.

Alba's head cracked against something solid. Stars burst behind her eyes, and for a moment, she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but lie there in the wreckage trying to remember which way was up.