Page 85 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

The room around her was unmistakably Lachlann's.

Large and masculine, with dark wood furniture and tartan blankets. His sword hung on the wall beside the hearth. His boots stood neatly by the door. The faint scent of him lingered everywhere, leather and pine and something uniquely his.

She should probably return to her own chamber. It wouldn't do for people to find her there, in the laird's bed, even if nothing improper had happened.

But Alba found she didn't want to move. Not yet.

She sat up slowly, testing how her head felt with the change in position. The room swayed slightly but didn't spin, and the nausea from the day before seemed to have passed.

Progress.

Alba stretched carefully, feeling the pull of stiff muscles and bruised skin. Her fingers found the lump on her temple, exploring it gently. Still tender, but not as bad as it could have been.

He saved me.

The memory came back in flashes. The kidnapper's cruel grip. The ride through the forest. Waking to find herself being carried away.

And then Lachlann, appearing like something out of a legend, his sword drawn and his face terrible with rage.

I realized I couldnae bear it. Couldnae bear losin' ye.

His words from the night before echoed in her mind, sending warmth flooding through her chest.

He cared. More than duty required. More than friendship with Calum demanded.

He cared.

Alba picked up the letter again, reading through it one more time, letting each word sink in.

The woman he cares fer.

Not just protects. Not just guards out of obligation.

Cares fer.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," Alba called, quickly smoothing down her hair and trying to look less like someone who'd just spent the night in the laird's bed.

Morag entered, carrying her medicine bag.

"Good, ye're awake." The healer set her bag on the table and moved to open the curtains wider. "And how's yer head this mornin'?"

"Better. Still aches, but nae like yesterday."

"That's tae be expected." Morag came to sit on the edge of the bed, her weathered fingers gentle as they probed the injury. "Any nausea? Dizziness?"

"A bit when I first sat up, but it passed."

"Good. That's a good sign." Morag checked her eyes, had her follow a finger with her gaze, asked her a series of questions to test her memory and awareness.

Finally, the healer sat back, satisfied.

"Ye're healin' well, me lady. But ye still need rest. Nay sudden movements, nay ridin', and definitely nay excitement fer at least another day or two."

"I'll rest," Alba promised. "Though I'd like tae return tae me own chamber at some point."

"The laird said ye were tae stay here." Morag's tone was firm. "Where he can keep an eye on ye properly. And before ye argue—" She held up a hand as Alba opened her mouth. "—he was very clear about it. Said he'd carry ye back himself if ye tried tae leave."