Page 92 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"She'll come back." Lachlann's hand squeezed her wrist reassuringly. "Trust her. Now call her down, same whistle I used."

Alba tried to mimic the sound Lachlann had made, but it came out more like a wheeze than a whistle.

"Higher pitch," Lachlann instructed. "And sharper. Like this—" He demonstrated again.

Alba tried once more, and this time the whistle pierced the air clearly.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Branwen appeared overhead, circling once before beginning her descent.

"Steady," Lachlann said quietly. "Keep yer arm raised and still."

The falcon dove toward them, wings tucked for speed. Alba's instinct was to flinch, to duck away from the creature hurtling at her face⁠—

But Lachlann's hand on her wrist kept her steady, and at the last possible second Branwen spread her wings and landed gracefully on Alba's glove.

"I did it!" Alba's face split into a grin. "She came back!"

"Aye, she did." Lachlann was smiling too, pride clear in his expression. "Well done, lass. Most people flinch the first time."

"I wanted tae," Alba admitted, still marveling at the falcon perched on her arm. "But ye kept me steady."

"That's what I'm here fer."

Their eyes met over Branwen's sleek head, and something warm and electric passed between them.

"Again?" Alba asked, her voice softer now.

"Aye. As many times as ye want."

They spent the next hour practicing, launch after launch, call after return. Each time, Alba grew more confident, her movements more assured. Lachlann stayed close, his hands steadying her when needed, his voice low and encouraging.

"Raise yer arm a bit higher—aye, just like that."

"She's comin' in fast this time, be ready."

"Perfect. Ye're a natural at this."

On what must have been the tenth or twelfth launch, Alba stumbled slightly as Branwen pushed off, the force catching her off-balance. Lachlann's arm immediately came around her waist, steadying her.

"Careful," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

Alba's pulse jumped for reasons that had nothing to do with the falcon. She was acutely aware of Lachlann's hand at her waist, of how close he stood, of the solid warmth of his chest against her back.

"I'm fine," she managed, though her voice came out breathier than intended. "Just unexpected."

"She can be strong when she wants tae be." But Lachlann didn't step away immediately. Instead, his hand lingered, steadying her as she called Branwen back down.

The falcon landed perfectly, as though sensing Alba needed an easier catch this time.

"There," Lachlann said, finally releasing her waist but staying close enough that their shoulders brushed. "Ye've got the rhythm now."

Time seemed to slow as they continued working with Branwen. The afternoon sun beat down warm and bright, making Alba's skin flush beneath her dress. Or maybe that was just Lachlann's proximity—the way he leaned in to adjust her grip on the glove, the way his fingers brushed hers when transferring the falcon, the way he smiled at her every time she succeeded.

"One more," Lachlann said finally. "Then we should let her rest."

Alba nodded, raising her arm for the final launch. Branwen soared up and out, disappearing briefly before circling back at Alba's call.

This time, when the falcon landed, Alba was ready—her arm steady, her stance balanced, no hesitation at all.