Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The scream of metal on metal ripped Moyra from sleep.
She bolted upright in bed, heart hammering against her ribs, disoriented by the unfamiliar weight of Euan’s arm still draped across her waist. Dawn light spilled through the window and the sight of him—solid and real beside her—made last night’s intimacy crash back with devastating clarity.
Saints, what had she done?
His grey eyes opened, finding hers immediately. A slow smile curved his mouth, softening the harsh lines of his face in ways that made her chest ache. “Morning, lass.”
The tenderness in his voice was too much. Moyra scrambled backward, yanking the sheet up to cover herself despite how his hands had mapped every inch of her skin just hours ago. “I need—I should—”
“Moyra.” He reached for her, concern replacing the warmth in his expression. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. Nothing. She didn’t know anymore.
The night before had been perfect—overwhelming and terrifying and more than she’d ever imagined possible.
But morning light brought reality crashing back: her father’s threats, the Council’s expectations, the impossible situation she’d somehow made worse by surrendering to feelings she couldn’t afford.
“I need tae get dressed.” She slid from the bed, grabbing her discarded shift with shaking hands. “People will talk if ye’re seen leaving me chamber.”
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. When she finally dared glance at him, Euan’s expression had gone carefully neutral—that laird’s mask sliding into place, hiding whatever he’d been feeling behind cold stone.
“Aye.” He rose, retrieving his own clothing with controlled movements. “Wouldnae want tae damage yer reputation.”
The bitterness in his tone made her flinch. “That’s nae what I meant—”
“Isnae it?” He pulled his shirt over his head, wincing slightly as fabric caught on his injured shoulder. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like ye regret last night. Like I took advantage when ye were vulnerable and now ye want tae pretend it never happened.”
“That’s nae fair.” Hurt and confusion warred in her chest. “Ye ken that’s nae what—”
“Then what, Moyra?” He turned to face her fully, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes stole her breath. “What is this? Because I need tae ken if last night meant something or if it was just—”
A horn blast from the courtyard cut him off. Then another, followed by the organized chaos of guards mobilizing.
Euan’s posture shifted immediately, warrior replacing wounded man. He moved to her window, looking down at the commotion below. Whatever he saw made his expression lighten fractionally.
“The Covenant braithers.” Something almost like relief crossed his features. “They’re here.”
“Now?” Her voice came out strangled.
“Apparently.” He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. When he looked back, his eyes held none of their earlier warmth. “We’ll finish this conversation later. Whether ye want tae or nae.”
Then he was gone, and Moyra stood alone in her chamber, still clutching the sheet to her chest, wondering how something so beautiful had turned complicated so quickly.
Euan descended the stairs three at a time, his shoulder protesting the movement but his mind too turbulent to care. The look on Moyra’s face when she’d woken—like she’d made a terrible mistake, like touching him had been something to regret—that cut deeper than any blade ever had.
He’d known. Had known letting himself feel this deeply would end in disaster. But saints help him, when she’d gasped his name the night before, when she’d surrendered herself so completely, he’d thought—
He’d thought wrong. Clearly.
The courtyard was controlled chaos. Three horses bearing the colors of MacKinnon, MacDonald, and MacRae stood near the gate, their riders already dismounted and laughing with his guards.
Euan felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders at the sight of them—three of his brothers in all but blood, the men who’d survived Loch Eilein’s nightmare alongside him.
“Well, well.” Calum MacKinnon spotted him first, his tawny hair catching sunlight as he grinned. “The laird emerges. And here we thought ye’d sleep through our arrival.”
“Some of us were awake before dawn.” Euan clasped Calum’s forearm, feeling the familiar strength of his friend’s grip. “Unlike lazy bastards who sleep until midmorning.”
“We traveled through the night,” David MacDonald corrected, his dark eyes sharp with the intelligence that made him their strategist. “And arrived at a perfectly reasonable hour. Ye’re just growing soft in yer old age.”
“Soft,” Archibald MacRae rumbled, his massive frame making Euan look almost delicate by comparison. “Is that what we’re calling it? Because from the looks of ye, brother, I’d say something else entirely has been keeping ye awake.”
Heat crawled up Euan’s neck. “Dinnae start.”
“Oh, but we must.” Calum’s grin widened. “It’s our sacred duty as yer braithers tae torment ye about whatever—or whoever—has put that look on yer face.”
“There’s nay look.”
“There’s absolutely a look,” David agreed. “The same one Calum wore when he finally admitted he was besotted with—”
“We agreed never tae speak of that again,” Calum cut in quickly. “This is about Euan’s mysterious distraction, nae me past embarrassments.”
“Past?” Archibald’s scarred hand clapped Calum’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him. “Ye mean ongoing.”
Their banter washed over Euan like familiar comfort, easing the raw edges left by this morning’s disaster. This—this brotherhood forged in trauma and strengthened by years—this he understood. This he could trust, unlike the complicated tangle of feelings Moyra MacKenzie stirred in his chest.
“Why are ye really here?” he asked, cutting through their teasing. “And dinnae tell me it was just fer the Fire Fair’s second day. And were is Lachlann?”
The laughter faded. David exchanged glances with the others before answering.
“Yer letter. About the MacKenzie situation. Lachlann is on a birlinn as we speak traveling tae meet with some clans that are giving him problems with trade routes. Naething’ serious enough tae require our united intervention but one of those disagreements that are better nipped in the bud.
He sends his regards and will be in touch as soon as he is on the mainland again. ”
“Och.” Euan gestured toward the keep. “’Tis a pity nae tae see him this time ‘round. Come. We should discuss this inside where—”
“Is that her?” Calum’s attention had shifted to something over Euan’s shoulder.
Euan turned to find Moyra descending the keep’s steps, her copper hair braided back, a simple green dress emphasizing eyes that had looked at him with such heat last night and such regret this morning.
She moved with careful grace, as if uncertain of her welcome, and something in his chest twisted painfully at the vulnerability in her expression.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “That’s her.”
“Saints preserve us,” Calum breathed. “She’s beautiful.”
“And heading this way,” David observed. “With what appears tae be significant trepidation.”
Moyra approached slowly, her gaze flicking between the four men with obvious wariness. When she reached them, she dropped into a curtsy that somehow managed to be both proper and mocking. “Me lords.”
“Lady Moyra MacKenzie,” Euan said, his voice coming out a tad colder than intended. “Allow me tae introduce Calum MacKinnon, David MacDonald, and Archibald MacRae. Three of the Loch Eilein Covenant braithers I mentioned.”
“The ones who grew up taegether after trying tae kill each other as children?” Her mouth quirked. “Ye’ve got quite the reputation, gentlemen.”
Calum laughed, the sound bright and warm. “Only half of which is deserved. The other half is pure slander.”
“Which half?” Moyra’s eyes sparkled with challenge.
“Now that’s the question, isnae it?” David stepped forward, his hawk-like features softening into a smile. “It’s a pleasure tae meet the woman who’s got our braither so thoroughly tangled.”
“Tangled?” Moyra glanced at Euan, something unreadable flickering across her face. “I’m nae certain that’s the word I’d use.”
“What word would ye use?” Archibald rumbled. “Because from what I’m seeing, ‘tangled’ seems generous.”
Heat crawled up Euan’s neck. “Perhaps we should—”
“Oh nay,” Calum cut in, grinning. “This is far too entertaining. Please, me lady, continue.”
Moyra studied the three men, and Euan watched something shift in her expression—the wariness giving way to that sharp wit that made his pulse race. “Well, if we’re being honest, ‘hostage’ comes tae mind. Though ‘political inconvenience’ also has a certain ring tae it.”
The brothers burst out laughing. Even Archibald’s scarred face cracked into a smile.
“I like her,” Calum declared. “Euan, ye should keep this one.”
“She’s nae a stray puppy,” Euan growled.
“Nay, she’s clearly far more trouble than that.” David’s keen eyes studied Moyra with obvious approval. “The question is whether our braither’s prepared fer the chaos she’s bringing.”
“He’s nae,” Moyra said before Euan could respond. “But he’s too stubborn tae admit it.”
“Stubborn,” Euan repeated flatly. “That’s what ye’re going with?”
“Among other things.” Her gaze met his, and for one heartbeat, he saw heat flash there—memory of the previous night mixing with this morning’s confusion. “But we agreed nae tae discuss those in polite company.”
The air between them crackled with tension. Calum whistled low.
“Oh, this is even better than I hoped,” he said. “Euan MacLeod, brought low by a sharp-tongued MacKenzie lass. The stories we’ll tell—”
“Will remain untold if ye value yer teeth,” Euan cut in.
“Threatening violence already?” Moyra’s lips curved. “And here I thought ye’d at least wait until after breakfast tae start brawling with yer guests.”
“It’s nae a brawl if they’re asking fer it.”
“Begging fer it, more like,” Archibald agreed. “But perhaps we should move this inside? The courtyard’s getting crowded, and I’d prefer nae tae have an audience when I inevitably say something that makes Euan want tae punch me.”
“Too late,” David observed. “Half the castle’s watching already.”
He was right. Servants had paused in their tasks, guards were trying not to stare, and Euan could practically feel the gossip spreading like wildfire. The laird and the MacKenzie woman, bantering with his Covenant brothers as if she belonged there.
“Inside,” Euan ordered, his voice carrying the authority that made men obey. “Now.”
They moved toward the keep, but Calum fell into step beside Moyra, his easy charm on full display. “So, me lady, what’s it like being held hostage by the surliest man in the Highlands?”
“Surly?” Moyra glanced at Euan, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I’d say ‘brooding’ is more accurate. With occasional moments of almost human warmth.”
“Almost human,” Euan repeated. “Yer flattery kens nay bounds.”
“I save me flattery fer people who deserve it.” But her smile softened the words, made them almost affectionate.
“She’s perfect,” Calum declared. “Absolutely perfect. When’s the wedding?”
The question landed like a boulder in still water. Moyra’s smile vanished. Euan’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
“There’s nay wedding,” Moyra said, her voice gone flat.
“Yet,” David added quietly. “There’s nay wedding yet.”
“There’s nay wedding ever.” Moyra’s chin lifted. “I’m nae some prize tae be claimed through marriage negotiations.”
“Nay one said ye were,” Archibald rumbled. “But the way our braither looks at ye suggests he’s forgotten there are any negotiations tae begin with.”
Euan wanted to punch all three of them. Wanted to defend Moyra from their assumptions while simultaneously wanting to shake her until she understood that marriage to him wouldn’t be a cage—it would be freedom with someone who actually cared whether she lived or died.
But before he could voice any of that—before he could find words that wouldn’t sound like demands or ultimatums—Moyra had already turned away, her spine rigid with wounded pride.
“If ye’ll excuse me,” she said, her tone glacial. “I believe I’m late fer something.”
She swept from the hall, leaving Euan surrounded by his grinning brothers and the weight of everything he couldn’t say.