Page 102 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"Get the men ready," Edmund said. "Full armor. Weapons sharpened. I want them prepared for a siege, even though we won't be staying long. We just need to make enough noise to keep MacDonald's forces occupied."

"Yes, my lord."

"And William?" Edmund's voice dropped. "Tell the men, no killing unless absolutely necessary. This is a rescue mission, not a massacre. The goal is to get Elinor out. Everything else is secondary."

"Understood, my lord."

William left. Edmund returned to his map, his mind already running through the plan again, looking for flaws.

The attack would begin at sunset. His main force would assault the gates, making as much noise as possible. Arrows. Battering ram. Everything to draw attention to the front of the castle.

Meanwhile, inside, his planted men would move. There were seven of them, carefully positioned over the past month. Two servants in the kitchens. A stable hand. A guard who'd been bought with gold. A laundress. A man who worked in the armory. And one more, the most important, who'd managed to get hired as part of the household staff just after the Cèilidh.

Seven people, all loyal to Edmund. All ready to act.

Their job was simple: locate Elinor, subdue any guards, and bring her to the east wall, where the stones were weak. Edmund's men outside would be waiting with ropes and horses. They'd pull her through the gap, put her on a horse, and ride hard for the border.

By the time MacDonald realized what was happening, it would be too late.

Edmund would have Elinor back, where she belonged. Where she'd always belonged.

And MacDonald—that Highland savage who'd dared to touch what was Edmund's—would pay for his arrogance.

Edmund could already imagine the look on MacDonald's face when he returned to find Elinor gone. The rage. The despair.

The knowledge that he'd failed to protect her.

It was almost as sweet as the thought of having Elinor back in his possession.

Almost.

"My lord?"

Edmund looked up to find another messenger at his tent entrance. This one looked nervous, his eyes darting around like he expected an ambush.

"What?"

"Message from inside Keppoch. From our man in the guard."

Edmund's pulse quickened. "And?"

"MacDonald's increased the guard on his wife's chambers. Triple the normal number."

Edmund's jaw tightened. That complicated things, but didn't make them impossible.

"Tell our people inside to adjust their plans accordingly. Have them drug the guards if possible when we give the signal. Or create a distraction elsewhere in the castle. I don't care how they do it, but I need those guards away from Elinor's chambers when we move."

"Yes, my lord."

The messenger fled. Edmund paced his tent, his mind churning.

Triple guards. MacDonald was more paranoid than Edmund had anticipated. But paranoia made men sloppy. Made them focus on the wrong threats.

MacDonald was watching the gates. Watching the walls. Watching for external attacks.

He wasn't watching his own people. The servants who brought Elinor her meals. The guards who changed shifts and might be persuaded to look the other way. The laundress who entered her chambers to collect linens.

All it would take was one moment. One opportunity.