Page 107 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

She moved closer, lowering her voice. "Join us? Please? The children would love it."

"I dinnae ken how tae paint."

"Neither do I. That's not the point." Her eyes were warm, pleading. "Please?"

How could he refuse that?

"Alright. But dinnae blame me when I make a mess."

"You couldn't possibly make more of a mess than they already have."

David found an empty canvas and picked up a piece of charcoal. Painting seemed too complicated. But sketching—that he could do. It had been years since he'd tried, but the skill was still there, buried under layers of duty and responsibility.

He started to sketch Elinor. The curve of her cheek. The line of her jaw. The way her hair caught the light.

"What are you drawing?" She appeared at his elbow, trying to peek.

"Ye." He angled the canvas away. "Nay lookin' until I'm done."

"That's not fair."

"Life's nae fair, lass. Ye told me that yerself."

She swatted his arm, laughing. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

David worked quietly, only half-aware of the chaos continuing around him. The children's laughter. Elinor's patient voice as she tried to teach them technique. The occasional splash of paint hitting something it shouldn't.

He was so focused on his sketch that he didn't notice Meggie approaching until she painted a bright red streak across his canvas.

"Meggie!" Elinor's voice was horrified. "That was the laird's⁠—"

But David was already laughing. "It's alright. I think it needed more color anyway."

Meggie beamed at him. Then, emboldened, she flicked her brush at him, spattering red paint across his shirt.

The hall went silent. Every child froze, clearly expecting the laird to be angry.

Instead, David dipped his fingers in the paint and flicked it back at her.

Chaos erupted.

Paint flew everywhere. Children shrieked with laughter. Elinor tried to restore order, but David saw her bite back a smile as Tavish got her with a spectacular blue splatter.

"Oh, that's it." Elinor grabbed her own brush. "You're all in trouble now."

What followed was the most undignified ten minutes of David's life as laird. He and Elinor ducked behind pillars, formed temporary alliances with children, betrayed said alliances, and generally made absolute fools of themselves.

By the end, they were both breathless and covered in paint. Elinor's hair had green streaks. David had blue handprints on his shirt. And every child in the hall was grinning like they'd just had the best day of their lives.

"Alright, that's enough!" Elinor called out, laughing. "Everyone go get cleaned up before your mothers see what a mess we've made of you!"

The children scattered, still giggling. David and Elinor stood in the middle of the hall, surveying the damage.

"Well," Elinor said. "That got out of hand."

"Aye. It did." David looked down at his paint-covered clothes. "Moira's goin' tae kill me. She just bandaged me wound and told me nae tae dae anythin' stupid."

"Your wound?" Elinor's amusement vanished. "David, you're hurt? Why didn't you say so?"