Page 111 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

David found Elinor in the great hall the next morning, surrounded by chaos.

Servants carried benches. Malcolm barked orders about table arrangements. Cook was arguing with someone about menu selections. And in the middle of it all, Elinor stood with a list in her hand, somehow managing to look both overwhelmed and completely in control.

"No, the tables go along the walls," she was saying. "We need space in the center for dancing. And Cook, I promise we'll discuss the desserts, but first I need to finalize the guest count with—David!"

She spotted him and her face brightened, even as she clutched her list tighter. "Thank God. Malcolm, could you give us a moment?"

The steward nodded and moved away, still directing servants. David crossed to Elinor, taking in the organized chaos around them.

"Looks like ye're in the thick of it," he observed.

"The Regent's arrival is in two days." She gestured at her list. "Two days, and we still need to finalize seating arrangements, confirm the musicians, decide on menu details, make sure the guest chambers are prepared—" She stopped, taking a breath. "I'm handling it. I promise."

"I ken ye are." He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Ye dinnae need tae dae it alone, though. If ye need help⁠—"

"I have help. Malcolm's been wonderful. And Ainsley. And Cook, even if she's currently threatening to quit if I ask for one more menu change." Elinor's smile was strained. "I'm fine. Just busy."

"Too busy fer this?" David pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

"What is it?"

"Open it."

She unfolded the paper, her eyes widening as she saw what he'd drawn. It was her, from the paint fight—covered in color, laughing, surrounded by children. He'd captured the joy in her expression, the freedom in her posture.

"David." Her voice was soft. "You drew this?"

"Aye. Last night. After ye fell asleep." He felt heat creep up his neck. "I wanted ye tae have somethin' tae remind ye, even when ye're stressed about all this, that ye're allowed tae be happy. Tae laugh."

She looked up at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. "Thank you."

"Ye're welcome." He kissed her forehead. "Now, I'll let ye get back tae work. But if ye need anythin'—"

"I know where to find you." She tucked the sketch carefully into her bodice, close to her heart. "Thank you. Really."

He left her to her preparations, but not before noticing the way she touched the paper one more time, like she was checking it was real. Like it was something precious.

Later that afternoon, David found himself in their bedchamber, staring at the folded sheet tucked away in a chest.

The wedding sheet. Evidence of their first night together. The stain that proved consummation.

He should have disposed of it weeks ago. Should have had servants wash it and return it to the linen stores like any normal household item.

But something had stopped him.

Now, with the Duke’s impending visit and Langley's threat still looming, he knew exactly why he'd kept it.

He pulled the sheet from the chest, examining it in the afternoon light. The stain was small but visible. Unmistakable evidence of what had happened between them that first night.

"What are you daeing?"

David turned to find Elinor in the doorway, her list still clutched in hand but her expression curious and slightly concerned.

"Just organizin' some things."

"With our wedding sheet?" She moved closer, her eyes fixed on the fabric in his hands. Understanding dawned on her face, followed quickly by something that looked like dread. "Why do you have that?"