Page 123 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"The Royal party is preparin’ tae depart, me laird."

David looked up from the report he'd been reviewing to find Malcolm standing in the doorway of his study. Dawn light filtered through the window, painting everything in shades of gold and grey.

"Good. Make sure they have everythin' they need fer the journey." David set down the parchment.

"Aye, me laird." Malcolm hesitated. "If I may, ye handled the Regent’s visit well. Both of ye did."

"We survived it," David corrected.

"Perhaps. But ye convinced him. That's what matters." Malcolm's expression turned more serious. "Though I'd wager Langley willnae be pleased when he hears."

"Langley can rot in hell fer all I care." David stood, moving to the window. He could see the courtyard below, where the Duke’s men were loading supplies onto horses. "His opinion stopped matterin’ the moment the Duke declared our marriage legitimate."

"Assumin’ he accepts the Duke’s judgment."

"He'll have nay choice." But even as David said it, he felt doubt niggling at the back of his mind. Men like Langley didn't accept defeat gracefully. Didn't bow to authority when it contradicted what they wanted.

They plotted. Schemed. Found ways around obstacles rather than accepting them.

"I hope ye're right, me laird." Malcolm moved to leave, then paused. "Lady Elinor asked me to tell ye breakfast is ready. She's waitin' fer ye in the solar."

David found Elinor exactly where Malcolm had said, curled up in one of the chairs by the fire. She wore a simpler, more comfortable gown that morning, and her hair was loose around her shoulders.

She looked relaxed. Happy, even.

"There ye are," she said, smiling up at him. "I wasn't sure if you'd eaten yet."

"I havenae. Been busy with reports." He moved to the chair opposite her, accepting the plate she'd prepared for him. "Ye look pleased with yerself."

"I am. We survived the Crown’s visit. The Duke believed us. He's leaving today convinced our marriage is real." Her smile widened. "That's worth being pleased about, don't you think?"

"Aye. It is." David took a bite of bread, chewing thoughtfully. "Though I'll feel better once he's actually gone and we can stop performin' fer royal approval."

"We weren't performing. Not really." Elinor set down her plate, her expression turning more serious. "Everything we told him was true. The important parts, at least."

"The parts about us, aye. The parts about how we met—" He shook his head. "That was fabrication."

"Necessary fabrication." She reached across the space between them, taking his hand. "And it worked. That's what matters."

David squeezed her hand gently, wanting to believe her optimism. Wanting to think that the worst was behind them.

But years of experience had taught him that letting your guard down was when disaster struck.

"What are ye thinkin'?" Elinor asked, reading his expression.

"Just wonderin' what Langley will dae when he hears. He willnae be happy."

"No. But he'll have to accept it." Elinor's voice was firm.

A sharp knock interrupted them. David stood, moving to the door to find one of his guards, looking agitated.

"Me laird. A messenger just arrived. Says it's urgent."

"From who?"

"Scouts. On the north border."