Page 132 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

She left the great hall, moving through corridors that felt quiet after the chaos of the infirmary. Servants hurried past with water and food for the defenders. Guards stood at intervals, weapons ready, eyes alert.

The castle felt different. Tense. Like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the next blow to fall.

Elinor made her way to the storage rooms on the second floor where extra linens were kept. They'd need more bandages soon, the supply in the great hall was already running low.

She was reaching for the door handle when she heard it.

A sound. Soft. Like fabric brushing against stone.

She froze, her hand hovering over the latch.

There. Again. Coming from inside the storage room.

Probably just a servant, she told herself. Someone gathering supplies.

But something felt wrong. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. Her instincts—honed by years of reading her father's moods, of knowing when danger was near—were screaming at her to run.

Elinor took a step back from the door.

"Going somewhere, my lady?"

The voice came from behind her. English. Unfamiliar.

She spun around to find a man blocking the corridor. He was dressed like a MacDonald servant, but his accent gave him away. And the way he was looking at her, like a hunter who'd cornered his prey.

"I don't know you," Elinor said, keeping her voice steady even as her heart hammered. "You're not clan."

"Very observant." The man took a step closer. "Sir Edmund sends his regards. Says it's time to come home."

Elinor's blood turned to ice. "How did you get in here?"

"Been here for weeks, actually. Hidin' in plain sight. Waitin' for the right moment." His smile was ugly. "And with the laird busy defendin' his walls, this seems like the perfect time."

He lunged.

Elinor ran.

She didn't think, didn't hesitate, just turned and sprinted down the corridor, her skirts bunched in her fists. Behind her, she heard the man curse and give chase.

"Help!" she screamed. "Guards! Someone."

A hand grabbed her arm, yanking her backward. She stumbled, catching herself against the wall. The man was on her in an instant, his hand clamping over her mouth.

"None of that," he hissed. "You're coming quiet-like, or this gets messy."

Elinor bit down hard on his palm.

The man yelped, jerking his hand away. "You little bitch."

She screamed again, louder this time, and kicked at him with all her strength. Her foot connected with his knee and he staggered.

More footsteps, coming from the other direction. Two more men appeared, also dressed as servants. Also English.

"Grab her!" the first man ordered. "Before someone hears!"

But it was too late. A guard appeared at the end of the corridor, his sword already drawn.

"What's this, then?" The guard took in the scene quickly. "Step away from Lady MacDonald. Now."