Page 135 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

"Me laird! Inside the castle! There's fightin’ inside!"

David's head snapped toward the messenger who'd just burst through the defenders and met him in the courtyard as he went to look for his wife. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out the sounds of battle that were still ringing in his mind.

"What?"

"Infiltrators, me laird! They're after Lady Elinor!"

The world seemed to stop. Everything—the battle at the walls, the wounded men, the tactical considerations of holding the gate—all of it faded into background noise.

Elinor was in danger.

"Tristan!" David's voice cut across the courtyard. "Take command!"

David was already running, his wounded shoulder forgotten, his exhaustion pushed aside by pure terror. He crashed through the castle entrance, his sword still in hand, following the sounds of fighting deeper into the keep.

David took the stairs three at a time, his boots slipping on stone slick with blood. His heart hammered against his ribs. His breath came in ragged gasps.

Bodies littered the upstairs corridor—MacDonald guards, infiltrators dressed in his clan's colors. David didn't slow down, just cut through anything that got in his way.

He'd left her. He'd left her to defend the walls while Langley's real plan unfolded inside the castle. While men who'd been hiding for weeks, waiting for that exact moment, moved to take her.

"Hold him! Don't let him get past!"

The shout came from ahead. David rounded a corner and saw two guards fighting against four infiltrators. One was sprinting down the corridor toward⁠—

Their bedchamber.

"No!" David's sword took the nearest infiltrator in the back, dropping him instantly. He yanked the blade free and moved to the next target, blocking a strike aimed at one of his guards. "Get after that one! Don't let him reach her!"

But even as he said it, he heard it.

A scream. High and terrified and unmistakably Elinor.

Coming from the direction of the bedchamber.

David fought with a savagery he didn't know he possessed. His wounded shoulder screamed in protest with every swing, but he ignored it. Ignored everything except the need to get to Elinor. To protect her. To stop whatever was happening in that room.

He killed the last infiltrator with a thrust through the gut, then shoved past his guards and ran.

The door to their bedchamber stood open. Inside, he could see overturned furniture, signs of a struggle. And on the balcony⁠—

His blood turned to ice.

A man had Elinor by the arm, dragging her toward the stone railing. Her dress was torn, her throat bruised. She was fighting him with everything she had, but he was bigger, stronger.

And beyond the balcony railing, David could see a rope hanging down. An escape route.

"Let her go!" David's voice was deadly calm as he stepped onto the balcony.

The infiltrator spun, yanking Elinor in front of him like a shield. His dagger in his hand, pressing against her throat.

"Stay back!" the man snarled. "Stay back or I'll cut her throat right here!"

David stopped, his sword still raised. His eyes met Elinor's, wide with terror but also fierce with determination. She wasn't giving up. Wasn't surrendering.

"Ye hurt her," David said quietly, "and ye'll die screaming. Let her go now, and I'll make it quick."