Page 138 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"I care more than you ever could!" Langley lunged, overextending.

David sidestepped, brought his blade around in a controlled arc.

It caught Langley in the side, sliding between ribs.

Langley gasped, his sword falling from his fingers. He staggered back, his hand going to the wound. Blood welled between his fingers.

"No," he whispered. "No, this isn't what was supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to die."

He collapsed to his knees.

David stood over him, his sword still raised. Around them, the fighting had stopped. Langley's men were seeing their leader fall, were realizing their cause was lost.

"It's over," David said quietly. "Let it be over."

Langley looked up at him, and David saw the madness clearing from his eyes. Saw him finally understanding what he'd become. What his obsession had driven him to.

"She was meant to be mine," he said, his voice weak. "I was supposed to save her."

"She saved herself." David lowered his sword. "She never needed ye."

Langley's eyes went distant. His breathing rattled. Then stopped.

The courtyard was silent except for the sound of David's ragged breathing. He looked around at Langley's men—two dozen of them, still armed, still capable of fighting.

"Yer commander is dead," he called out. "Ye've lost. Lay down yer weapons and I'll let ye leave with yer lives. Continue fightin', and ye'll die here."

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then, one by one, swords clattered to the ground. Langley's men surrendered.

It was over.

David looked up at the balcony where Elinor stood watching. Even from this distance, he could see the tears on her cheeks. The relief in her posture.

He raised his sword in salute to her. Then he collapsed, his wounded shoulder finally giving out, the exhaustion and blood loss catching up with him all at once.

The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Elinor running, her voice screaming his name.

But he was smiling. Because it was over. She was safe.

Finally, truly safe.