Page 139 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

EPILOGUE

One week later

"Ye need tae sit still, David. How am I supposed tae tie this properly if ye keep movin'?"

David stood in their bedchamber, trying not to wince as Elinor adjusted the sling supporting his wounded shoulder. A week had passed since Langley's death, and while the wound was healing well, it still protested any sudden movements.

"I'm nae movin'. Ye're just fussin'."

"I'm making sure you don't tear your stitches." She secured the knot, then stepped back to examine her work. "There. That should hold. But I'm serious, David, no sword practice. No lifting anything heavy."

"Nay tae anythin' remotely enjoyable, aye, I ken." He caught her hand, pulling her closer. "Ye've told me at least a dozen times today."

"And you'll hear it a dozen more if you don't listen." But she was smiling, her free hand coming up to rest against his chest. "You scared me. When you collapsed in the courtyard. I thought⁠—"

"I ken what ye thought." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But I'm fine. Moira says the wound's healin' well. Nay infection, nay complications. It just needs time and rest."

"Which you're terrible at."

"I'm gettin' better." He gestured around their bedchamber. "See? I'm restin' right now. Lettin' ye dress me fer this celebration like I'm a bairn."

"You're wearing a sling, not a christening gown." Elinor adjusted his collar, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. "And you're only resting because Tristan threatened to tie you to the bed if you tried to inspect the wall repairs again."

"Those repairs are important."

"They're being handled. By capable men who know what they're doing." She met his eyes, her expression serious. "You've been wounded in battle, David. You're allowed to take a few days to recover. The clan won't fall apart without you micromanaging every detail."

"I'm nae micromanagin’."

"You sent three separate messages to Malcolm this morning about table arrangements."

"The high table needs tae be positioned properly."

"The high table is fine." Elinor's hands moved to his face, cupping it gently. "You need to let other people handle things. Just for tonight. Just for one celebration where you can actually enjoy yourself instead of worrying."

David sighed, leaning into her touch. She was right, of course. She usually was.

"Alright. Nay fussin' about arrangements. Nay checkin' on repairs. Just—enjoyin' the celebration." He paused. "But if Malcolm⁠—"

"David."

"Right. Nay fussin'." He kissed her palm. "Promise."

"Good." She stepped back, smoothing her own gown. She wore deep green, the color bringing out her eyes. The bruises on her throat had faded to barely visible shadows, but David could still see them if he looked closely. Still remembered the terror of seeing her on that balcony, a knife at her throat, dangling over the edge.

"Ye're thinkin' about it again," Elinor said quietly.

"Aye. I keep seein' ye on that balcony. Keep thinkin' about what would have happened if I'd been even a minute later."

"But you weren't." She moved back to him, taking his good hand. "You got there in time. Malcolm got there in time. The guards got there in time. I'm here. I'm safe. And Langley's dead."

"Aye. He is." David had felt no guilt about killing the man. No remorse. Langley had threatened everything David cared about, and David had ended the threat. Simple as that.

Though the nightmares suggested his mind wasn't quite as settled as he'd have liked to believe.

"Come on." Elinor tugged at his hand. "Everyone's waiting. And if we're late to our own celebration, Tristan will never let you hear the end of it."

They made their way down to the great hall, moving slowly to accommodate David's healing shoulder. Guards snapped to attention as they passed, offering respectful nods. Servants scurried by with last-minute preparations.