Page 38 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"No! I don't need help. I need you to keep looking at the ceiling and not comment on every sound I make."

She finally got the chemise on, though it immediately began clinging to her damp skin. The towel dropped to the floor. She looked down at herself and felt heat flood her face. The thin fabric was practically transparent where it touched wet skin.

"I'm decent," she said, grabbing for the robe. "You can…"

David turned before she finished speaking.

His eyes found her. Widened. Then very deliberately moved to her face and stayed there, though she could see the muscle jumping in his jaw.

"Ye're––" he cleared his throat. "That's quite a chemise."

"It's wet." She yanked the robe on, tying it with fingers that trembled slightly. "You turned around too soon."

"Ye said ye were decent." His voice was rough, and despite his best efforts, his eyes kept darting down then jerking back up. "I need tae talk tae ye about the council meetin'."

"Can't this wait until I'm dressed?"

"Ye are dressed."

"Properly dressed. In actual clothes, not just," she gestured at her robe, "this."

His eyes dropped again, then he muttered something under his breath and turned to face the window. "The Council wants us tae throw a celebration. A Cèilidh. Tae honor our marriage and introduce ye properly tae the clan."

A celebration. Of course. Because our fraudulent marriage isn't complicated enough.

"When?" she asked.

"A week. Maybe less." He was still facing the window, shoulders tense. "It's tradition. The clan expects it. And it'll help make our marriage look more legitimate tae anyone the Duke sends sniffin' around."

"I see." Elinor moved to the wardrobe Ainsley had shown her earlier, searching for something, anything, to wear. "And what exactly does this celebration involve?"

"Food. Music. Dancin'. The clan comin' taegether tae meet their new lady." He paused. "Ye'd be expected tae help organize it. Tae show ye're capable of managin' the household."

"A test, then."

"Nay. Just tradition."

She found a dress, simple but clean. Started to unlace the robe, then remembered David was still in the room. "Turn around."

"I'm already turned around."

"Keep turning. Face the door."

She heard him move, heard his footsteps cross to the door. "Is this better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

She changed quickly, grateful for the familiar motions. Laces she could manage herself. Fabric that actually covered her. By the time she was done, she felt more like herself. More in control.

"I'll organize your celebration," she said. "But I'll need help. I don't know your customs. Your people. What's appropriate."

"Ainsley can help. And Malcolm, the steward. They ken what needs tae be done."

"Fine." She smoothed her skirts, checking that everything was in place. "You can turn around now."

He did, slowly. His eyes swept over her once, assessing, then returned to her face. "Better?"

"Much." She crossed her arms. "Is there anything else?"