Page 59 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

David wanted to deny it again. Wanted to shut that conversation down completely and return to training like nothing was wrong.

But Tristan was right. They'd been friends since childhood. And if David couldn't be honest with his oldest friend, who could he be honest with?

"I'm tryin' tae give her choices," David said quietly. "Freedom. Space tae figure out what she wants."

"That's good. That's a start." Tristan tilted his head.

"But she's made it clear. The rules. Nae touchin', nay kissin' unless necessary and in public. Keepin' distance."

"And have ye thought that maybe those rules were about her needin' tae feel in control after years of havin' none? Nae about her nae wantin' ye?" Tristan's voice gentled. "David, I saw the way she looked at ye at dinner the other night, when ye defended her with Fergus. That wasnae the look of a woman who feels naethin'."

"She was grateful. That's different."

"It was more than grateful." Tristan clapped him on the shoulder. "Trust me. I ken the difference."

David wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to believe him. But the fear was too strong—the fear that if he let himself hope, let himself want more than the careful arrangement they'd built, he'd ruin everything.

"What dae I dae?" he asked finally.

"What ye've been daein'. Be patient. Be kind. Give her reasons tae trust ye." Tristan grinned and raised his practice sword again. "Now come on. Let's see if ye can actually focus on trainin' this time. Though if ye're thinkin' about yer wife, I understand if ye need a moment tae... adjust yerself."

David's face burned. "I hate ye."

"Nay ye dinnae. Ye love me." Tristan's grin was insufferable. "Now defend yerself before I really dae bruise yer ribs."

They fell back into the rhythm of practice, and this time, David managed to actually pay attention.