Page 9 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

Another man countered. "Seventy."

"Eighty." Langley again, his tone sharp with possession.

The lady, Elinor, went very still. Her eyes found Langley in the crowd, and even from this distance, David could see the fear flicker across her face before she buried it.

She was terrified of him.

"One-hundred pounds," someone else offered.

"One-hundred twenty." Langley's voice was colder now, a warning to the other bidders.

"One-hundred twenty-five," some lord called out, but he didn’t sound determined to outbid anyone.

"One-hundred fifty," Langley barked out, his gaze fixed on the platform. On her.

Elinor's hands trembled. Just once, barely visible, before she clasped them together and went still again.

"One-hundred fifty pounds to Sir Edmund Langley," the auctioneer called out. "A generous sum! Do I hear one-hundred sixty?"

Silence. The other bidders were backing down, unwilling to compete with Langley's aggressive bidding.

"One-hundred fifty going once..." The auctioneer paused, scanning the room. "Going twice..." Langley's posture relaxed slightly, His eyes gleaming as he stared at Elinor on the platform like she was a trophy he was about to claim.

Elinor saw it. David watched her hands begin to tremble. Watched her throat work as she swallowed hard. She was fighting to keep her composure, but it was cracking at the edges.

Something about the entire affair vexed David.

His hand moved to his coin purse.

Tristan caught his wrist. "Dinnae. Have ye lost yer mind?"

David looked at him—at his oldest friend, his most trusted man, the one who'd pulled him from more trouble than he could count.

"Perhaps," he said quietly. "Or perhaps I'm seein' clearly fer once."

He pulled free and stepped forward.

"One-hundred sixty."

The room stirred. Heads turned. Langley's smile vanished.

"We've got one-hundred and sixty," the auctioneer called, surprise lifting his voice. "Do I hear two hundred?"

"Two hundred!" Langley spun toward the back of the room, his eyes finding David. His face flushed red, then darker. "Two-hundred pounds!"

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Men leaned forward in their seats, drinks forgotten.

Tristan grabbed David's arm. "What are ye daein' man?"

"What daes it look like?"

"It looks like ye've gone mad."

"Two-hundred pounds from Sir Edmund Langley!" The auctioneer was nearly bouncing now. "Do I hear two-hundred ten?"

The hall went quiet. Two-hundred pounds was a fortune. More than most men here could afford, or would be willing to spend.

The auctioneer looked around the room. "Two-hundred pounds from Sir Edmund Langley. A fine bid for a fine lady. Closing at two hundred pounds going once, going "