Page 11 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"On the contrary." David's voice was calm, certain in a way he hadn't felt in years. "I'm very sane. And I'm very sure that I willnae allow the Duke tae control me anymore. Enough of me life has been controlled by the Covenant. By duty tae me clan. By promises I made when I was too young tae ken what they'd cost." He looked back at the platform, at Elinor standing there like a queen awaiting execution. "This choice is mine."

"Sold!" The auctioneer's voice rang out. "To Laird David MacDonald of Keppoch, for five-hundred pounds!"

The hall erupted in noise. Men talked over each other, some in admiration, others in outrage. David ignored them all, moving through the crowd toward a door at the side of the platform where Lord Royse had appeared, rubbing his hands together with undisguised glee.

The backroom was small, dimly lit by a single window. Lord Royse stood near a table, his eyes gleaming with avarice.

"Laird MacDonald!" He turned, extending a hand David had no intention of shaking. "A fine choice, a fine choice indeed. My daughter will serve you well, I'm certain of it."

"Where is she?"

"Being prepared. The transaction must be completed first, you understand." Royse gestured to a strongbox on the table. "Five hundred pounds, I believe we agreed?"

David began counting out the coin, his movements methodical. The sum represented a significant portion of his clan's reserves, coin that should have gone to winter stores or repairs to the castle. His steward would have questions. His mother would have opinions.

He didn't care.

The door burst open. Langley stormed in, two men at his back.

"This is a fraud!" The man pointed an accusing finger at David. "That bid was made in bad faith. The lady was promised to me!"

"The lady," David said without looking up from his counting, "was promised tae whoever paid the most. I paid the most."

"You're a Highland savage who has no business⁠—"

"Careful." David's voice went very quiet. He set down the coins he'd been counting and turned to face Langley fully. "Ye'll want tae think on yer next words."

"Gentlemen, please!" Royse stepped between them, his hands raised. "The transaction is complete. Legal and binding. Sir Edmund, you had every opportunity to bid higher."

"Five-hundred pounds is an obscene sum!"

"And yet it was paid." Royse gestured to the coins on the table. "The matter is settled."

"It is not settled!" Langley's hand moved to his sword. "I will not allow⁠—"

David's hand was faster. His blade was half-drawn before Langley's fingers had closed around his hilt.

"Ye'll nae allow?" David's smile was cold. "Ye've nay say in the matter, Langley. The lass has been sold, the coin has been paid, and ye've nay claim tae either."

"She should be mine!"

"Yet fate decided otherwise." David finished drawing his sword, the steel singing in the close space. "She's mine. And if ye've a problem with that, we can settle it outside. But I'll warn ye now—I dinnae lose."

Tristan appeared in the doorway, his own hand on his weapon. "Is there a problem?"

"Nay problem, Tristan." David remarked dryly, his eyes never leaving Langley's. "Sir Edmund was just leaving."

For a long moment, no one moved. Then Langley spat on the floor and turned on his heel, shoving past Tristan and disappearing into the hall.

David sheathed his blade and turned back to the table. "The rest of yer coin, Lord Royse."

He finished counting out the sum, every pound and shilling, while Royse watched with barely concealed delight. Five-hundred pounds. Enough to save his estate. Enough to keep him in wine and comfort for years.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Laird MacDonald." Royse swept the coins into the strongbox. "I'll have me daughter brought in."

"See that ye dae."

Royse left through a side door. David stood in the suddenly quiet room, Tristan at his shoulder, and tried to remember how to breathe normally.