Page 133 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"This doesn't concern you," one of the new arrivals said. "We're just⁠—"

The guard didn't wait for the excuse. He moved forward, his blade flashing.

Chaos erupted in the narrow corridor. Steel rang against steel. Elinor pressed herself against the wall, trying to stay out of the way while the guard fought off two of the infiltrators.

The third, the one who'd grabbed her, pulled a knife from his belt.

"You're coming with me," he snarled, advancing on Elinor. "One way or another."

"Like hell I am." Elinor grabbed the first thing her hand found, a decorative candlestick from a nearby table. It was heavy, iron, and when she swung it at the man's head, it connected with a satisfying thunk.

The man went down, blood pouring from his temple.

But the other two were still fighting the guard, and he was tiring. One of them got past his defense, driving a blade into his side.

The guard fell with a cry.

"No!" Elinor started toward him, but strong hands grabbed her from behind.

A fourth man. There had been a fourth one, waiting.

"Got you," he breathed in her ear, his arm locked around her waist, lifting her off her feet. "Now be a good girl and come along."

Elinor fought like a wildcat—kicking, scratching, biting anything she could reach. But he was strong, and he'd caught her by surprise. He started dragging her down the corridor, away from the wounded guard, away from help.

"Let me go!" She drove her elbow back, catching him in the ribs. "Let me go right now."

"Shut up!" He shook her roughly, making her teeth rattle. "Just shut up and⁠—"

Something whistled through the air.

The man's grip on her loosened. He made a choking sound and then collapsed, taking Elinor down with him. She scrambled away from his body, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

A knife protruded from the man's back. And standing at the end of the corridor, another knife already in hand, was Malcolm.

"Me lady." The steward's voice was calm, controlled. "Are ye hurt?"

"I—no. I don't think so." Elinor looked at the chaos around her—three men down or dying, the guard bleeding on the floor, Malcolm standing there like he'd just taken care of a minor inconvenience rather than saved her life. "How did you do it?"

"Been fightin' since before ye were born, me lady." Malcolm moved past her to check on the guard. "This one's alive. Barely. We need tae get him tae the healer." He looked up at her. "And we need tae get ye somewhere safe. If there were four of them, there might be more."

"The guard…"

"I'll handle it. Ye need tae go. Now." Malcolm's tone brooked no argument. "Tae yer chambers. Lock the door. Dinnae open it fer anyone but the laird or me. Understood?"

Elinor nodded, her legs shaky as she started moving. Behind her, she could hear Malcolm calling for help, his voice sharp with command.

She ran through the corridors, her heart pounding, not stopping until she reached her bedchamber. She slammed the door behind her and threw the bolt, then leaned against it, trying to catch her breath.

Langley had men inside the castle. Inside. How many? How long had they been here? And what else were they planning?

She had to warn David. Had to tell him⁠—

A sound from the balcony made her freeze.

The door was opening. Slowly. Carefully.

But she'd locked that. She always locked the balcony door.