Page 19 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"I'm fine," Elinor said quickly. "Thank you."

But David saw the way her eyes fixed on the food. The way her throat worked as she swallowed. The slight tremor in her hands as she reached for the spoon.

The keeper left. Elinor lifted a spoonful of stew to her mouth, and David watched her close her eyes briefly, something like relief crossing her face.

Then she took another bite. And another. Eating with a focused intensity that spoke of real hunger, not just appetite.

"Slow down," Tristan said mildly. "Food's nae goin' anywhere."

Elinor froze, the spoon halfway to her mouth. Color flooded her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"Dinnae apologize." David cut off whatever excuse she'd been about to make. He tore off a piece of bread and handed it to her. "Eat. After today’s ordeal, ye need it."

She took the bread but didn't meet his eyes. She was quiet, focusing intently on her stew. Too intently.

David exchanged a look with Tristan, who raised his eyebrows.

Her faither wasnae feedin' her properly.

It made a twisted kind of sense. Control came in many forms. Food was one of the simplest. Keep someone hungry enough, and they became easier to manage. More compliant. Less likely to resist.

"Eat as much as ye want," David said quietly. "And if ye're still hungry after, we'll order more."

Elinor's eyes snapped up to his. She searched his face for mockery, for judgment. Found neither.

"Thank you," she said softly.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. David watched Elinor from beneath his lashes, noting the way she savored each bite, the careful way she broke the bread into small pieces and made it last. Like someone who'd learned to make food stretch. To appreciate what she had because she didn't know when she'd eat again.

His wife. Christ, she was his wife now. And she'd been half-starved under her father's roof.

"So." Tristan broke the quiet, setting down his spoon. "What's the plan fer when we reach Alnwick?"

David pulled his attention away from Elinor. "We tell the Duke of Albany the truth."

"The truth?" Tristan's voice was carefully neutral. "Which version of the truth would that be?"

"The version where Elinor and I were quietly betrothed before his summons arrived."

Elinor made a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn't been so bitter. "The Duke will never believe that."

"Why nae?"

"Because it's a lie." She set down her spoon with deliberate care. "And not even a particularly good one."

"It's the lie we're tellin'," David said flatly. "Unless ye have a better idea."

"I have several better ideas. Starting with the truth, you bought me at an auction to avoid obeying the Regent’s order."

"That's nae the truth that gets us both out of this alive, lass."

"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you bid five hundred pounds."

The words had bite. David felt his temper stir. "I was thinkin' ye'd rather be married tae me than sold tae Langley."

“I think I’ll leave ye two tae talk about this properly.” Tristen said as he stood up from his chair. “I’ll go see if they have ale around here.”

And he was gone.