Page 30 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

The smaller, more ornate throne sat empty—a reminder of the young King James V, still a child of barely five years. Beside it, in the regent's seat, sat John Stewart, second Duke of Albany, the man who wielded true power in Scotland during the king's minority.

Albany was in his forties, sharp-featured and calculating, with dark hair streaked with silver and eyes that assessed everything with cold precision. He wore the regalia of his office with the confidence of a man who had fought for his position and intended to keep it.

David stopped at the appropriate distance and bowed. Beside him, Elinor sank into a curtsy that would have done a duchess proud.

"Yer Grace," David said. "Thank ye fer receivin' us."

"Laird MacDonald." The Regent's voice was deceptively pleasant. "I must confess, when I summoned ye tae discuss taking an English bride, I didn't expect ye tae arrive with one already in tow."

"Circumstances changed, Yer Grace."

"Did they?" The Regent's gaze moved to Elinor. "And who might this be?"

"Lady Elinor MacDonald, Yer Grace." Elinor's voice was steady, clear. "Until recently, Lady Elinor Royse."

"Royse." The regent frowned slightly. "Lord Thomas Royse's daughter?"

"Aye, Yer Grace."

"I see." The Regent leaned back in his throne, studying them both. "Perhaps, Laird MacDonald, ye'd care tae explain when exactly ye acquired a wife? I seem tae recall me letter was quite clear about me expectations."

This was it. The moment where their story either held or fell apart.

"Yer letter was very clear, Yer Grace," David said carefully. "Which is why I was surprised tae receive it. Ye see, I've been betrothed tae Lady Elinor fer the better part of two years."

The Regent's eyebrows rose. "Betrothed."

"Aye. Our families are old friends. The arrangements were made quietly, as Lady Elinor's faither preferred discretion until the contracts were finalized."

"How convenient." The Regent's tone was dry. "And these contracts, I assume they're complete now?"

"In a manner of speakin'. The betrothal became a marriage some time ago."

The regent sat forward slightly. "How very... timely."

David felt Elinor tense beside him. This was the dangerous part. Where the regent could call them liars and have them both arrested for treason.

"If I may, Your Grace," Elinor said quietly.

The Regent's attention shifted to her. "Speak."

"My father attempted to break our betrothal. For financial reasons." Her voice was calm, but David could hear the thread of steel beneath it. "He tried to sell me to another man. Laird MacDonald came to prevent it, and we wed immediately to ensure my father couldn't interfere again."

"Sell you." The Regent's expression darkened. "Yer faither attempted tae sell ye?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And Laird MacDonald prevented this?"

"He did." Elinor met the regent's gaze steadily. "I'm aware this complicates matters with whatever arrangements you'd planned. But I can assure Your Grace that our marriage is legitimate. Legal. And"—she paused, and David saw the faint color rise in her cheeks—"consummated."

The blush was perfect. Embarrassed but honest. The kind of reaction any new bride might have when discussing such matters, even more so before a regent.

David had to resist the urge to kiss her right there in the throne room.

The regent studied them for a long moment. David could practically see him weighing the story, looking for flaws. Testing their reactions.

"Lord Ashford," the Regent said without looking away from them. "What dae ye ken of Lord Thomas Royse?"