Page 52 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"That seems like a waste of a favor."

"Then turn around."

David held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned to face the window, his back to her. Behind him, he heard the rustle of fabric as she began to undress.

"Ye ken this is ridiculous," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the darkened glass. "We're sharin' a bed. I'm bound tae see ye eventually."

"Eventually isn't now."

"Stubborn woman."

"You bought a stubborn woman. You only have yourself to blame."

He heard more rustling, then the soft padding of her feet across the floor. The bed creaked slightly as she climbed in.

"I'm decent," she announced. "Though I'm taking most of the blankets."

David turned to find her already settled on the far side of the bed, cocooned in what did appear to be the majority of the blankets. Only her face was visible, pale against the dark fabric.

"Ye're in me spot," he observed.

"You don't have a spot. We've only slept here once."

"That was me side of the bed."

"Not anymore." She burrowed deeper into the blankets. "Besides, you're bigger. You need less covering."

"That's nae how temperature works."

"It is now."

David crossed to the bed, looking down at her. She met his gaze without flinching, though he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands gripped the blanket edge beneath her chin.

She was afraid, he realized. Not of him, exactly. But of the intimacy of sharing a bed with a man she barely knew. A man who'd bought her, married her, and now expected her to trust him in the dark.

His irritation faded.

"Ye can have me side," he said quietly. "And the blankets. Fer taenight."

Surprise flickered across her face. "Really?"

"Really." He moved to the other side of the bed, the side she'd claimed just days ago at the inn. "But tomorrow, we negotiate."

"Negotiate what?"

"Territory. And blanket distribution." He sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing his boots. "I'm nae spendin' every night freezin' because me wife has decided she needs all the coverin's."

"Your wife has been cold her entire life," Elinor said softly. "Let her be warm for once."

The quiet words hit him like a fist to the chest. He stilled, his hands frozen on his boot laces.

Cold her entire life.

He thought of the way she'd devoured her food at the inn. The hunger in her eyes when she'd looked at the feast in the great hall. The pallor of her skin, the shadows beneath her eyes.

Lord Thomas Royse hadn't just controlled his daughter. He'd starved her. Frozen her. Kept her in a state of perpetual need so she'd be too weak to resist.

"Ye can have all the blankets ye want," David said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "Taenight and every night after."