Page 61 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

She had to leave, right away, before the dangerous line of thinking went any further.

Elinor turned sharply, meaning to flee back to the safety of the gardens, and walked directly into a rack of practice swords leaning against the wall.

The wooden blades clattered to the ground with a noise like thunder, scattering across the stones. Several men looked up. Tristan paused mid-strike. And David⁠—

David's head snapped toward the sound, his eyes finding her immediately.

No. No, no, no.

Elinor froze like a deer caught in lantern light, heat flooding her face as every man in the training yard turned to stare at her. She should say something. Apologize for the disruption. Make some excuse about checking the gardens.

But her tongue had apparently stopped working.

David handed his practice sword to one of the young warriors and started toward her, moving with that same fluid grace she'd been admiring moments before.

Only he was moving toward her, and she was acutely aware that he was still shirtless, that his skin was gleaming with sweat, that she could see every line and curve of muscle as he approached.

She was staring. She was definitely staring.

Stop staring. Look literally anywhere else.

Her eyes remained fixed on his chest.

"Elinor." His voice was closer now. Right in front of her. "Are ye alright?"

She jerked her gaze up to his face and found him watching her with concern. And something else. Something that made her skin feel too tight.

"I'm fine." The words came out higher than intended. "I just, I was checking the gardens and I… the swords fell."

"I can see that." Was that amusement in his voice? "Did ye need somethin'?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean—" She took a breath, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. "I was just passing through. I didn't mean to disturb your training."

"Ye're nae disturbin' anythin'." He took another step closer, close enough that she could see the faint scars crossing his shoulder, the sheen of sweat on his skin. "Ye look flustered."

"I'm not flustered."

"Yer cheeks are pink."

"It's warm."

"It's autumn. There's snow on the mountains." His hand came up, and she felt his fingers brush her cheek with devastating gentleness. "I've been wonderin' what ye look like when ye're flustered. Every other time it's been dark, and I couldnae see ye properly."

Elinor's breath stopped. His thumb traced along her cheekbone, and she felt that touch everywhere—down her spine, in her stomach, lower.

"I should go," she managed. "There's much to do before tonight."

She turned, but his hand caught her elbow. Not hard. Just enough to stop her.

"If ye want tae stay, ye can." His voice had gone lower, rougher. "Ye shouldnae be ashamed of it."

"I'm not ashamed." The protest came out too quickly. "I just have responsibilities."

"So dae I. Still, I spent half of yesterday mornin’ watchin' ye taste desserts in the kitchen when I should have been reviewin' grain shipments."

The admission made her turn back to face him. "You were watching me?"

"Aye." No hesitation. No embarrassment. Just simple honesty. "Couldnae help meself. Ye looked so happy."