Page 62 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"I was happy. I am happy." She was acutely aware of his hand still on her elbow, warm through the fabric of her sleeve. "The preparations are going well. Everything should be ready for tonight."

"That's good." But he wasn't looking at the gardens or thinking about the Cèilidh. He was looking at her like she was something he wanted to study. To understand. "Ye work hard."

"I want the clan to accept me. To see that I'm—" She stopped. "That I'm worthy of being here."

"Ye're already worthy." His hand slid down from her elbow to her wrist, his fingers circling it loosely.

She should have pulled away. Should have maintain the distance she'd insisted on. Should have remembered the rules she'd demanded—no touching, no kissing, no intimacy unless absolutely necessary.

But she didn't pull away.

"I should really check on the final preparations," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Ye've checked everythin' three times already. I've been watchin' ye circle the gardens fer the past hour." He tilted his head slightly. "Ye're just avoidin' somethin'."

"I'm not avoiding anything."

"Nay?" His smile widened. "Then what were ye daein' watchin' me train from behind the garden wall?"

Heat flooded her face again. "I wasn't—I didn't do that."

"Ye were. And ye can if ye want." He released her wrist, stepping back to give her space. "And if ye're done with yer preparations, and ye clearly are, then ye have tae come with me."

"Come with you where?"

"Ye'll see."

"David, the Cèilidh is tonight. I need to⁠—"

"Ye need tae trust me." He held out his hand. "Please."

There was something in his voice that made her hesitate. Not command. Not manipulation. Just a simple request, honest and vulnerable.

Against her better judgment, she placed her hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers, warm and calloused and sure. "Thank ye."

"I haven't agreed to anything yet. I don't even know where we're going."

"That's why it's called trust." He started walking, tugging her gently along. "Come on. We dinnae have much time afore ye need tae start gettin' ready."

"David."

"Just trust me, lass. Can ye dae that?"

Could she? Elinor looked at their joined hands, at the easy way he led her away from the training grounds. She thought about the room he'd promised her, windows facing east. The books he'd offered her free access to. The way he'd stood up for her at dinner, declaring her lineage didn't matter because she was a MacDonald.

The way he'd looked at her the day before, like she'd hung the moon and stars, just for tasting desserts.

"All right," she heard herself say. "But if this is some elaborate scheme…"

"It's nae a scheme. I promise." He glanced back at her, and the warmth in his eyes made her stomach flip.

He squeezed her hand. "Trust me. Everythin' will be perfect. Ye've made sure of it."

They walked through the castle grounds, David still shirtless and drawing looks from every servant and guard they passed. Elinor tried not to notice the way his shoulders moved, the way the autumn sunlight caught on his skin.

She failed spectacularly.