Page 76 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

David's head snapped toward her, his expression transforming from amusement to lethal focus in the space of a heartbeat.

"Elinor!"

She heard him shout, saw him start moving toward her, but the crowd was too thick, people were panicking, scattering in all directions⁠—

A hand closed around her arm. Hard. Bruising.

"Got ye."

The voice was unfamiliar, rough with triumph. Before Elinor could scream, before she could even process what was happening, she felt cold steel press against her throat.

A dagger. There was a dagger at her throat.

"Nobody move!" Her captor's voice rang out across the suddenly silent courtyard. "Or the lady dies!"

Terror locked Elinor's muscles. She could feel the blade's edge against her skin, could feel the man's breath hot and foul against her ear. He was pulling her backward, toward the garden entrance, using her body as a shield.

"Let her go." David's voice cut through the chaos, cold and deadly. He stood ten paces away, his hand on his dirk. Around him, his brothers had drawn their own weapons, forming a loose semi-circle. "Let her go, and I might let ye live."

"I don't think so." The man's grip tightened, and Elinor felt the dagger press harder. Not enough to break skin. Yet. "I've got orders. The lady comes with me."

"What orders?" David took a step forward. "Who sent ye?"

"Wouldn't ye like to know?" The man laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Back away. All of you. Or I open her throat right here."

Elinor's heart hammered against her ribs. She could see David's face, could see the carefully controlled fury there. Could see him calculating angles, distances, possibilities.

"David." Her voice came out thin, reedy. "Don't."

"Quiet!" The dagger pressed harder, and she felt a sting—the blade had broken skin. Warm blood trickled down her neck. "I said don't move!"

But David was already moving.

He moved with a speed that shouldn't have been possible, crossing the distance between them in three long strides. His hand closed around the man's wrist—the one holding the dagger—and twisted violently. Elinor heard bone crack.

The man screamed. The dagger fell.

David yanked Elinor away from her attacker, shoving her toward Tristan in one smooth motion. Then he was on the man, driving him to the ground with brutal efficiency.

Chaos erupted again. Elinor saw more figures emerging from the crowd—at least three, maybe four—all drawing weapons.

The Covenant brothers moved as one, intercepting the attackers with the kind of coordinated violence that spoke of years fighting together.

Calum's fist connected with someone's jaw. Archibald grabbed another attacker, slamming him against the garden wall. Lachlann and Euan worked in tandem, disarming a third man with practiced ease.

The entire fight lasted less than a minute.

When it ended, five men lay on the ground—two unconscious, three restrained by MacDonald guards who'd appeared from seemingly nowhere. David stood over the man who'd grabbed Elinor, his boot on his chest, his dirk pressed to the man's throat.

"Who sent ye?" David's voice was barely above a whisper, but everyone heard it.

The man spat blood. "Go to hell."

David pressed the dirk harder. "Wrong answer."

"David." Euan's voice held warning. "We need him alive. Tae question properly."

"I'm questionin' him now."