Page 78 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Come on."

David's hand was firm on her elbow as he steered her toward the castle entrance. Elinor could feel the blood still trickling down her neck, warm and sticky against her skin. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her, shock making everything feel distant and strange.

"I can walk," she said.

"Aye. And ye can also collapse. I'm nae takin' that chance." His voice was tight, controlled in a way that suggested he was barely containing his anger. Not at her, she knew that much. At whoever had just tried to take her.

They crossed the threshold into the castle. Servants scattered at the sight of them, at David's thunderous expression and the blood on Elinor's neck. Someone gasped. Someone else hurried off, probably to fetch help.

"Me laird."

"Later," David snapped at whoever had spoken. "Clear the way."

He guided her up the stairs with single-minded focus, his hand never leaving her arm. As though he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

They reached their bedchamber. David pushed the door open and led her inside, finally releasing her to move toward the washstand.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to the chair near the fire.

"I'm fine."

"Sit, Elinor."

Something in his tone made her obey. She sank into the chair, her hands trembling slightly as she pressed them into her lap.

David returned with a basin of water and clean cloths. He knelt before her, and Elinor found herself eye-level with him for the first time since the attack.

He looked furious.

Not at her, at the situation. At whoever had dared to hurt her.

But still, the intensity in his dark eyes made her breath catch.

"Let me see." His voice was gentler now, though still edged with barely contained emotion.

Elinor tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck. She heard his sharp intake of breath.

"It's nae deep," he said after a moment. "Ye were lucky."

"Lucky." She tried for humor and failed. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Ye're alive. That's lucky." He dampened one of the cloths and brought it to her neck. "This might sting."

It did. Elinor flinched as the cold water touched the cut, the sting sharp enough to make her eyes water.

"Sorry," David murmured. "I ken it hurts."

"It's fine." She forced herself to stay still as he cleaned the wound with careful, methodical movements. "You don't have to."

"I dae." His jaw was tight. "This is me fault."

"How is this your fault?"

"I should have seen it comin'. Should have had better security. Should have—" He stopped, shaking his head.

Elinor watched him work, noting the way his hands shook slightly despite his steady voice. The way his eyes kept darting back to the wound as though reassuring himself it wasn't worse than it was.