Page 95 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

David stood outside Elinor’s door longer than he meant to.

He had faced armies with less hesitation than this. Had ordered men to their deaths without his hands shaking. But this—this required something else entirely.

He replayed the last days over and over in his mind: her silence, the way her eyes had dulled, the way she had stopped reaching for him. And worse—the realization that he had done it to her himself.

Protection had turned into a cage. Fear into control.

He pressed his palm briefly to the stone wall, closing his eyes. His uncle’s voice echoed where it always did when he felt cornered. When he felt like the world would take everything if he loosened his grip.

Not her, he thought fiercely. I will not become that man.

He had spent the night awake, planning defenses, patrols, contingencies—anything but this. But in the end, there was only one thing that mattered.

An apology meant nothing if it didn’t come with change.

He straightened, drew a steadying breath, and talked to her maid in the corridor.

“It’s morning already?”

Elinor woke to an empty bed again.

She'd barely slept, her mind replaying the argument over and over. Wondering if she'd been too harsh. Too demanding. If she'd pushed him too far.

But no. She'd been right to confront him. Right to demand better. Even if it meant losing him completely.

A soft knock at the door made her sit up. "Come in."

Ainsley entered with a breakfast tray, her expression carefully neutral. "Good mornin', me lady."

"Good morning." Elinor's voice was rough from crying. "Is the laird out on patrol?"

"He's waitin' fer ye in the corridor." Ainsley set down the tray. "Asked me tae tell ye he'd like tae speak with ye. When ye're ready."

Elinor's heart stuttered. "He's here?"

"Aye, me lady. Been waitin' fer nearly an hour."

David had been standing outside their bedchamber for an hour, waiting for her to wake.

That had to mean something. Didn't it?

"Tell him… " Elinor threw back the covers. "Tell him I'll be ready in ten minutes."

She dressed quickly, her fingers fumbling with laces. Chose a simple gown, nothing too formal. Splashed water on her face to hide the evidence of crying.

When she opened the door, David was leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked terrible—shadows under his eyes, his jaw rough with stubble, his clothes rumpled like he'd slept in them.

If he'd slept at all.

"Elinor." Her name came out rough. "Thank ye fer agreeing to see me."

"You're my husband. I can hardly refuse to see you."

He flinched at her tone. "Aye. Well. I wanted tae apologize. Fer yesterday. Fer—" He gestured vaguely. "Fer everythin', really."

Elinor crossed her arms, mirroring his defensive posture. "I'm listening."