Page 114 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
“Ye have heard the truth, which is why ye cannae bear it.”
He yanked the door open and pushed her into the passageway. She rounded on him, furious, steady, and far too right.
“Ye are far more stupid than I thought,” she spat.
“Thank ye for yer stunning contribution, Sister,” he responded and then shut the door in her face.
The sound cracked through the study, and silence followed immediately.
Ciaran stood with his hand still on the latch, breathing hard, the shame and anger and fear all knotted so tightly inside him that he could not separate one from the other.
On the other side of the door, Isobel’s footsteps retreated slowly. She did not bang on the panel or shout through it. For some reason, that made the silence even worse.
At that moment, it dawned on him that he had really stepped in it this time around.And there was no coming back from this.
CHAPTER 32
Ava was dressedbefore the maids came back with hot water the next morning.
She had been awake long before dawn, lying stiff in the narrow space between sleep and wakefulness until the first pale light reached the bed curtains. After that, she had risen at once. There had been no use in pretending she might change her mind between one breath and the next. The crying had been done in the dark. This morning, she needed to grow a bit steadier.
So she dressed.
Her fingers were slower than usual over buttons and ribbons because her wrists still hurt from the rope. The scrape on her cheek pulled when she turned her head too quickly. Her shoulder gave a dull throb each time she lifted her arm, but none of it mattered compared to the heavy ache she carried lower and deeper, the one with Ciaran’s voice in it. She ignored that too and fastened the last of her things with care.
When she opened her chamber door, the passageway beyond was already busy with the tap of feet and lowered voices. She had pulled out her trunk when she was packing earlier from the foot of the bed and strapped closed. Two smaller cases stood ready beside it.
Ava nodded for a maid to take them down.
The sight of her things packed and carried away tightened something in her throat. It was one thing to decide in the morning that she would leave. It was another to watch her belongings leave the room, one box at a time.
Bruce arrived before breakfast, scratching at the half-open door with indignant energy until one of the servants gave in and let him barrel inside. He came straight to Ava, his paws muddy, his ears up, his tail beating hard enough to knock against the bedpost.
She bent and gathered him close despite the dirt, pressing her face briefly into the rough fur at his neck.
“Well,” she whispered, “at least one gentleman in this castle has never once left me in doubt.”
Bruce licked her chin in answer.
Her father came in just behind him, one arm still bandaged and his face distraught. Even so, he stood steadily as usual, whichwas still a comfort. He had washed, dressed, and combed back his hair.
“Are ye ready, lass?”
Ava straightened. “Aye.”
He studied her for a moment, reading more than she wished him to, then gave a short nod as if he had decided not to force comfort where she could not take it.
After that, breakfast came and went in pieces. Ava managed bread and a little tea because refusing food would only cause more arguments than needed. Her father ate more, while Bruce sat under the table and thumped his tail every time either of them shifted a foot.
The ordinary sounds of the meal made the morning feel calmer than it was. Cups touched saucers, and a maid came in with fresh linen. Someone carried the last case down the passage.
Each small act said the same thing:This is happening.
By the time they moved out of her room and into the broader stir of the castle, horses were already being saddled below. Her trunks had been loaded, and a maid passed by carrying a wrapped bundle of food for the road. Another asked whether extra blankets should be tied behind the cart. Her father answered that they should.
Ava stood for a second at the top of the stairs and watched the movement below. She had lived in this castle long enough now to know and recognize all the sounds it made. She recognized the way the servants crossed the hall in the early morning and the distinct smell of woodsmoke when the day began.
She had begun to fit here. That was part of what made leaving hurt so much. She was not fleeing a place that had never opened up to her. She was leaving a place thathad, just not far enough, and never safely enough.
