Page 115 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Her father came to stand beside her, and for a brief second, she wondered if he also appreciated the same things she did in the castle. But then, he hadn’t been here long enough to recognize those patterns.
“When we reach Castle MacLeod, ye shall have yer old rooms,” he said. “The east rooms too, if ye prefer more sun. We will see what the roofers say about the north wing before winter deepens.”
Ava looked at him. “Thank ye.”
He gave a small shrug that almost said saying thanks was unnecessary.Then, in the same practical tone, he added, “Once we are settled, I will see the annulment done.”
The words were plain. They were also kind, because he was taking her pain seriously enough to put his name and duty behind it. Ava felt the mercy and grief of it in the same beat as her hand closed around the rail.
“Aye.”
No one around them stopped moving, and yet for Ava, the morning had changed entirely. Leaving here had felt like a distant emotion. Something she could return to when she was done feeling this intense anger and hurt. Now it felt like something that actually had structure.
Her father would see it done. There would be papers and names and a lawful ending set in motion by people who loved her enough to make room for what she could not survive otherwise.
A lad came to say the horses would be ready shortly. Her father nodded and sent him off.
Bruce trotted between them and then back again as if he meant to supervise all the preparations himself. The sight of him should have made Ava smile more than it did. She lowered a hand to his head and let it rest there.
“Ye need nae do this in a rush,” her father said.
Ava looked out into the yard where the stableboys were fastening the last straps. “If I daenae leave now, I may fail to leave at all.”
He was quiet for a moment. “That is still yer choice.”
She knew that. No one was dragging her out of the castle. No one was making a scene over her departure. She was choosing itwith her eyes open, because staying had become a slower kind of injury, and she had no wish to stand for more of it.
A maid came with her cloak, and Ava let it be draped around her shoulders. The wool smelled faintly of lavender from storage and fresh air from the open door.
Below them, a man called that the cart was ready.
Her father moved first. Bruce followed him halfway down the stairs and then turned back to make sure Ava followed. She did, one hand light on the rail, the other holding her cloak closed at her throat.
The next thing left to endure was goodbye.
She saw Ciaran the moment he stepped into the yard.
Her breath caught before she could stop it. He had changed clothes since the cliff, yet the morning still clung to him. His hair was brushed back with too little care, and there was a cut on his left hand she did not remember seeing before, likely earned in the struggle to drag her back. He looked as though he had not slept either.
He came. That mattered. Yet for some reason, ithurtthat it mattered.
She struggled as hard as she could to make herself stand still. She could feel her father pause beside her, with Bruce tuckedunder his arm like a badly behaved child being carried away against his will.
Ciaran stopped a few feet away.
For one second, no one spoke. Then her father did.
“Once we are settled, I shall see the marriage annulled.”
Ciaran’s face changed. It was only slightly, but Ava saw it anyway.
Her father spoke no further. He adjusted Bruce under his arm when the little dog gave an offended yip and looked toward the gate as if to give them a bit of privacy. He then took a few steps to the nearest horse, almost as if he realized that doing that simply would not be enough.
Ciaran’s eyes remained on Ava. “How are ye feeling?”
The question struck her so wrongly that she almost laughed.
How wasshefeeling?
