Page 214 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
“MacKenna will dislike that.”
“He can dislike it under me roof while he stays alive under it.”
That caused the briefest twitch in Hector’s mouth, though Ciaran knew better than to call it humor.
“Have the men check the stables twice before first light. I want every horse counted. If someone is watching us, he may fancy taking one before long.”
“Aye.” Hector pushed off the chair and turned toward the door, then paused with his hand on the latch. “Ye can order guards. That part still comes easy.”
Ciaran gave him a flat look. “Get out.”
Hector did, though he left with far too much understanding in his eyes.
The study door slammed shut, and silence returned.
Ciaran remained sat where he was for a few moments and listened to the faint sounds of the castle settling beyond the walls. He had done what could be done for now. More men.More eyes. More caution around the castle. That part was simple.
He poured more whiskey. The first swallow burned, but the second sat warm and useless in his gut.
Someone might be watching the roads, and a threat just might be lurking behind the walls. Yet all he could think about was the feel of Ava in his arms at dinner. He had held her under her father’s gaze and wanted to keep holding her long after the music had given him the chance to let go.
He took another drink and cursed himself for remembering it in such detail. The study had not steadied him. Even the whiskey did not dull him. Every path circled back to the same place—Ava’s face.
He drank again as the room remained tight around him.
He could not even tell which answer he wanted anymore. Silence or Ava. Distance or the right to keep taking her hand when a room watched. An end to their marriage or another hour beside her that would undo him further.
The mind could not hold both without strain, and his had become all strain these last days.
Then the piano blared from the tower, and he froze with the cup halfway down to the desk.
What the?—
The sound was appalling.
It sounded like the wrong keys were being struck with enthusiasm and very little mercy. Like one chord was slamming into the next, and a run climbed upward and collapsed in the middle.
“Who in God’s name is that?”
He stared at the ceiling as another cluster of notes followed, worse than the first, cutting through everything. There was only one person in this castle reckless enough to play the piano that badly.
“Ava,” he muttered.
A third attempt rang out, this time with a pause in the middle, as if she had stopped to consider whether the instrument was broken or merely bad.
Ciaran put the cup down very carefully.
He ought to have stayed where he was. He had enough work. He had spent the whole evening proving to himself that going to her was exactly what he should stop doing. Then she struck the same wrong note three times in a row, each one more certain than the last, and the sound reverberated through the study like a challenge.
He was moving before the last one died down.
The door flew open under his hand. The passageway beyond lay dim and quiet, and somewhere above him came another dreadful attempt at playing. Somehow, no matter how hard he tried to avoid her, Ava had found yet another way to drag him back toward her.
And once again, he went.
CHAPTER 25
The first notehit badly enough that Ava stopped in the corridor and stared upward.
