Page 37 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
What in God’s name are ye doing?
CHAPTER 12
Ava remainedclose enough to feel the warmth of his mouth on hers when the knock came. The sound cut through the room with enough force to jolt them both out of their frenzy.
For one stunned moment, neither she nor Ciaran moved. The air between them was still thick from what had just happened, from the hand on her neck, from the breathless pull of that kiss and the dangerous, impossible fact that she had not wanted it to stop.
Her pulse had not yet settled. Her thoughts had scattered. All she knew was that she stood too close to him, that her lips tingled, and that the world beyond the door had returned before she was ready to face it.
The knock came again, and even more doses of reality rushed back with humiliating speed.
Ava stepped away first, though not far enough to cool the heat in her face. Ciaran straightened at once, and the change in him was swift enough to make her ache with fresh confusion.
The man who had just kissed her with such passion had retreated behind composure again, though not fully. She could still see something sharp beneath his eyes.
“Ye may enter,” he called, clearing his throat.
The door opened, and her father entered.
The air shifted at once.
It was quite ironic because Rory Fraser was not the kind of man to fill a room with tension. If anything, he came in with more care than usual, his expression sober from the day’s events, his eyes moving first to Ava with concern before turning to Ciaran.
Yet his presence pulled the chamber back into the shape of family and duty so completely that for one brief, strange moment, Ava felt younger than she had been an hour ago.
She suddenly felt more like a daughter than a wife. More like the girl who turned to her father when the world frightened her than the woman who had just stood in her husband’s arms and kissed him back fiercely.
“How are ye faring?” Rory asked.
Ava found her voice only because his was so steady. “Better.”
It was not a lie, though it felt incomplete in ways she could not possibly explain while standing there with Ciaran’s taste still on her lips.
Rory nodded once, as if accepting both the answer and its limits. He then looked at the fresh gown she wore, the absence of blood on it, and some tension in his face eased. “I am glad of that.”
His gaze shifted to Ciaran’s shoulder next, where the wound showed plainly enough.
Ava saw the exact moment her father registered both the wound and the fact that Ciaran remained upright despite it, as if stubbornness alone could turn blood loss into inconvenience.
“I came to see how ye were faring, and I can see I had nothing to worry about in the first place,” Rory said.
Ava nodded in response. Ciaran remained just as quiet.
“I also thought now would be a good time to inform ye that I will return home.”
Ava blinked. “Really?”
Rory nodded. “Aye. I would like to make sure that all is well and speak with allies if there is a need. After today, I would rathernae assume one dead bastard solves every problem he created. If more men are wanted here, I can send them.”
The words settled heavily in the room, practical and sensible, yet Ava felt the love beneath them all the same.
Her father was not simply thinking of walls and retainers and neighboring clans to be summoned into support. He was thinking of how he had nearly lost her. He was building order against that fear before it could return and catch him when he wasn’t ready.
For one heartbeat, the offer comforted her so sharply that it hurt.
Ciaran answered on her behalf and without delay.
“It willnae be necessary.” His voice was even but thick. “Jack was the only enemy left alive. What remains of his men will be dealt with before the night is over, and there is nay one else with the will or strength to mount another attack now.”
