Page 52 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
CHAPTER 16
Early the next morning,Ava thought she could do him the favor this time around and be the first to appear. So she walked to his study and stood outside with one hand still lifted from the knock, and tried to compose herself as much as she could.
Now that they had settled into the one-hour-a-day arrangement, perhaps she had made enough of an impression to keep herself invaluable.
It was only a conversation. A few minutes. Some sign that the distance of the past days had an end she could see.
“Come in.” His voice carried through the door in the same even tone he used for everything.
Ava opened it just enough to look inside. He was sitting at his desk, with papers spread before him, his attention already fixed on them again.
“Me Laird,” she greeted.
“Ava.” He glanced up once, his eyes narrowed. “I am busy.”
The words were plain enough.
She might still have crossed the room if he had sounded merely distracted, but the look on his face stopped her. It was controlled.Closed off.
She didn’t need him to speak for her to know she was the very last thing he was expecting.
“I only wanted to talk.”
“I am sure it can wait.”
For a moment, silence hung between them.
Then he looked up at her again.“It can wait, can it nae?”
Ava felt the question land in her chest with a dull heaviness. She had come to him in good faith. She had only wanted to speak. Somehow, even that had become too much.
She nodded. “Of course.”She swallowed as hard as she could while trying to look anywhere but at his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes. “It can wait.”
He had already looked back down by then.
Ava closed the door with care and walked away before the hurt could show on her face. She kept her pace steady, though every step felt foolishly loud to her own ears.
She had not been scolded. She had not even been insulted. He simply saw her as an inconvenience he would deal with much later. By the time she reached Isobel’s room, the sting of it sat sharp behind her ribs.
Isobel was seated by the window with mending in her lap. She looked up at once.
“Well,” she remarked, “ye have the face of a woman who has either been offended or forced to drink bad broth.”
Ava shut the door behind her. “I would have borne the broth better.”
“That bad, then?”
“He is in his study.”
Isobel made a face that said enough. “A dangerous start already. Come sit. I have better conversation than me brother and better manners besides.”
Ava sat opposite her and tried to smile.
Mercifully, Isobel did not pry further.
“Did ye hear,” she asked instead, “that the daughter of Laird Kerr?—”
Ava cocked her head. “Margaret?”
