Page 106 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Laird O’Malley heard it and smiled. “There ye are.”
Ciaran did not answer. His eyes stayed on Ava. She was pale under the dark sky, and the wind had reddened her eyes, though he could not tell how much was caused by the cold and how much was caused by fear. She was alive. That was all that mattered for the next few breaths.
Laird O’Malley tightened his grip and dragged her one step closer to the drop.
Ava stumbled, caught herself, and bit back whatever cry he imagined must have risen in her throat. Her gaze found Ciaran’s. He felt that look like a hand under his ribs.
“Ye move,” Laird O’Malley threatened, “and she dies before ye take a second step.”
Ciaran stayed still.
The cliff fell away at Ava’s back into black emptiness. The wind came up from below in hard bursts. It tugged at her dress and the hem of the older man’s cloak.
Anyone watching from farther off might have thought they stood safely enough. Ciaran saw the truth in the angle of Ava’s feet and the strain in her shoulders.One shove would be enough.
“What do ye want?” he asked.
Laird O’Malley gave a short laugh. “I have wanted the same thing for years—a grave full of Nairns.” His hand tugged again at Ava’s dress. “I shall start with yer wife, then ye.”
Ava went rigid.
The words hit Ciaran with terrible clarity. There would be no reasoning the man into mercy or appealing to his grief.
Laird O’Malley wanted punishment in blood, and Ava was the exact shape of what he hated. If Ciaran spoke to her as he wanted, if he let one true word show on his face, the old man would only grip her harder.
He had one move left.
He hated it before he spoke it.
“If it is me ye want, then let the lass go.”
Laird O’Malley’s eyes narrowed.
“She means nothing to me,” Ciaran added.
Ava’s expression shifted. He felt it without looking at her. He felt the shock ripple through her even before the old man answered.The words tasted foul in his mouth, but he forced himself to keep breathing as if they cost nothing.
“We were going to have our marriage annulled anyway,” he said. “Take me. Leave her out of it.”
Laird O’Malley studied him. Ciaran held still and forced his gaze to stay on the bastard rather than on the woman hearing him cast her aside to save her life. Every inch of his being wanted to look at her, to tell her with one glance that this was a lie out of necessity, that he did not mean it. But he did not dare. The old man was watching for exactly that.
Ava made a small sound. It wasn’t enough to break anything, but it was enough to cut him open.
Laird O’Malley’s mouth curved. “Is that so?”
“Aye.” Ciaran heard the flatness in his own voice and kept it there.
Laird O’Malley gave Ava a rough shake. “Ye hear that, lass? Yer husband has grown tired of ye already.”
Ciaran said nothing.
Ava’s eyes were on him now. He could feel that too—the question in them, the hurt, the disbelief. He could not answer any of it. Because one wrong move, and she would die.
Laird O’Malley leaned forward slightly. “Say it again.”
Ciaran’s heart slammed once against his ribs. This was the part that would stay with her. One lie might someday be argued with. A second would sound like a deliberate choice he made to hurt her.
He spoke anyway.
