Page 143 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Idiot.
She flung one arm over her eyes, then yanked it away when the gesture gave no relief.
Her father was not there. Had he been present, he would have laughed the affair into pieces or fought it into ruin. He would not have stood by while some laird chose his daughter with the same calm practicality he might have used for cattle or land or horseflesh.
But her father was not there, and she had only herself, her temper, and the memory of Ciaran looking at her distress as if it changed nothing at all.
That was what made the stillness unbearable.
At first, she only wanted to get out of bed. Then she wanted to get out of the room. A few breaths later, that was no longer enough.
She sat up so quickly that the blankets slid into her lap.
No, she had no concrete plan. She knew that perfectly well. She had not packed a bag. She had not stolen food. She had not bribed a groom, or hidden coins, or marked a road in her head. She was not running toward freedom in any sensible form.
She only knew she could not stay where she was and wait for morning.
“I cannae do this,” she whispered to herself. To the air. To no one in particular.
The next morning would bring looks from people and questions she was definitely not ready to answer. She would be expected to stand there and endure it. To submit with dignity. To act as though she had a part in choosing what had been chosen for her.
Nay.
“I must get out of here.”
The answer came so hard and clean inside her that she was moving before she had fully registered it.
She pushed off the bed and crossed the room barefoot, snatching up her gown. The cold struck her skin at once and woke every part of her. She dragged on her stockings, shoved her feet into her shoes, and tied the laces with her fast-moving, tireless fingers.
She did not bother with her hair beyond pushing it back from her face. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, and her breath came shallow as she swung on a thick cloak. Still, she went on.
She was doing this.
She was reallydoing this.
When she opened the door, the passageway beyond lay in darkness and silence. It was such an odd view because she had seen what it looked like during the day. It looked like it belonged to the life of the castle. Servants passed with folded linens and trays, doors opened, and voices rose and fell. Now, it felt like another place entirely. It was all cold edges and dim corners. Even the scrape of her shoe sounded too loud.
She stepped out anyway and pulled the door nearly shut behind her. She then waited to see if anyone had heard that. When no sound came, she moved.
She swallowed as she navigated the bends in the passageway and hurried down the narrow back stairs. She kept to the darkest parts where she could, only dodging the few lamps still left burning low. One time, she stopped so sharply her teeth clicked together, certain she had heard someone stir nearby. But nothing followed. No door opening or voice calling out to see who was there. She waited a few moments to catch her breath before she kept going.
The further she went, the more the need to move took hold of her. She thought no farther than the next step, the next corner, the next lock. She had no great design in mind. She only knew she was no longer lying meekly in bed, waiting to be carried toward tomorrow and paraded around the castle as the Laird’s new wife.
The Laird’s new wife.
Something about those words struck her so hard that the unease in her belly grew a notch too high.
At the outer door, she paused long enough to listen.
Nothing.
She eased it open and slipped outside.
The cold hit her at once, clean and sharp after the stuffy air of the castle. The smell of the earth rose around her, and the night spread wide on every side.
She took one breath, then another, and started across the grass at a quick pace that soon became a run.
Her skirts caught at her legs, and the hem dragged through the dirt, but she didn’t stop. Hell, she barely noticed. The loch lay ahead, a dark shape under the sky. Along one side of it ran the low fence she had marked earlier in passing. It was too small to matter much by day, but now, in darkness and haste, it became the nearest boundary between here and somewhere else.
