Page 171 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
The words sounded messy even to his own ears.
Duncan had been the brother who had married Isla. He had been the one who loved openly, trusted openly, stood in a wedding hall believing goodness and order would protect what he had chosen. If anyone should have seen more, guarded more, doubted more, it was him.
Or perhaps that was only the version of the story Ciaran still used because it let the lesson remain intact. Love makes fools, and trust makes people think they know better. Once people cared about something too much, blood would always follow.
Hector did not argue the point directly. He only leaned back further and raised an eyebrow. “And do ye mean to be careful?”
The question hung in the air.
Ciaran let out a breath through his nose. He could have lied. He could have said yes with all the certainty he had once trusted in. He could have even claimed the week of avoidance as proof enough that he was just as cautious as he’d always been. But Hector had already seen too much, and Ciaran had gone too far into this to step back out cleanly.
“Ava doesnae strike me as the kind of woman one backs down from,” Hector added.
Ciaran felt a breath leave him. “Nay, she doesnae, does she?”
“So how do ye plan on keeping her at arm’s length?”
He exhaled. “I’m nae going to lie, I daenae ken yet. I’ll probably die trying.”
Hector fell quiet after that. He did not offer comfort. He did not turn wise all at once and start naming remedies for wounds older than either of them had known what to do with when they were made. He only sat with the truth, which was perhaps the most brotherly thing he could have done.
Outside the study, life moved with the ordinary sounds of a stronghold trying to settle after violence.
Inside, the older danger had been buried on paper.
Jack was dead. The message would be sent. No feud would follow. The old enemy with the blade was gone.
And still Ciaran sat there knowing that the greater threat now wore no steel, carried no hatred, and had twice been given the chance to leave him.
Twice she had stayed.
Neither brother said her name again. They did not need to. It sat between them plainly enough, in the letter set aside, in the silence that followed, in the grim shape of the answer Ciaran had just given.
Ava was more dangerous to him now than any armed man had been.
And worse, he already knew the walls that had kept him safe for so long were not holding as cleanly as they once had.
CHAPTER 14
Ciaran camefor her exactly when he had said he would—right at the ringing of the bell.
That, more than anything, unsettled Ava.
She had half expected a delay, an interruption, a practical excuse that would let him honor half of his promise at the very most. Instead, he appeared at the appointed hour with all the controlled composure he could muster.
The sight of him standing there, waiting for her, sent a quick, unwelcome awareness through her before a word had even been spoken.
Suddenly, the memory of their wedding crashed over her.
He had kissed her. That fact sat between them at once, though neither brought it up.
“Me Lady,” he greeted.
“Me Laird.”
The formality nearly made her head ache. It was too correct, too measured, too clean after everything that had happened between them. He might as well have bowed over a treaty rather than come to fetch the woman he had held in his arms with his hand on her neck and his mouth on hers. Yet she was also absurdly pleased that he had come at all, which only worsened her mood.
He offered his arm. “Are ye ready?”
