Page 240 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
“Ye giant fool.”
Ciaran turned slowly. “Get out.”
“Nay.”
He grabbed the bottle because if he looked at her any longer, he would have to acknowledge the force of whatever had brought her to him. “I am in nay mood for whatever this is.”
“Good.” She stepped further into the room. “I am in a worse one.”
He poured himself another glass. “Say what ye came to say.”
“She is packing.”
The glass struck the sideboard before he realized he had set it down, and for one second, he only stared at her.
“Who?”
Isobel’s face contorted in disgust. “Daenae insult me by pretending ye have enough women under yer roof to be uncertain which one I’m referring to.”
The shock moved through his chest and throat and left both tight. “Ava?”
“Aye,Ava.”
“Where?”
“To her mother's castle.” Isobel folded her arms. “She intends to leave and pursue the annulment, since ye seem determined to make that the only clear thing in her life.”
Ciaran looked away from her and back at the sideboard.
The whiskey sat between them. The room had shrunk. He could hear his own breathing.
The thought of Ava hating him forever returned suddenly, and his mind told him that he couldn’t bear it if they remained under the same roof. This was her inadvertently solving a problem for him.
Eventually, he cleared his throat and forced himself to speak evenly. “Then perhaps it is for the best.”
Isobel made a furious sound in the back of her throat. “For thebest?”
He took up the glass again. “She is hurt. She has every right to be. Distance will let the matter settle.”
“The matter.”
He did not answer. He drank instead.
“She nearlydiedtoday,” Isobel hissed. “She was dragged to a cliff and almost thrown off it, and she came back to this castle only to pack. Because ofye.”
He kept his voice even with effort. “If she leaves, she will be among her own people. There will be peace there.”
“There would be peace for ye too, I suppose.”
He looked at her then. “Daenae.”
“Daenae what? Say what is so damn obvious?” She took a step toward him. “Ye keep wrapping yer cowardice in good manners and thinking ye are being wise, but I see right through ye, Ciaran. I always have.”
He set the glass down again. “Enough.”
“Nay.”
“Isobel—”
