Page 243 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Ava looked out into the yard where the stableboys were fastening the last straps. “If I daenae leave now, I may fail to leave at all.”
He was quiet for a moment. “That is still yer choice.”
She knew that. No one was dragging her out of the castle. No one was making a scene over her departure. She was choosing itwith her eyes open, because staying had become a slower kind of injury, and she had no wish to stand for more of it.
A maid came with her cloak, and Ava let it be draped around her shoulders. The wool smelled faintly of lavender from storage and fresh air from the open door.
Below them, a man called that the cart was ready.
Her father moved first. Bruce followed him halfway down the stairs and then turned back to make sure Ava followed. She did, one hand light on the rail, the other holding her cloak closed at her throat.
The next thing left to endure was goodbye.
She saw Ciaran the moment he stepped into the yard.
Her breath caught before she could stop it. He had changed clothes since the cliff, yet the morning still clung to him. His hair was brushed back with too little care, and there was a cut on his left hand she did not remember seeing before, likely earned in the struggle to drag her back. He looked as though he had not slept either.
He came. That mattered. Yet for some reason, ithurtthat it mattered.
She struggled as hard as she could to make herself stand still. She could feel her father pause beside her, with Bruce tuckedunder his arm like a badly behaved child being carried away against his will.
Ciaran stopped a few feet away.
For one second, no one spoke. Then her father did.
“Once we are settled, I shall see the marriage annulled.”
Ciaran’s face changed. It was only slightly, but Ava saw it anyway.
Her father spoke no further. He adjusted Bruce under his arm when the little dog gave an offended yip and looked toward the gate as if to give them a bit of privacy. He then took a few steps to the nearest horse, almost as if he realized that doing that simply would not be enough.
Ciaran’s eyes remained on Ava. “How are ye feeling?”
The question struck her so wrongly that she almost laughed.
How wasshefeeling?
Alive? Humiliated? Torn open? Still able to remember the feel of his arms dragging her back from death? Still able to hear his voice on the cliff, saying she meantnothingto him? Which of these lovely examples would she give to the curious man standing before her?
Eventually, she settled on what seemed the kindest answer.
“Excellent. It is great to hear how much yer husband doesnae want ye.” The words came out sharp and clean.
Her father’s jaw tightened. Bruce let out a small, unhappy whine.
Ava did not look at them. She kept her eyes on Ciaran because he ought to hear it from her face as well as her mouth.
Pain flashed across his face, and he stepped closer. “Ava.”
She held her ground.
“This isnae the place,” he said.
“It was a cliff yesterday. I think a yard can survive it.”
He moved again, quick enough this time that she had no chance to step back. His hand closed around her arm and pulled her toward him with a force that made her heart slam hard against her ribs. Her body knew him too well and answered before her pride could tighten around the reaction.
“Ye ken that’s nae true,wife.” His voice had gone low. Urgent.
