Page 6 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
It was none of those things.
The hall was crowded, even though it wasn’t loud, and for some reason, that made it worse. Noise, she might have understood. She could hide in the noise. This, however, was low conversation and careful observation.
Women stood in small clusters or beside family members with composed expressions that fooled no one. Men watched with varying degrees of interest, caution, or calculation. Clan representatives lingered near the edges, and a few older womensat as if they had come merely to witness the spectacle, though their faces said they missed nothing.
Everywhere Ava looked, she found the same thing—attention disguised as casual ceremony. It made her grow even more uneasy with each passing minute. She kept her chin up anyway so that she looked like she belonged. At least to an extent.
“I cannae believe I let ye convince me to join an auction,” she muttered.
Isobel, beside her, did not appear nearly ashamed enough of herself. “It sounds much worse when ye say it that way.”
“How else is there to say it?” Ava asked without looking at her. “Should I call this a festive gathering of maidens waiting to be calmly inspected?”
The corner of Isobel’s mouth twitched. “Ye arenae being inspected.”
Ava gave her a flat look, then quickly turned her attention back to the room before anyone could catch her looking as rattled as she felt.
The women closest to them were better dressed than she had expected. That should not have surprised her, but it did. They had on silk sleeves and proper wool. Even their ribbons looked like they were taken care of.
Mothers and aunts lingered just far enough away to claim this had all happened naturally. No one wanted to appear desperate. That was the whole trouble.
It was quite fascinating, or ironic at the very least, how no one wanted to participate in this auction until she had agreed and word had gotten around.
Isobel touched her arm lightly. “Yer father was delighted by the idea.”
Ava turned to her at once. “Me father isnae here now, is he?”
The words came out sharper than she had intended, but once spoken, they rang too true to be taken back.
Isobel’s expression shifted at once, warmth sobering into concern, and Ava wished for a moment she had held her tongue. Then she wished it less.
Because it was true.
Her father was not here. His castle was not here. Bruce was not here, with his absurd barks and reckless little legs. The safety of being Laird MacKenna’s cherished daughter in a household that knew her moods and welcomed her laughter had been left behind, and in its place stood this room where every corner seemed to make her skin crawl.
Isobel squeezed her sleeve. “Ava.”
“Nay,” Ava said more quietly, though the force remained. “Daenae soothe me withMe father liked the notion.It is a poor comfort when he isnae the one standing here.”
“I didnae mean it so.”
“I ken.”
And she did. That was the difficulty of loving someone. Even one’s heart could not fully harden against them.
Isobel lowered her hand. “Ye arenae meant to be a true candidate.”
Ava let out a breath through her nose. This had all been Isobel’s idea. A way for her to stand as a placeholder, so the people who were actually interested in the Laird could get to him.
“Ye are only here for the auction until he finds someone, that is all,” Isobel repeated, almost in a way to appease her.
Ava nodded. “That is easy enough to say now that I am standing amongst them like one more hen set out for market.”
“Ye are here to lend weight to the gathering,” Isobel said patiently. “To make it seem worthy of attention. It has worked. More women came because word spread that Laird MacKenna’s daughter would attend.”
That struck deeper than Ava liked.
Her presence had done work here. Her name, her father’s name, her place in the world had helped make this absurd thing seem respectable enough that others had stepped forward too.
