Page 126 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
“Too late. I was born so.”
Ava’s sister, Millie, laughed from near the bed, where she had been pretending to fold a ribbon for the better part of five minutes, only to watch them both. “She is insufferable already.”
“She is a bride,” Isobel said. “They are all dreadful on their wedding day.”
Ava smiled despite herself and looked around the room.
One month ago, she would have thought herself incapable of standing here in white again with a calm heart and steady hands. Now, the steadiness was real. Her pulse was quick, but it was the right sort of quick.
She did not feel haunted by the day or as though some shadow lurked just beyond the door. The room was full of women moving with purpose, laughter, and too many opinions over sleeves and flowers.
That alone felt like the purest form of bliss.
Millie crossed to her and adjusted the small bouquet in her hands. “There. Now ye look fit to make him lose his senses in church.”
“He never had many to begin with,” Ava snorted.
“That is true,” Isobel agreed. “Still, today shall finish the work.”
They all laughed again.
The sound sent warmth through Ava’s chest.
Millie had managed to make the time to visit, and that meant more to Ava than she would admit. Isobel looked delightedenough for three brides. Outside the room, Ava could hear feet hurrying along the passageway and the excited hum of the castle.
A while later, a maid came to say they were ready below.
Ava drew one breath and let it out slowly. When she stepped into the passageway, her father was waiting with Bruce tucked under one arm like an offended parcel. The little dog started wriggling at the sight of her and let out a soft bark.
“Well,” her father said, looking her over with teary eyes he was pretending not to have, “that should do.”
“Only do?” Ava asked.
“I am trying nae to flatter ye too much. It encourages vanity.”
Bruce wriggled harder, and her father set him down. The little creature ran straight to her, then sat by her dress as if he too understood that this was a solemn occasion and that his usual chaos could be spared for later.
“Ye see?” her father quipped. “Even the beast has manners for once.”
“Daenae praise him yet,” Ava said. “He may still disgrace us all before the vows.”
Her father offered his arm. She took it, and together they went downstairs.
The hall below was bright with faces she loved. Hector stood waiting in formal dress, broader and steadier than he had been before, the weight of his new place sitting well on him.
By the time she reached the chapel doors, the warmth of the day had settled into her bones.
Then she saw Ciaran.
He stood at the front, waiting for her with no shadow on his face. His gaze rested on her as though she were the only thing in the room worth seeing, and the force of that look reached her even across the space between them.
Her father gave her arm the smallest squeeze and then led her forward.
The chapel was full, yet nobody felt far away. Isobel stood smiling through tears she was no longer bothering to hide. Millie pressed a hand to her mouth. Hector looked proud enough to burst. Bruce sat at the back with a ribbon tied badly around his neck and the expression of a dog tolerating nonsense for love.
Ava came to Ciaran’s side and met his eyes. He smiled. Small enough just for the two of them.
Soon, the ceremony began, and the vows were spoken. Ciaran took her hand, his thumb moving once against her skin. The touch grounded her more than the stone floor beneath her feet.
