Page 177 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
That made it much harder to defend against. A woman faking sweetness could be met with caution. A woman simplybeingherself was an entirely different matter.
With an unwelcome jolt, Ciaran became aware that their outing no longer felt like something to be endured. He was not merely tolerating her company. He was taking pleasure in it. In her voice. In her competitiveness. In the way the ride itself felt better because she was beside him.
He was simply enjoying her company; that was it. There was no reason to attach meaning to what was just a fine day out. This was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
By the time they slowed the horses near a gentler rise, his mind had already reached for order.
“Ye should meet the staff,” he said.
Ava looked over at him, her eyes still glimmering. “Now?”
“Soon.”
Her expression shifted into curiosity. “For what purpose?”
“I mean, ye are the lady of the castle now. Ye have to learn the household. Its rhythm. Its people.” He kept his voice even. “There are matters ye ought to ken.”
That was true. Entirely true. Which made the timing good.
Ava studied him for a moment in a way he did not much like. “Ye are giving me work,” she said.
“I am giving ye responsibility.”
“That sounds less rude when ye say it.”
“It isnae meant to be rude.”
And it was not. But he knew, even as he said it, that practicality was only half the reason. The other half sat lower and meaner inside him. If she were occupied with servants, stores, keys, linens, and all the proper burdens of a laird’s wife, perhaps she would sit more firmly inside the shape he had intended for this marriage.
And perhaps he would as well. Hopefully, that would stop whatever had begun riding beside him this morning with her smile in its mouth.
Ava turned her gaze back toward the grounds ahead. “Very well,” she agreed. “I shall learn them.”
He nodded once, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.
At least, with her being busy with her duties, she would have some kind of structure, and he wouldn’t have time to let himself wonder if the walls he had built could perhaps be allowed to tumble down.
The next day proved how badly that logic failed.
Ciaran came upon the lesson by accident. At least that was what he told himself when he passed the half-open door and stopped at the sound of the housekeeper’s patient voice repeating the same instruction for what sounded like the third time.
He looked inside.
Ava sat at a small table by the window with an embroidery hoop in her lap and a look of intense determination on her face that would have been more convincing if the cloth in her hands had not already been so thoroughly mistreated.
What in God’s name?
Thread had gone where thread had no business going, and the stitches wandered. Whatever shape the housekeeper had first intended now resembled nothing that looked like anything.
Good God.
He decided that whatever was in Ava’s hands deserved nothing more than a merciful flame at the end of the day.
The housekeeper, to her credit, remained calm.
“Nay, me Lady,” she said, leaning closer. “Ye must keep the spacing even.”
