Page 234 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
The words hit Ciaran with terrible clarity. There would be no reasoning the man into mercy or appealing to his grief.
Laird O’Malley wanted punishment in blood, and Ava was the exact shape of what he hated. If Ciaran spoke to her as he wanted, if he let one true word show on his face, the old man would only grip her harder.
He had one move left.
He hated it before he spoke it.
“If it is me ye want, then let the lass go.”
Laird O’Malley’s eyes narrowed.
“She means nothing to me,” Ciaran added.
Ava’s expression shifted. He felt it without looking at her. He felt the shock ripple through her even before the old man answered.The words tasted foul in his mouth, but he forced himself to keep breathing as if they cost nothing.
“We were going to have our marriage annulled anyway,” he said. “Take me. Leave her out of it.”
Laird O’Malley studied him. Ciaran held still and forced his gaze to stay on the bastard rather than on the woman hearing him cast her aside to save her life. Every inch of his being wanted to look at her, to tell her with one glance that this was a lie out of necessity, that he did not mean it. But he did not dare. The old man was watching for exactly that.
Ava made a small sound. It wasn’t enough to break anything, but it was enough to cut him open.
Laird O’Malley’s mouth curved. “Is that so?”
“Aye.” Ciaran heard the flatness in his own voice and kept it there.
Laird O’Malley gave Ava a rough shake. “Ye hear that, lass? Yer husband has grown tired of ye already.”
Ciaran said nothing.
Ava’s eyes were on him now. He could feel that too—the question in them, the hurt, the disbelief. He could not answer any of it. Because one wrong move, and she would die.
Laird O’Malley leaned forward slightly. “Say it again.”
Ciaran’s heart slammed once against his ribs. This was the part that would stay with her. One lie might someday be argued with. A second would sound like a deliberate choice he made to hurt her.
He spoke anyway.
“Ye heard me.” He kept his voice hard enough to scrape. “I daenae want her.”
The words went out into the dark morning sky and seemed to strike the air itself. Ava flinched as if he had hit her.
Ciaran held himself still. He could not let the old man see what her reaction did to him. He had chosen this. He would carry the cost later, if there was a later to carry anything in.
Laird O’Malley’s gaze darted between them. He was thinking. Testing.Enjoying it.
“So easy,” he said softly. “All these years, I thought I should kill wives and children to wound yer line. Mayhap I needed only wait for ye to do the work yerselves.”
Rage surged up hot enough to blur the edges of Ciaran’s vision, but he managed to crush it down. Rage would get Ava killed. What he needed now was time. One distracted shift of the oldman’s feet or one half-second for Hector or any of the men at his back to gain ground.
“Take me,” Ciaran offered. “If vengeance is what ye want, then take it where it belongs.”
“Oh, I shall.” Laird O’Malley smiled again, and his grip shifted.
Ciaran noticed the movement at once. The hand on Ava’s dress moved lower, searching for better leverage. Her bound hands twisted uselessly at her waist as she fought for balance. Pebbles gave way under one foot and fell into the abyss.
Every man behind him tensed. He heard leather creak and steel adjust in a gauntlet. Still, no one moved.
No one could.
