Page 77 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Laird MacKenna opened one arm to her, and she went into it for a brief, fierce embrace before stepping back to inspect the burns with the same troubled attention Ava could not hide.
“It looks worse than it is,” he assured her.
“Ye all say that when things look rather dreadful,” Isobel huffed.
He grunted. “And ye always answer as if we are idiots.”
“Well, ye often are.”
That drew another small breath of laughter from Ava.
The room felt different now. Her worst fear was gone, and for once, she did not have to imagine her father in smoke and darkness anymore. He stood in front of her, speaking with dry patience while Bruce circled his boots.
Ava touched his arm carefully. “Does it hurt ye much?”
“It hurts me enough,” he replied. “But I am certain it will hurt me much less after food and sleep, and even less still after all the fussing stops.”
“Aye, then get ready for a world of pain because I daenae plan to leave yer side for a second,” Ava warned, the defiance in her voice quite obvious.
“Aye, I can see that.”
He looked past her toward Ciaran, who stepped forward at once.
“Me castle is yers,” he offered. “Ye and yer people will have whatever is needed.”
Laird MacKenna held his gaze for a beat, measuring him as one laird measured another. “I thank ye.”
“Of course.” Ciaran nodded. “We are family, after all.”
The words landed with weight Ava could feel even before she looked at him. Her hurt did not vanish because of them. It only lessened a bit.
Bruce trotted between them all, wagging his tail furiously, as if determined to bind the room together by the sheer force of his presence.
Ava rested one hand on her father’s arm and kept it there. He was alive. Burned, weary, but still standing. The fear that had sat inside her for days had broken apart at last, and in its place came something almost harder to bear—gratitude. She was taking the first breath of relief she had taken in days, and for some reason, it felt rather impossible for her to understand.
For a few moments, nobody moved very much. Ava still had one hand on her father’s arm and the other half-curled in Bruce’s fur as if she did not trust either of them to remain in place unless she kept contact. Bruce had planted himself squarely beside her father’s boots and looked pleased with the result of his journey.
Her father let out a breath and eased himself into the nearest chair without asking permission from anyone.
“Aye,” he rumbled, settling carefully with one hand on his bandaged side. “Now that ye have all looked yer fill, I may as well tell ye what comes next before ye start inventing tragedies.”
“Ye are burned,” Ava reminded him. “I daenae think there is a need for anyone to invent anything.”
“I saidtragedies, lass. Burns are merely irritating. Now, a tragedy, for example, is being made to answer a hundred questions before a man has had some dinner.”
Isobel snorted. “Ye sound well enough.”
“I always sound well enough. It is one of me finer gifts.”
Ava crouched beside his chair and looked up at him, still needing the plain sight of him at close range. “What happened to everyone?”
“Ye daenae need to worry. They are all alive.” The immediate reassurance made Ava relax even more. “Granted, some of them are still a bit shaken and ill-tempered, but everyone is alive. I brought the staff I could gather quickly enough. The others will follow once other matters are sorted properly.”
“Thank God,” Isobel breathed, the relief in her voice so evident that Ava had to turn to look at her.“What? They are me people, too.”
“And that is the truth,” Ciaran piped up, his way of agreeing that they were his sister’s second family.
Ava suppressed a smile and turned back to her father. He glanced between her and Isobel, making sure they heard every part. “I sent word ahead to yer mother's people. They will prepare the old place to receive us next week.”
