Page 96 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Ava took it without a word.
He pulled her up carefully, steadied her when her legs wobbled for a moment, and let his hand remain on her waist longer than was needed.
The grass by the loch was cold underfoot, and the coat had slipped half aside in the struggle of the last few minutes. Above them, the comet still burned, pale and long in the dark, as if nothing on the ground had changed at all.
But he knew better. Everything on the ground had changed.
He bent, shook out the coat, and spread it properly again. Ava gathered her cloak close and lowered herself onto it. He sat beside her after a short pause, close enough that he could feel thewarmth of her skin and the slight tremor still running through her.
For a little while, neither spoke.
The silence should have felt easier than it did.
Her breathing had not fully evened. Nor had his. He could still taste her on his mouth. He could still feel the shape of her in his hands, the urgency of her confession, the force of her body answering his.
He had wanted her too fiercely, and he had taken too much comfort in the wanting. He had done it under the same sky that had given her something sacred.
He looked out toward the loch and said the first thing that came to his mind. “I am sorry.”
The words fell flat the moment he heard them.
Sorry for what, exactly? For speaking of an annulment under the comet? For forcing his own confusion into a night that should have belonged only to her mother and the sky? For touching her with such hunger after wounding her? For being a man who could not go a single hour without ruining what he most wanted to protect?
All of it sat behind the apology, and none of it bled into the one poor word.
Ava lowered her eyes. “So am I.”
That made him turn toward her at once.
She had heard something else entirely. He saw it in her face before he understood it in full. Her voice held a lot of gentleness. It also held composure as well, and he recognized that pattern quite well. He knew that she had only said that out of manners, and there was actually nothing for her to apologize for.Not ever.
“What are ye sorry for?” he asked anyway.
A small, sad smile touched her mouth and was gone just as quickly. “For making it harder.”
His chest tightened. “Ava.”
She gave a slight shake of her head, as if to say that going further would only make the situation less bearable.
The comet still drew a bright path over the water, and the coat beneath them held some of the cold from the ground and some of the warmth from their bodies.
Ciaran sat close enough to stop her from drifting further away if he chose right in the next moment.
He didnotchoose right.
Ava looked up at the sky for a breath, then back at him. “For what it is worth, I daenae have any problem with today.”
Ciaran narrowed his eyes at her. “What are ye talking about?”
“The comet,” she responded, her voice low in a way that made it look like she was doing her best to control it. “I wouldnae have wanted anyone to see it but ye, me husband.”
The line struck him so hard he forgot to breathe for one second.
There it was, the full trust. The fact that she was placing him inside one of the most sacred moments of her life and giving him that place freely even now, even after his apology had already bent the night wrong. She had given him the comet. Her mother’s dream. Her hand. Her body. And he sat beside her with a head full of fear and a mouth that still failed him at every critical moment.
He looked at her and knew she could see how deeply the words had landed. He could feel the answer inside himself, large and urgent and too slow to take shape.
He wanted to tell her that her saying such a thing made him feel both blessed and damned. He wanted to tell her that he did not deserve this night and yet would carry it all his life. He wanted to tell her that the apology had meant guilt and fear and confusion, never regret for her, neverthat.
