Page 112 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
There was always one thing he looked for in his study—refuge and distance from others that made him revert to his old self, the Laird and thinker everyone seemed to know and respect. Here, he was the man who could put feelings aside long enough to decide what needed to be done next. He stood with the cup in his hand and tried to fit himself back into that shape.
Nothing was coming to his mind. All he could register was the fact that Ava was alive and the vile man who had tried to take him down was dead, just like several others who had tried before him.
Ava would hate him for a while. Perhaps longer.
Perhapsforever.
The thought lodged in his chest like iron, and he tried to adjust to whatever that would look like. It was better to be resentful and alive than dead at the bottom of a cliff. Better wounded by words than buried.
He held onto that because the other truth was worse.
The other truth was that when he had seen her over the edge, something inside him had turned so feral that the rest of his life had dropped away. There was no caution or annulment or any other form of noble release.Only Ava.
He drained the glass and set it down too hard.
He was about to grab the bottle again when the door flew open and Isobel came in without knocking.
Uh-oh.
Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair had begun to come loose from its pins. She looked like someone who had run here with anger keeping pace beside her.
“Ye giant fool.”
Ciaran turned slowly. “Get out.”
“Nay.”
He grabbed the bottle because if he looked at her any longer, he would have to acknowledge the force of whatever had brought her to him. “I am in nay mood for whatever this is.”
“Good.” She stepped further into the room. “I am in a worse one.”
He poured himself another glass. “Say what ye came to say.”
“She is packing.”
The glass struck the sideboard before he realized he had set it down, and for one second, he only stared at her.
“Who?”
Isobel’s face contorted in disgust. “Daenae insult me by pretending ye have enough women under yer roof to be uncertain which one I’m referring to.”
The shock moved through his chest and throat and left both tight. “Ava?”
“Aye,Ava.”
“Where?”
“To her mother's castle.” Isobel folded her arms. “She intends to leave and pursue the annulment, since ye seem determined to make that the only clear thing in her life.”
Ciaran looked away from her and back at the sideboard.
The whiskey sat between them. The room had shrunk. He could hear his own breathing.
The thought of Ava hating him forever returned suddenly, and his mind told him that he couldn’t bear it if they remained under the same roof. This was her inadvertently solving a problem for him.
Eventually, he cleared his throat and forced himself to speak evenly. “Then perhaps it is for the best.”
Isobel made a furious sound in the back of her throat. “For thebest?”
