Page 117 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
“What I ken,” she said, “is that every time I have needed the truth from ye, ye gave me half of one.”
“Ava.”
“Nay.” The word came out steady now. “I cannae build a life on what ye feel in moments when terror or wanting drags it out of ye. I cannae keep collecting scraps and calling itlove.”
The last word hung between them.
Ciaran’s face changed again, more deeply this time. Still, no full rescue came with it. He stood close. He held her wrist. He looked at her as if the truth was inside him and yet could not come out, no matter how hard he tried.
Even now, she wanted him to say it.
Clearly.
Fully.
Once.
Still, he did not.
Ava looked down at his hand around her wrist, then stepped back. The loss of contact hit them both. She saw it. She felt it,too. Her whole body wanted to lean back toward him. She did not let it.
Her father came forward at once, saying nothing. He set Bruce down, took her elbow, and handed the dog to a servant while the groom brought her horse around.
The world moved around her again, and all the sound she had managed to drown out disappeared behind her.
Ava put her foot in the stirrup. She did not look at Ciaran until she was seated.
He stood where she had left him, one hand hanging in midair as if some part of him still believed the right word might come out if he waited another second. His face had gone hard with the effort of holding himself upright under everything left unsaid.
Ava’s chest hurt so badly she thought she might be sick. Then her father gave the signal, the groom stepped back, and the horse moved forward.
She rode past the gate without looking back, because if she did, she might turn. And if she turned, she might stay. And if she stayed, she would be placing her whole heart back into the hands of a man who had already shown her how easily he could fail it.
So she kept her eyes on the road ahead and let the castle fall behind her, carrying with her the full weight of the man she loved and the life she could no longer bear to hope for.
This was for the best.
Itneededto be.
CHAPTER 33
A week after Ava left,the castle had learned to steer clear of Ciaran.
The men moved faster when he entered a yard, and the servants lowered their eyes and answered at once.
Training had turned ugly in ways that left bruises on other bodies and no peace in his own. He knew it, yet he did not stop. Every hour felt stripped down to work, temper, and the effort of getting through the next hour without sayinghername aloud.
It had done nothing for him.
By evening, he had climbed to the tower because there was nowhere else left to go.
The fire had burned low, and the room held the same things it always had. The telescope stood by the window. The pianowaited where it always had, and the star map still lay where he had hidden it.
The whole place had become unbearable in the week since she had ridden away, and still he came back to it as if pain had made it his truest room.
He sat on the piano bench with his hands resting on his thighs.
He had tried earlier. Once. He had put his fingers on the keys and found that nothing came except a broken line of notes that died almost as soon as they began. After that, he had closed the fallboard and stared at it until the urge to strike it passed.
