Page 131 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Aside from the list of items, Ava could see that there were also names written on the pages. They were most likely family names from neighboring clans. She noticed there were other little marks beside some and full lines struck through others.
“I am guessing these are the families ye reached out to?” she asked. “None of them responded?”
Isobel made a face and pointed to a name on the list. “That one was at least polite enough to ignore us quietly.”
Ava looked at the next and saw the short note Isobel had written beside the name. “This one regrets that his daughter isnae presently inclined toward marriage.’”
“A bald-faced lie. She wed a tanner’s son three months later.”
Ava glanced up. “Did she truly?”
“Aye.”
“That is almost insulting enough that I should admire it.”
Isobel laughed, though it came out thin with frustration.
Ava leaned further over the desk, Bruce protesting when her arm tightened around him to keep him from sliding off her lap.
There were more names. Better ones than she had expected, in truth. Daughters from respectable families, some with decent dowries and strong bloodlines. Ciaran Nairn was a laird. His lands were secure, and his name carried weight. On paper, there was no reason he should be failing so badly.
“That is what vexes me,” Isobel sighed, as if following Ava’s train of thought. “He is nay wastrel. He is nay fool. He is nay gambler or drunkard. He doesnae have bastards in every village.”
Ava smiled faintly. “Ye do set the standard high.”
“I am serious.”
“I ken.”
And she did.
That was the trouble. If the matter had been simpler, if Ciaran had been ridiculous or dissolute or plainly unsuited to marriage, the whole business would have settled more easily in the mind. But this was something else. The list itself proved it.
The only thing stopping these people was fear.
Ava traced one finger down the edge of a folded letter. “So he is suitable in every sober, sensible way.”
“Aye.”
“And yet nay one wishes to hand him a daughter.”
Isobel folded her arms. “That is a cruel way to put it.”
“It is an accurate one.”
“He is steady,” Isobel said. “He is honorable. He protects his people. He takes duty seriously.”
Ava tipped her head. “I didnae say otherwise.”
“Then why do ye sound as though he keeps wolves in his chamber and sharpens knives for pleasure?”
“Because,” Ava exhaled, “he looks as though he might.”
Isobel let out an exasperated breath. “Ava.”
“What?” Ava spread one hand. “Ye cannae expect me to lie simply because I love ye. He is alarming. Every tale that reaches this castle says so. Half the time, he is spoken of as if he were some war-spirit called up from the forest.”
“That is absurd.”
