Page 152 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
He decided to spend the final evening before the wedding as he had kept the rest of the week—work on writing letters requesting for tributes from neighboring lairds and studying maps on his desk. Yet, even with that, he could no longer pretend the effort would prevent what was coming.
Ava remained too present in his mind for a woman he had determined not to let too near. That, more than anything, made the impending wedding feel even more dangerous.
An hour into the night, his door opened without ceremony. Only one person in the castle still entered his private rooms with that particular combination of boldness and irritation.
Ciaran did not turn at once. He knew his sister’s footsteps too well.
“Isobel, what do ye want?”
Isobel’s footsteps stopped. “I want ye to tell me that what I noticed all week isnae true and ye arenae actively avoiding yer bride.”
Ciaran looked up at her, his throat bobbing. “What are ye talking about?”
Isobel stared at him as if his question made no sense. “I am talking about the fact that I didnae see ye with Ava all week. Did something happen?”
Ciaran didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the map on his desk.
“So it is true, then,” Isobel huffed. “Ye have spent the whole week dodging the woman ye mean to wed tomorrow.”
Ciaran kept his gaze on the papers before him for one deliberate moment longer, then set them down.
“If ye have come to lecture me,” he said, “ye may spare yerself the effort.”
Isobel shut the door behind her. “I think nae.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Mind yer own affairs, Isobel.”
She gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Meownaffairs? Ava is me dearest friend, and ye are me brother. Ye are to be wed tomorrow, and ye have spent the week acting as though she carries some pestilence ye might catch if ye stand too close to her.”
Ciaran’s mouth hardened. “Take care.”
“Nay,” she said. “I am quite finished taking care. I daenae ken why ye keep treating me like one of yer servants.”
Ciaran exhaled. “That isnae true.”
“Aye. Because in case ye have forgotten, I didnae spend the past decade with ye.”
“Isobel, as ye can see, I am a bit busy.”
“Aye, like ye have been the past few days?”
Ciaran said nothing. He simply did not see the point in continuing this conversation.
Isobel continued to speak anyway, the annoyance in her voice clearer than anything.“Ye asked for a wife, and ye chose one. And now ye cannae even manage the courtesy of being civil to her before the vows are spoken?”
He rose then, less from temper than from the restless need not to remain seated beneath her scolding. “Ye presume too much.”
“Do I?” Isobel folded her arms. “Because from where I stand, ye look very much like a man running from a lass who has done nothing worse than ask ye to treat her as a human being.”
The words landed too close to the mark to be borne with ease.
“She has madedemands,” he gritted out.
“Aye, because ye told her she may.”
“That doesnae make the matter yers to meddle in.”
Isobel’s eyes flashed. “It became mine when me friend began looking as though she must choose between pride and despair in this castle.”
