Page 255 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Ava laughed. “A tragic end for a bridegroom.”
“Aye. Come save me.”
Before Isobel or her father or Millie could pull her back into another round of congratulations, Ciaran took her hand and led her out of the chapel and through the hall with the speed of a man who had already given enough of his wife to the world for one day.
Behind them, laughter erupted, Bruce barked, and her father said something about shameless husbands. Ava looked over her shoulder once, smiling, then let Ciaran drag her on.
He did not stop until they were in their chamber with the door shut fast behind them.
The quiet struck at once.
Ava stood with her back to the door for one moment, breathing hard from laughter and the quick walk, her veil slightly askew and her bouquet still clutched in one hand. Ciaran eyed her as though he had been waiting for this for half his life.
She watched as he came closer and took the bouquet from her hand, setting it aside without looking away from her face.
“There,” he murmured. “Now ye belong to me for at least five minutes.”
Ava smiled. “Only five?”
He put both hands on her waist. “If ye tease me on our wedding day, I shall carry ye to the bed this instant.”
“Ye may try.”
The answer pleased him so much that the smile lit up his whole face.
He bent and kissed the corner of her mouth, light and brief, then her cheek, then paused. Ava followed his gaze, only to find the star map hanging above their bed.
It was framed simply and placed where she could see it the moment she entered the room, the fine markings clear in the firelight, the lines and names preserved with care.
For one breath, she could do nothing but stare at it, then she crossed to the bed slowly. Her fingers lifted toward the frame and stopped just short of touching it.
“When did ye do this?”
“This morning,” Ciaran said from behind her. “While ye were being fussed over.”
She turned to look at him. He stood a few steps away, watching her with a steadiness that felt almost shy. It made the ache rise in her throat faster than any speech could have.
“I wanted ye to see it the moment ye came in,” he added. “It belongs here.”
Ava put one hand over her mouth. Then she laughed softly because crying on her wedding day for the tenth time seemed excessive, even for her.
He crossed the gap between them and took her hand away from her face. “Nay more tears,” he chided softly.
“I make nay promises.”
“A cruel wife already.”
“Oh, daenae pretend like ye didnae choose me.”
“Aye.” His thumb stroked across her knuckles. “Best thing I ever did.”
Ava looked once more at the star map and then back at him. Their whole story seemed to sit in that small space between the bed and the wall, every event gathered in ink and paper.
When he kissed her again, there was heat in it. She held his shoulders and leaned fully into him. His hands settled on her waist, then slid up her back, slow and certain, as though he had no wish to rush through a single second of this. She felt the care in his touch. She felt the burning hunger too, open and unashamed.
Her veil slipped, and he caught it with one hand and laughed under his breath when it tangled briefly around his wrist. “This thing is trying to kill me.”
“Oh, well, something needs to.”
