Page 68 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Ciaran could hear himself breathing. He felt the fury of the confession in his own chest.
Like her.That was his dilemma.
He didn’t just desire her. He actuallylikedher. He liked riding beside her. He liked hearing her laugh. He liked the way she spoke back, stayed, asked for more, and looked at him as if there were still a man under the name everyone else used. She didn’t see him as theSilent Death,and that right there was the problem.
She saw him as a man. He couldn’t deal with that. He couldn’t face the vulnerability that would come with dealing with a woman who treated him as a human being and expected the same from him.
“Now isnae the time for ye to grow mute, Hector,” he scoffed.
Hector’s face gave away very little, which made the waiting worse.
Ciaran was about to say something harsh, perhaps to shut the matter down before his brother could answer at all, when movement at the far end of the yard caught his eye.
Hector saw it as well and narrowed his eyes.“Wait, is that?—”
“Aye,” Ciaran responded before he could finish.
Ava was running toward him, and she looked… upset. He could also tell that whatever she was upset about wasn’t ordinary. She was moving too fast, with no care for her dress or the men in her path. Her face was pale, and her breath was breaking before she even reached him.
Something inside him locked tight. He was already moving when she stumbled on the uneven ground near the practice ring and caught her before she fell.
“Ava.”
She clutched at him with one hand and thrust a folded paper at his chest with the other. Her whole body was shaking. He could feel it in the light grip of her fingers and the press of her against him.
“A fire,” she panted. “Me father. Our castle.”
Ciaran took the note and read it quickly.
“A fire on Fraser lands,” he read aloud, the words coming out of him in sheer disbelief. “The damage is severe, and the situation of Laird MacKenna is unknown.”
Ava made a sound in her throat that would have become a sob if she had allowed it.
Ciaran folded the note once and handed it to Hector without taking his eyes off her. “Ava. Ava.”
“They daenae ken what has happened to me father?—”
“Ava, I need ye to calm?—”
“He could be anywhere.”
“Ava—”
“Oh, Good God, he could be dead. I cannae?—”
“Ava!”
The yard fell into silence. He had never raised his voice in a decade. Even doing it hurt his vocal cords, and he tried his best not to let it show.
“Listen to me,” he continued anyway, ignoring the shooting pain in his throat. “We are going to get through this. Yer father will be fine.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond; he just turned to Hector.
“Gather six men now,” he ordered. “Take the fastest horses. Ride straight there. Find Laird MacKenna. Find out who lives, who is hurt, and whether the fire is out. Send word back the moment ye have it.”
“Aye.”
“And take waterskins, bandages, and blankets. If the roads are blocked, clear them. If they need men digging, ye dig.”
