Page 74 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
The words landed hard. She saw that much in the brief stillness of his face. It did not stop her.
“Perhaps ye were right from the start,” she added. “Distance was the best thing ye ever offered me.”
Isobel moved then, slow and careful. “So, there is something I need to do back in me room,” she ventured. “So I will leave ye to it.”
Ava did not look at her. Ciaran did not either.
Isobel crossed the room, squeezed Ava’s shoulder in passing, and slipped out. The click of the door closing behind her made the room feel smaller at once.
Ava folded her arms tight across her chest.“I willnae stay near ye just so ye can order me around again and call it protection.”
Ciaran did not answer immediately. That made her angrier.
“Well?”
His voice, when it came, was level. “Eat first.”
She stared at him. “Ye cannae be serious.”
“I amentirelyserious.”
“I am trying to tell ye why I am angry.”
“And I am telling ye that ye can speak yer mind with food in yer belly instead of nothing.”
Ava gave an incredulous laugh. “That is yer answer?”
“It is the first thing I meant to do.”
“Ye still think ye can decide the order of everything, do ye nae?”
“Aye,” he said, and the plainness of it almost made her throw the nearest object at his head. “This once, I do.”
He took the bowl and held it out. Ava did not move. He remained there with infuriating patience, his broad hand steady beneath the dish, his face calm in a way that only made her want to strike him harder with words.
He was doing it again. He was offering care in the shape of control.
She should throw the food back at him.Yet the smell of warm bread and broth reached her, and beneath her anger and pride, there was the dull weakness she had been refusing to describe.
“Sit,” he urged.
Her chin lifted. “That sounds very much like another order.”
“Then take it as one and spare us both the argument.”
“There is already an argument.”
“Aye, and ye will have more strength for it after.”
Ava hated that a part of her knew he was right. She hated still more that her body chose that moment to remind her how little she had eaten. Her stomach cramped, and her head felt light.
With a stiff movement, she sat.
He handed her the bowl. She took it because continuing to refuse had begun to feel childish even to her. He passed her the spoon next and stood there waiting like a jailer determined to see a sentence carried out.
“Ye could at least pretendnaeto watch me,” she muttered.
“I could,” he agreed. “But I willnae.”
