Page 85 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
Ciaran looked at the whiskey bottle, then past it to the wall, almost absentmindedly. The matter had lived in his head as a threat, an answer, a road kept open because he had feared what his marriage was becoming. Spoken this plainly, with Ava’s father only one floor away, it took on harder edges. It became an act. A conversation.
It suddenly became something with consequences.
He did not answer.
Hector waited a moment, then asked the only question left. “Ye still want it, daenae ye?”
Ciaran knew what a clean answer should sound like.Yes. Without hesitation. Yes, because this marriage had gone too far in directions he had sworn to avoid, and because liking Ava had become a danger he had no wish to feed.
However, the answer did not come cleanly.
He heard the pause before he spoke. Hector heard it, too.
“Aye,” he muttered. “Of course I do.”
The words were sharp enough, but the conviction in them had already thinned.
Hector did not move.
Ciaran continued speaking anyway. Now wasn’t the time to remain silent. “The old man has been through enough. His castle is ash. His skin is burned. His people are under me roof. He deserves peace for a few days before anyone puts more strain on him.”
The explanation sounded orderly while he said it. He believed it… until the last word left his mouth and the whole thing stood exposed for what it was.Delay.
Hector’s expression did not change. That made it worse.
“A few days,” he repeated.
Ciaran’s jaw tightened. “Would ye have me raise it now? Tonight? Shall I ask for his daughter to be sent back while the smoke is still in his hair?”
“Nay.” Hector shook his head. “I’d just have ye say what ye mean and stop wasting her time.”
The room went quiet.
Ciaran felt the weight of that more sharply than any accusation. Hector had not called him a liar. He had not needed to.
He poured another measure of whiskey and left it untouched. “What I mean,” he said, “is that this isnae the moment.”
Hector watched him. “Aye.”
Ciaran hated that response. He had meant to keep one thing steady in all of this. If he could not stop wanting his wife, he could at least keep hold of the fact that wanting her was a mistake and that there remained a way out before his want grew into something far worse. Now, even that ground had shifted.
He had still said he wanted an annulment. He had said it aloud again. He had not lied entirely. Yet every reason he gave for postponement exposed the real weakness. He wanted time. He wanted room. He wanted to use the old man’s presence as a shield against his own failure to act.
Hector drew a little closer to the desk and rested his hand against the back of a chair. “She matters more than ye planned.”
Ciaran gave a humorless breath. “That was clear enough the moment I opened me mouth, was it?”
“It was clearbeforethat.”
He said nothing as the bottle stood between them and the cup waited beside it. The study held the smell of whiskey, ink, and the cold air seeping in through the cracks in the window.
Hector looked at him for one beat longer, as though deciding whether to press harder or change the topic. Then he cleared his throat. “There’s something else ye should ken.”
Ciaran looked up. “What?”
“We still have nay names.” Hector folded his arms. “Nay one in MacKenna lands saw enough to suspect a hand behind it. Nay one has come forward with quarrels worth the risk. But the men I sent back felt watched on the road.”
The study went still.
