Page 86 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
“Watched how?”
Hector shrugged once. “Nay sight clear enough to chase. They only said they felt like they were being watched and everything was too quiet.”
Ciaran’s hand tightened around the cup.
That was worse than a poor suspect. A known enemy could be met. A hidden one required guesswork and long nerves. He thought of his father-in-law arriving burned and the dog under the chair at dinner.
“Who reported it?”
“Two guards separate from each other,” Hector replied. “I asked them apart. They told it the same.”
Ciaran released the cup. “Double the watch tonight. I want two men on each path, nae one. Change them faster so nay one grows dull because they stood too long.”
Hector nodded. “All right.”
“Also, make certain nay gate is opened after dark without me permission or yers. If anyone sees movement beyond the trees, I want it followed and reported.”
Hector nodded again. “Aye.”
“And spread word around the castle. Nay wandering after supper. Nae the servants, nae the guests—nay one.”
“MacKenna will dislike that.”
“He can dislike it under me roof while he stays alive under it.”
That caused the briefest twitch in Hector’s mouth, though Ciaran knew better than to call it humor.
“Have the men check the stables twice before first light. I want every horse counted. If someone is watching us, he may fancy taking one before long.”
“Aye.” Hector pushed off the chair and turned toward the door, then paused with his hand on the latch. “Ye can order guards. That part still comes easy.”
Ciaran gave him a flat look. “Get out.”
Hector did, though he left with far too much understanding in his eyes.
The study door slammed shut, and silence returned.
Ciaran remained sat where he was for a few moments and listened to the faint sounds of the castle settling beyond the walls. He had done what could be done for now. More men.More eyes. More caution around the castle. That part was simple.
He poured more whiskey. The first swallow burned, but the second sat warm and useless in his gut.
Someone might be watching the roads, and a threat just might be lurking behind the walls. Yet all he could think about was the feel of Ava in his arms at dinner. He had held her under her father’s gaze and wanted to keep holding her long after the music had given him the chance to let go.
He took another drink and cursed himself for remembering it in such detail. The study had not steadied him. Even the whiskey did not dull him. Every path circled back to the same place—Ava’s face.
He drank again as the room remained tight around him.
He could not even tell which answer he wanted anymore. Silence or Ava. Distance or the right to keep taking her hand when a room watched. An end to their marriage or another hour beside her that would undo him further.
The mind could not hold both without strain, and his had become all strain these last days.
Then the piano blared from the tower, and he froze with the cup halfway down to the desk.
What the?—
The sound was appalling.
It sounded like the wrong keys were being struck with enthusiasm and very little mercy. Like one chord was slamming into the next, and a run climbed upward and collapsed in the middle.
