Page 1 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Virgin (Auctioned Highland Brides #3)

Elinor’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight as she walked away from the garden. It was a futile endeavor, trying to garden at night, but it was the only time she got to leave the castle.

Lots of eyes were on her at this moment; she could tell. However, the last thing she wanted to do was draw even more attention to herself. Her every move was already being scrutinized.

She moved away from the flowers, noting the white petals and how they seemed to glow in the moonlight when she stared at them from a certain angle.

The cold night air whipped at the hem of her dress, a chill suddenly descending on her like some kind of warning. She wrapped her arms around herself as tremors started wracking her body. Still, she wouldn’t leave.

“Ye shouldnae ignore that warning, M’Lady,” a familiar, comforting voice called behind her.

She turned and came face to face with Thomas, one of her guards. “If it stops me from having to go see the Laird before he retires for the night, I’d say it is a cold well caught.”

Thomas laughed. “Ye need to go inside. Looks like it will rain, and ye need to be under the covers when it starts.”

“That’s if that is where I’ll be. Ye can never tell with the Laird and his—well, his desires.”

Thomas laughed again.

Elinor and the young guard had grown close over the past two years since she had come to MacAdair Castle. He had always protected her whenever she went out, and she soon realized that he was only here because of some debt his parents owed the Laird.

He harbored the same disdain for Laird MacAdair, which had presented an opportunity for Elinor to develop a friendship with him. Till this day, Thomas was the only person she could speak to about the Laird without worrying whether it would get back to him.

“Should ye nae be manning yer post? What if an intruder manages to break in?”

“They’ll have me to answer tae . I havenae broken any bones in a long time,” he responded.

Elinor laughed. She had seen Thomas fight a few men in the past. He knew how to hold his own, and she wouldn’t have anyone else protect her if she could help it.

“I keep saying that yer potential is being wasted on manning a post at night. Ye should be doing more. Ye should be a man-at-arms instead.”

“I would man a chicken if it means I daenae have to follow Murdock around the village as some kind of second-in-command,” Thomas scoffed, his voice clear.

Elinor studied him in the moonlight for the briefest of seconds. His dark curls hung low over his forehead, and his dark brown, almost black eyes were almost not visible at night, adding an edge to his words whenever he spoke.

“Ach, well, it could be worse,” Elinor pointed out.

Thomas nodded. “Of course, M’Lady. It could always be worse.”

Elinor sighed. “I might as well head back inside. One way or another, this night must end.”

Thomas gave her an encouraging grin. “Aye, M’Lady. And I shall head back to me post.”

Elinor’s eyes swept over the flowers one more time before she turned around and walked towards the castle, leaving Thomas, the flowers, and the cold night air behind.

The walk to her quarters was a bit long, and she prolonged it further by walking as slowly as possible. She trudged past a few maids and stable boys who stopped to greet her before continuing on their way. A flurry of M’Ladys reached her ears as she walked, and her heart pounded hard in her chest.

“M’Lady,” one of the maids called out loudly as she approached her from the end of the passageway. “Is everything all right? Do ye need anything?”

“Does it look like I need anything?” Elinor bit out coldly.

“Nay,” the maid responded, the apologetic look on her face masking her nervousness.

“Good,” Elinor muttered and continued on her way.

She stepped into her room and shut the door behind her, a wave of the remaining cold shooting down her body in immense waves. Lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a loud thunderclap.

Thomas was right; she didn’t want the rain to catch her outside. She walked to her window and placed her hands on the sill, looking out.

It might have been years. She might have settled into her role as the Laird’s wife, but it changed nothing. She was still trapped. A prisoner with nowhere to go.

And it wasn’t like she hadn’t tried. On multiple occasions, she had tried to fetch a horse and escape, but she always came back after either being caught or getting lost on the way.

She started taking off her dress, lifting the hem off her legs first, when she saw it in the pale moonlight—the jagged line that ran across her left shin. Her fingers caressed the scar.

One time, after she got caught trying to escape, Laird MacAdair left a lasting impression on her. She could still remember the way he had screamed at his men to lift her and place her on the table.

“If she moves, yer all dead, ” h e had said to them.

S he could almost hear it. The guttural edge that laced his voice as he asked a maid to fetch a long stick.

She still remembered how her heart pounded hard against her chest, as they all waited in anticipation.

She could not move, could not try to free herself no matter how hard she tried.

She remembered the maids appearing with the sticks and while she tried to block out everything that happened after, she couldn't. It hit her hard, just like the lashes on her back.

She remembered crying out, begging him to stop.

She remembered him saying this was the only way she could learn and she remembered almost biting her tongue off from the pain she had felt.

Every time she got punished for something, she always looked at her scars with high spirits. It was something Thomas had taught her.

“Whatever he did to ye today,” he had told her one day after seeing her red, swollen cheek, “remember that it could always be worse.”

“It could always be worse,” she had repeated that day.

It had become a mantra for her. A way for her to get through the day without fixating too much on her predicament, because it could always be worse.

It also became a sort of code between her, Thomas, and Katherine. Apparently, Katherine had come up with it first. A way for them to tell each other to keep going. To not let the bastard wear them down.

At least she had one thing to be thankful for—she still hadn’t slept with her husband.

The first night he tried to sleep with her, her plan had worked. He had called Katherine, who had informed him that it was true. If she were forced to sleep with him, not only would she not conceive, but the consequences would be catastrophic for him.

So, every other night, Laird MacAdair would send a maid to her room to ask if he could come to her bed, and for the past three years, she had always said no. She was not ready to invite him.

Part of her wondered how much the Laird could take before deciding to fully throw caution to the wind and force her to sleep with him anyway. He might not break today or tomorrow, but one day, her ruse would no longer work, and she would have to face the consequences.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. One she was all too familiar with.

But nae today.

“Who is it?” she called.

“’Tis Jenny, M’Lady,” Jenny’s voice rang out clear and sharp on the other end of the door.

“Ach, nay. Tell him I still am nae ready for him. When I’m ready, I shall invite him meself.”

“’Tis nae about that, M’Lady. Ye need to come with me.”

Elinor moved away from the windowsill. “Why? Did something happen? Is anyone in danger?”

“Ye really need to come.”

Elinor swallowed and walked to the door, a part of her wondering if the dress she wore was decent enough.

She pulled the door open and was almost taken aback by the look of utter alarm on Jenny’s face.

Usually, when the maid came to ask, she was always so reserved and almost nonchalant. It felt different this time.

“Jenny, what is the issue?”

“’Tis the Laird, M’Lady. He’s nae moving.”

“What do ye mean, he’s nae moving?” Elinor asked, her eyebrows knitting in confusion and almost devastating anticipation.

“I went in to draw him a bath this evening and found him on the bed. I tried to wake him, but he wasnae…” Jenny trailed off, the words dying in her throat.

Elinor sprang into action almost immediately. She reached for one of the shawls that hung behind the door and told the maid to lead the way.

“Where is Katherine?” she asked as they hurried down the passageway and towards the Laird’s quarters.

“She’s with him,” Jenny responded, exhaustion from running lacing her voice.

They hurried through the halls and flew up the stairs, the flickering firelight blurring past them.

Jenny pushed the door open when they got there and stepped inside.

Something about the room felt different to Elinor at that moment. She rarely got to visit it, not after that night three years ago.

Thunder rumbled louder as she walked in, as if stressing the fact that something had happened.

Something big.

Katherine looked up at her, her hands pressing hard on the Laird’s chest.

“Katherine?” Elinor squeaked.

Her eyes darted towards the lifeless form on the bed. His lips were blistering blue, and his face was growing grayer by the second.

She knew. Even before Katherine said it, she knew. There was only one possible outcome.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as she stood in the corner, watching. Waiting.

Katherine looked down at the Laird again and pressed harder on his chest, mild grunts escaping her lips with each press.

Elinor turned to Jenny, who remained frozen by the door, her clasped hands trembling uncontrollably.

“I am sorry,” Katherine sighed, bringing her back to the present.

Elinor turned to her again.

The healer had stopped pressing on the Laird’s chest. She had given up. Her mouth opened, her lips were moving, but Elinor could not fathom the words. They buzzed like insects in her ears.

She was stunned, and no matter how hard she tried, her feet remained rooted to the spot by the bed frame.

“Elinor!” Katherine’s voice cut through the buzzing almost immediately.

Elinor’s eyes widened, and she turned to the healer, the Laird’s body a blur in the periphery of her vision.

“Did ye nae hear me?”

She shook her head.

“He’s dead, Elinor. The Laird is dead.”

She still couldn’t move. Katherine’s words must have thrown even more weight on her feet.

“I cannae save him,” Katherine added.

Elinor remained still.

Elinor sat at the head of the table. She didn’t know she could feel exhilarated and worried at the same time, but here she was, her hands resting on the table, listening to the councilmen before her speak over each other. Thoughts raced in her head as she watched them.

It had been a week since Laird MacAdair was buried.

The atmosphere on the day of the funeral was tense, but an unmistakable undercurrent of happiness and a wave of relief had swept through the crowd.

The councilmen and servants probably all retired to their quarters singing the praises of the Lord that night.

Every few moments, her mind would bring her back to the present, and she would briefly hear the overlapping voices of the councilmen. However, she could not make out anything but a few sentences.

We cannae leave the castle unattended.

We need to elect a new leader as soon as possible.

I am certain we can afford the breathing space for at least a few months.

She should be gone by now. She had the opportunity. She should have packed her bags the night Laird MacAdair died, grabbed her things—most of which she had bought after she had arrived at MacAdair Castle—and left. She would have returned to her family by now. She should have returned.

But no matter how hard she tried to think otherwise, her home was here now. She had been living here for the past three years, and despite her late husband’s cruel treatment, she had made quite a few friends around the castle. Thomas and Katherine, for instance.

While the other servants thought she was cold and rather strict and distant, she still saw them as family. One she was not ready to leave any time soon.

There are still a lot of matters that need our urgent attention.

Like what?

She cleared her throat, and the murmurs stopped. Then, she lifted her forearms off the table and lowered her hands to the edges, which she gripped as hard as she could.

“I am certain we are all thinking the same thing. Now that the former Laird is dead…” she started.

“Such a great man,” a man whispered.

“A rare and true warrior.”

Elinor turned to the men. “Be quiet, William. Same goes for ye, too, Jack. We all ken that Murdock was a bastard.”

Silence descended on them, and before she could continue, she could swear she heard muffled laughter from the far end of the table.

“I ken that the way forward is the main concern now. One that requires me to find a husband as soon as possible.”

“Thank ye for bringing it up yerself, M’Lady,” Jack muttered.

“I shall find a husband,” she declared. “But if I am going to do that, I will do it on me own terms. I have been forced to marry once; I daenae plan to go through that again.”

A heavier silence fell over the table, but it was quickly broken by Jack.

“What do ye propose, M’Lady?” he asked.

All eyes swiveled to her, like they expected her to drop a random piece of wisdom.

Elinor cleared her throat again. “Ye ken that me sister, Anna, had an auction for her hand. Ye helped me go to her wedding.”

She swallowed, reveling in the anticipation that ensued. Then, she made her announcement, her voice more assertive than she had intended it to be.

“We shall do the same for me.”