Page 10 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Virgin (Auctioned Highland Brides #3)

Elinor’s ears perked up. A distant voice had pierced through her slumber, like echoes on crashing waves. She felt like she was falling from an incredibly high cliff, and there was no way for her to land.

The voice called again, and she realized what it said this time.

M’Lady.

She didn’t know where it had come from, though. Deep down, she recognized it, and yet as she continued to fall, it sounded even more foreign to her.

“M’Lady?”

Her eyes snapped open.

She didn’t know where she was. The roof above her was nothing like the one in her room. She felt the mattress beneath her; it was a bit harder on her back than she remembered.

“Och!” a voice suddenly whispered. The same one she had heard in her dream.

She turned her head to the side and saw him . Ciaran.

He was hanging a few cuts of raw meat above the fireplace, and every few minutes, he would flinch when a part of the meat burned his hands.

Elinor slowly sat up in bed. Flashes of what had happened the previous night came back to her.

How she had set up this trial for the lairds and how none of them, except Ciaran, had managed to find her.

How they had been caught in the storm and had to spend the night here because there had been no other way for them to return to the castle.

How they had spent hours playing Nine Men’s Morris.

The storm must have stopped in the middle of the night because the patter of rain and the rumble of thunder had completely disappeared.

Ciaran still had his back turned to her, and she studied him carefully. His clothes must have dried up because they looked lighter than the previous day. Her own dress still hung on the line near the fireplace.

Another memory she had thought disappeared with her sleep suddenly returned, and she could remember everything clearly now.

How she had asked Ciaran to sleep on the bed next to her.

How she had bolted from the bed when she thought he had done something to the other lairds. How that altercation had led to?—

She swiped her tongue across her lips. Yes, she had not dreamed that part.

His taste lingered on her lips, like an essence she could not get rid of, no matter how hard she tried. Flashes of the kiss, like the lightning from the night before, flooded her brain.

She could remember the feel of his soft lips against hers. How their mouths had clashed in some intense, weird dance for dominance, and how she had felt like she was floating in the clouds after the kiss.

“I hope ye like meat.” Ciaran’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.

It also startled her, for she had made certain not to make any noise. She wondered how painfully aware he was of his surroundings.

“How did ye ken I was awake?”

Ciaran dangled another cut of meat over the fire. “Yer breathing quickened almost five minutes ago,” he murmured.

Elinor looked down at the towel still wrapped around her body. It looked firm, just like it had the previous night. But she needed to confirm, just to be sure.

“Dinnae turn around,” she muttered as she loosened the towel.

Her undergarments were just as they were the previous night. He hadn’t touched her.

“Ye havenae answered me,” Ciaran said as she wrapped the towel around herself again. He turned to her, a plate laden with freshly roasted meat in his hand. Steam curled up slowly from the plate to the ceiling. “Do ye like meat or nae?”

Elinor grimaced as the smell filled her nostrils. “Who did ye kill to provide us this lovely breakfast?”

Ciaran laughed, setting the plate on a stool by the bed. “Do ye really think that little of me?”

Elinor said nothing. Instead, her eyes flitted from the plate to him.

He rolled his eyes. “I went out to hunt a deer as soon as the storm ended. I saw a few when I first arrived at the castle.”

Elinor nodded and inched towards the edge of the bed.

“Yer dress is dry,” Ciaran added, shifting the rest of the meat dangling over the fire. “Ye can wear it now if ye want.”

Elinor looked at the dress on the other side of the fireplace.

It was hung neatly and looked like it had been washed, even though she knew it wasn’t.

She rose to her feet and headed to it anyway.

Her eyes searched it for any kind of defect, something she may not have noticed during the storm, but she found none.

“I suppose I have ye to thank for this, do I?”

Ciaran shrugged. “I only did what any reasonable man would have done in such a situation.”

“Ye think this is what any reasonable man would have done?”

“Is it nae?”

“Nay,” Elinor responded, a hint of finality in her voice.

She grabbed her dress and headed back to the bed. Ciaran still had his back turned to her, but from the way he was handling the meat, she knew he would step away from the fireplace soon.

“I am about to change. Dinnae turn around until I tell ye.”

“Aye, M’Lady,” he returned, his voice curt.

Elinor dropped the towel, and without rushing—or at least thinking she was hastening—she put on her dress.

“Ye can turn around now,” she said. “There is something I need ye to help me with. I cannae tie the laces at the back of me dress by meself.”

Ciaran nodded. “Of course.”

Elinor turned her back to him, and soon, he had tied the laces and secured her dress.

“Have ye done this before?” she asked as she sat back on the edge of the bed, before the stool, staring at the roasted cuts of meat.

“A few times,” he admitted.

There was a glint in his eyes. A kind of anticipation. He was waiting for her to ask which women he had done that with.

Elinor refused to ask the question. Instead, she picked a cut of meat and bit into it.

Surprisingly, it was well roasted. Not that she would admit it in front of him. So she decided to change the subject.

“Ye think the lairds in the castle think that we both died out here in the woods?”

“I think the lairds in the castle are weak goats who daenae deserve as little as a glance from ye,” he huffed.

Elinor bit into another cut of meat. Then, she looked up and saw him placing more meat into another plate.

“I suppose ‘tis only fair that ye serve yerself as well,” she remarked.

“On the contrary, M’Lady, this isnae for me. ‘Tis for ye.”

Elinor almost choked as her head snapped back up. “For me?”

“Aye. In case ye’re still hungry.”

“And when do ye plan to eat?”

Ciaran leaned back against the wall. “I shall eat whatever remains when ye’re full.”

Suddenly, warmth spread through her.

He had gone out to hunt deer for her. He had cooked it and had waited for her to eat her fill before he started to eat. That should count as caring, should it not? Yet it pressed down on her, like a rock sinking in water.

He was a killer. No, he wasn’t just a killer; he was the killer. The kind that struck fear in the hearts of men and women alike at the mere mention of his name.

He should not be caring. He should not have such a quality.

“Ye didnae touch me last night.”

Ciaran shrugged. “Ye said nae to.”

“And ye really didnae.”

“I am a killer, nae a monster.”

Elinor narrowed her eyes at him.

“Ye ken what I mean,” Ciaran said, waving her off.

She smiled in response and continued to eat.

A silence filled with unasked questions fell over the room. The sun was not fully out, but the morning light had spilled across the woods, and from what she could see, the sun would follow in a few minutes.

The thick silence pressed down on them. They had managed to discuss every other matter under the sun except the most pressing one. The one Elinor wished she could wipe from her memory.

She could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers, and she hated how it warmed her. How weak must she have been to let that happen the previous night.

“Elinor,” Ciaran started.

Oh, dear Lord.

“Ye ken we have to talk about what happened last night, right?”

She swallowed the meat in her mouth. “But who says we do? We daenae have to talk about it. It was merely a moment of weakness. The storm, the cold, the argument. Ye daenae need to attach anything more to it.”

Ciaran pushed off the wall. “I am afraid we will have to attach something more to it.”

Elinor’s appetite slowly disappeared. It looked like Ciaran would have a lot to eat, after all.

She couldn’t even close her eyes for long because that was all she saw when she did—his hands roaming over her body, his lips moving against hers.

It felt like the devil was taunting her with the biggest mistake of her life, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Ciaran, on the other hand, brushed invisible lint off the waistband of his trousers and looked back up at her. “I am afraid we need to talk about it.”

Elinor sighed.

“Ye ken we have to. Especially now that we plan to become husband and wife.”

She froze. Had she heard that right?

“Husband and what?”

“Is it nae obvious?” Ciaran continued. “Ye have to marry me.”

“Who said I have to?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, almost like he was choosing to believe that the whole thing was a joke. “Ye.”

“Me?”

“Aye. Ye. Was that nae why ye organized this ridiculous series of tests for lairds from all over the Highlands?”

“I still daenae understand.”

Ciaran crossed to the side of the cabin, grabbed another stool, and dragged it over to her.

Elinor watched the veins in his arms bulge as he approached her. She could almost feel his arms around her again, pressing her against him, exploring her.

She shook her head sharply to dispel the thoughts the instant he placed the stool before her and sank onto it.

“Ye have to admit,” he started, “even if we daenae desire one another– ”

“Oh, I daenae think there is a word that can explain just how much I daenae desire ye.”

“Elinor– ”

“Me dislike of ye cannae be explained. ‘Tis massive. Huge.”

“Elinor– ”

“And ye cannae use lust to establish desire. Lust is blind, so ye cannae use it at all. That means whatever happened between us last night cannae be an indicator of any kind of– ”

“Elinor!” Ciaran snapped.

That shut her up. She swallowed and looked straight at him.

“I am certain that I have gotten the picture ye’re trying to paint, alright?”

She nodded.

He looked away, furrowing his brow in confusion when he noticed the glare she had leveled at him.

“I am merely saying,” he continued, “that none of the other lairds found ye yesterday.”

It suddenly clicked into place like wooden mill gears.

“None of them except me. Ye cannae deny that all those cowards left ye to fend for yerself.”

Elinor swallowed thickly.

“They left ye alone in the harsh weather, with little to nay care for what might have happened to ye,” Ciaran pointed out. “Ye cannae tell me that any of those lairds have the qualities ye are seeking in a husband.”

Silence descended on them, the realization dawning on her like the morning light.

“Unless, of course, cowardice was one of the qualities ye mentioned. Remember, I wasnae there when ye started.”

Elinor bit the inside of her cheek.

He was right, of course. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, he was right. He was the only one who had shown up at the lake despite the storm. He had won the auction, and it hadn’t even started.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

“Are ye certain ye daenae want more meat?”

She shook her head slowly. “We will return to the castle soon anyway.”

His words echoed in her mind.

A killer? What was the point of the auction if she ended up with a man who killed for a living? She could not believe this was her life.

Yet she couldn’t go back on her word. She had indeed said that whoever won the trials would win her hand in marriage. He had won, and there was clearly no disputing that.

“I suppose– ” Her voice broke, disbelief seizing her. She was stunned by what she was about to do. “I suppose ye’re right. Ye won the auction, and it was only the first test.”

Ciaran bit into a cut of meat and stared at her. But she could not hold his gaze.

She looked away. “It looks like I have nay choice. I set the rules, and I must abide by them.”

More silence ensued.

She did not know how to squeeze out the next words, and she was certain Ciaran could tell. He seemed to be enjoying every single moment.

“I suppose we’re getting married,” she sighed, her blood running cold.

Ciaran, on the other hand, merely grinned at her as he grabbed the last piece of meat on his plate and ate it.

“Now, was that so hard to admit, M’Lady?” he asked, rising from the stool to return to the fireplace.

“Oh, ye have nay idea,” she muttered under her breath.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. No matter how hard she tried to look at the facts objectively, one man had won the challenge, and it was he she planned to marry.

Yet she couldn’t help but feel like she had trapped herself into another loveless, abusive marriage, one with a man who could actually kill her without batting an eye.

Only one question echoed in her mind over and over as she watched him clear the plates and take them outside to wash by the shallow lake

Elinor, what in God’s name have ye done?