Page 29 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Virgin (Auctioned Highland Brides #3)

Ciaran clenched his jaw as the man approached him, a wave of recognition hitting him like a raging storm.

“Who is he?” Elinor whispered nervously from behind him.

“That is Jamie,” Ciaran responded. “We used to be good friends. ‘Tis such a shame what happened to ye, Jamie.”

“What happened to me? Ye are such a prickly bastard, ye ken that? Ye think just because ye took half the clan with ye, ye deserve anything good in life?”

“Good Lord,” Ciaran muttered, before letting out a breath. “How many lies has he fed ye?”

“Ye daenae deserve a clan,” Jamie sneered.

With those words, he struck.

Ciaran didn’t wait. He drew his sword and, as gently as he could, pushed Elinor to the back.

He lunged forward and swung before Jamie could reach him. The tip of his blade sliced through the man’s ribs. Blood spilled on the floor.

“Are ye certain ye want to do this? Ye ken this is all a game to me, right?”

Jamie stepped back and swung at him again, aiming for his throat with a quick slash. Ciaran dodged, feeling the blade whizz over his head.

“Ye daenae deserve a bride,” Jamie snapped, his face contorting in anger.

He swung hard at Ciaran, who barely blocked the blow. Their swords locked.

“So what, are ye his man-at-arms now? Ye’re his new hound?”

“As it should have been from the beginning,” Jamie grunted as he tried to push him back.

Sparks rose as their blades ground against each other, but then Ciaran threw him back.

“I kenned ye have always been jealous of me. I didnae get it, but I kenned ye were,” Ciaran hissed. “But the truth, Jamie, is that ye were— are —jealous because ye werenae good enough. Ye never were, and will never be. ‘Tis sad, really.”

“At least I’ll die trying. And I didnae aim the arrow at ye. I aimed it at her,” Jamie said, his eyes briefly flicking to Elinor.

Something about that set something loose in Ciaran.

Their swords clashed again, and both men fell backward. Jamie swung at him sideways, and Ciaran dodged. This time, he did not come back up. Instead, he lunged at Jamie and, before the man could find his footing, drove his shoulder into him.

Jamie stumbled and fell. Worried murmurs rippled through the crowd, which was watching from the sidelines.

“Ye see, I would have let ye go,” Ciaran said.

Jamie coughed. “Ye and I both ken that isnae true.”

“I would have,” Ciaran insisted.

Jamie pushed himself up on his elbows. Blood spurted from his ribs where Ciaran had struck him earlier. He tried to stand up and swing his sword again, but the movement was weak, barely enough to make Ciaran jump back.

“But then ye had to mention her.”

Ciaran straddled him and tightened his grip on his sword. Gasps rang out as he raised it high above his head and brought it down hard, the blade sinking deep into Jamie’s chest. A squelch echoed through the hall, followed by a wave of tense silence.

Jamie choked, blood spilling from his lips and all over his chest.

“Ye daenae get to live. Nae after threatening her,” Ciaran hissed.

Jamie sputtered. “Ye ken he’ll only send more people after ye, do ye nae? They’ll keep coming. Until ye remember where home is and return.”

Ciaran twisted his sword, and a slight whimper escaped Jamie’s lips. The man trembled for the better part of a minute before he went limp.

Ciaran rose to his feet, his bloodstained boots gleaming in the firelight. “Anyone else here intending to make a stupid decision?”

“Ye just killed him, ye bastard!” a voice roared from the crowd.

Before he could figure out where it had come from, another man jumped forward. Ciaran did not recognize him, but he saw his tartan.

“How many of ye are in here?” he groaned.

“Ye just murdered him. Ye killed him like he was nothing!”

Unlike Jamie, this man was quite young. Ciaran squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds. Would he have to kill him, too?

“I daenae even ken who ye are.”

“It doesnae matter,” the man snarled. He unsheathed a small dagger and pointed it at Ciaran. “Ye think ye have won? Ye think killing him means anything? Ye’ll die here today. Same as her and the rest of them. Damn traitors.”

He pulled back his arm, poised to strike. Ciaran could see the way he gripped the hilt of his dagger. He was going to throw it at him.

He lunged before the man could think, hoping to catch him off guard.

Fergus ran to the other side and stood with Elinor, his grip tight on his sword as well.

The man tried to throw his dagger at her but Ciaran kicked him by the shin, destabilizing him.

He fell to the ground, the knife falling from his hand.

Ciaran grabbed it and pressed the blade against his neck before the man could move.

“Last chance.”

“Rot in hell, ye traitorous bastard!”

Ciaran shook his head. “Wrong answer.”

He ran a fist across the man's face and before he could think twice, jabbed the pointy edge of the dagger into the side of the neck.

Another wave of jagged whisp ers fell through the crowd as blood pooled the floor again. Ciaran rose to his feet, his eyes dazed as he stared at the two bodies on the floor.

For the next minute, nothing could be heard except utter silence and the sound of warm blood spreading on the floor.

He could see the looks on the faces of the people around him shift.

He did not care about that. They knew who he was before they followed him.

Hell, it was why they followed him. Fergus cleared his throat almost immediately, bringing the crowd to order.

“I believe we’ve all had enough of that, do ye nae think?” He asked. Ciaran turned to him, grateful that he was able to protect Elinor for that brief moment. It wasn't until he saw her, well enough that he exhaled.

Ciaran turned again to the bodies and watched the blood drip from the edge of the same sword he had used to kill Jamie. His eyes returned to Elinor again, unable to say anything. He recognized the look on her face all too well. He had seen it on a lot of people.

She had just seen him kill a man; he could tell by the look on her face.

And she looked terrified .

Elinor’s head was pounding, and her heart beat like wild waves on a distant beach.

Disbelief hovered over her like the tension in the room—thick, hot, and suffocating. She watched a few other men step into the middle of the hall and grab the bodies.

She watched the blood trail behind those men like a brand of sin as they dragged the bodies out of the hall. She watched surprised looks flash across people’s faces and then disappear just as quickly.

This was not the first time they had witnessed something like this.

“Lass,” Ciaran snapped.

She flinched, her eyes turning to him. How long had he been standing there?

“Are ye all right?” he asked, his green eyes full of concern.

Elinor opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her skin was pale. Like clouds in the sky.

“Did he hurt ye before…?” Ciaran trailed off, his eyes roaming over her, checking for injuries.

He could not even bring himself to finish the question. She could not imagine how much this weighed on him.

“Ye kenned.” The words tore from her throat. Strained. Hesitant. “Ye kenned something was wrong the entire time. Ye said it, and I didnae—oh, dear Lord.”

She raised her hand to her throat, as if trying to breathe.

“Ye cannae blame yerself for that. Nay one saw it coming.”

“But ye did.”

Ciaran shrugged. “Ye daenae become the Hound without kenning how to sniff out things like this.”

He raised his hand to her cheek. She flinched, blinking her eyes furiously for a few seconds.

“Oh, now ye’re afraid of me?” Ciaran drawled, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “After everything we’ve been through?”

Elinor shook her head. “Nay, I am nae afraid of ye. I am only shaken.”

That was true. The only time she had been truly afraid of him was shortly after she had first met him.

She was not afraid now. She was just… enlightened. She was seeing the man she was going to marry for who he was for the very first time. He had killed a man in front of her without hesitation.

She had to figure out how she felt about that quickly, because deep down, she knew this would not be the last time it happened.

“Yer braither,” she choked out as he examined her arms once again, “Why would he send yer best friend after ye?”

Ciaran tensed, a muscle ticked in his jaw. It took a moment, but then he responded, his voice still thick with anger. “Because I didnae kill him when I had the chance.”

Her throat bobbed. She had no idea what to say to that.

Luckily, she did not have to wait for long. Fergus came back, his sword now clean.

“I am afraid the room we have prepared for ye is nay longer safe, M’Laird.”

Ciaran looked up at him.

Fergus shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I have asked Flora to take ye in. Her husband has yet to arrive, so ye can have a proper room. Hopefully, nay one else will find ye. More may be lurking around—we daenae ken.”

Ciaran nodded and turned back to Elinor. “Are ye ready to leave?”

The words stuck in the back of her throat, refusing to come out, so she nodded instead.

Ciaran held out his hand. She looked down at it and then back up at him. His words echoed in her mind.

“Oh, now ye’re afraid of me?”

She could not show fear. Not now, when they were still amid his people.

“Elinor.”

Her name sounded gentle. Way too gentle to have come from the mouth of someone like him.

She bit the inside of her cheek and grabbed his hand.

Fergus led them out of the hall and past a few crumbling houses.

Flora’s house was one of the slightly better ones, as it had a door that did not look like it would fall from a small gust of wind.

Flora, a grey-haired woman with bright blue eyes, welcomed them with open arms, the elation in her voice undeniable.

“When Fergus told me ye would be sleeping here, I kenned I had to bring out the best we’ve got. M’Laird, I have drawn ye a bath,” she stated as they walked in.

Ciaran looked at Elinor. “Will ye be– ”