Page 5 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Virgin (Auctioned Highland Brides #3)

“Let the tests begin,” Elinor then declared, her voice clear.

Thomas helped her down from the pulpit and followed her to the seat at the head of the table, which had been reserved for her. Right across from it, at the other end of the table, sat two lairds, who were both staring at her.

She sank into her seat and gave them a smile. “M’Lairds,” she greeted.

They bowed slightly and returned her greeting.

Her eyes darted from one to the other, waiting for them to say something. “Ye can speak. I mean, ye should be able to speak without causing offense, should ye nae?”

One of the lairds swallowed, and the other shifted in his seat.

Elinor watched them curiously, barely able to mask her surprise.

Could they really not speak without being offensive?

“I need to tend to me horse,” the one on the right blurted before rising to his feet.

The one on the left followed immediately, and before Elinor could stop them, they had both walked away from the table and out of the Great Hall. The seats across from her were now empty.

“Ye’re going to scare all the men away if ye keep staring at them like that, M’Lady,” Thomas noted, his voice low for her ears only.

“’Tis the goal,” she muttered.

A few other lairds sat in the empty chairs on either side of her. She gave them a smile and launched into conversation. They tried to keep up until one of them mentioned something about his maid looking like the stem end of a watermelon.

Elinor ground her teeth.

The laird seemed to immediately realize his mistake because he rose to his feet and, without saying anything else, walked away from the table and out of the Great Hall.

“For a test this simple, how are they failing already?” Thomas whispered.

Elinor didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on something else— someone else.

Ciaran.

He stood by his chair, watching her as well with that same smug smile. She didn’t know the exact time the second laird stood up to leave, but the next thing she knew, the chairs on either side of her were empty once again.

She narrowed her eyes at him and watched intently as he made his way towards the table. His boots seemed to click harder on the floor for some reason, and as he drew closer, the lairds nearby parted for him.

Elinor rolled her eyes. She could imagine how this was feeding his self-esteem.

“M’Lady,” Ciaran greeted, stopping right in front of her.

Elinor could feel several pairs of eyes swiveling towards them as he drew out the chair to her left and plopped down into it.

“I must say, what a brilliant speech ye gave.”

“Is that what ye thought? That it was brilliant?”

“Aye.”

“Ye didnae think me voice was a bit unbearable and people couldnae understand what I was saying?”

“Nae at all.”

She pressed her lips together. “Laird MacTraigh, what do ye think of me dress?”

Ciaran’s eyes flicked down to her dress before rising to meet hers. “I think it’s a splendid dress.”

“Ye daenae think the color makes me look like a white raisin in the sun?”

“Nay.”

“Me skin is pale, I ken that. I didnae see a lot of sun in the past few years.”

“I havenae noticed.”

“Please. I heard the other lairds talking about it last night when I walked back to me chambers. Ye daenae see anything wrong with it?”

Ciaran placed his hands gently on the table and leaned forward. “Lady MacAdair, are ye trying to get me to say something offensive about ye?”

“I daenae ken. Ye’re a killer—shouldnae be hard.”

His eyes flickered with mirth. “Is that all ye think I am? A killer?”

“Nay. But I daenae expect a killer to be gentle and respectful. I’m trying to spare ye the humiliation.”

“Is that all ye’re trying to spare me?”

Einor didn’t respond. She couldn’t. He seemed to have caught all the ways she had been trying to push him away from her and somehow used them to his advantage. She hated him for that.

“Ye seem to enjoy the attention these lairds give ye,” she finally said, seeing Thomas shuffle his feet out of the corner of her eye.

“Why do ye say so?” Ciaran asked.

“They parted for ye like the Red Sea when ye made yer way here. That is how scared of ye they were.”

“And what about ye?”

“What about me?”

“Were ye scared of me?” Elinor swallowed as he leaned forward in his seat. “Were ye hoping I’d chop off a hand or two, M’Lady? Or stick me dagger in someone’s neck?”

“I daenae ken. Ye did it before, did ye nae? Ye’ll have to forgive me for assuming that it sounds like ye.”

Ciaran slid his hands off the table and leaned back. “Dinnae worry, M’Lady. I daenae need me blade to beat these poor men. The sooner ye realize that, the sooner we can come to an agreement.”

He rose to his feet and took a step closer to her.

Thomas reached for the hilt of his sword, and Ciaran raised his hand. “Ye daenae need to worry.”

Elinor motioned for Thomas to stand down as Ciaran leaned towards her again, his lips a hairsbreadth from her ear.

“I expect ye in me chambers after the feast is over.”

Perhaps it was his words or the way he had whispered them, but her heart fluttered in her chest.

“Dinnae keep me waiting, M’Lady,” he murmured.

With those words, he straightened up and smoothed his shirt.

Elinor watched as he turned around, that smug smile still playing on his lips, and slowly walked out of the hall.

“That bastard,” she whispered, almost to herself.