Page 9 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Virgin (Auctioned Highland Brides #3)

“We should go to sleep,” she eventually said, and he leaned back. She swallowed and gave him a weak smile. “The storm’s nae stopping anytime soon, and I daenae think ‘tis wise to stay up all night.”

He nodded. “I agree.”

Elinor rose from the floor, her body mildly aching from the remaining cold in the parts of her body that the fire hadn't warmed yet. Her knees trembled as she made her way towards the bed, and she was certain that he noticed.

“Are ye still feeling cold?”

“Nay.”

“Perhaps it’s better if ye stay by the fire until ye– ”

“I am quite all right, Laird MacTraigh. Thank ye for yer concern,” she cut in, almost snapping at him.

She didn’t mean to do it. Ciaran had been nothing but kind to her the entire time. At least kind in his own way, anyway.

She sat on the edge of the bed and watched him gather the stones and sticks before throwing them to the side.

“Ye should take off yer shirt,” she muttered, watching closely the way his wet shirt clung to his body when he moved.

“Ye would very much enjoy that, would ye nae?” he teased, turning to look at her, a grin on his face.

Elinor shrugged, “Ye can pretend the cold doesnae bother ye, but I ken there is nay way ye are comfortable in that shirt.”

He turned away from her and back to the fire. It was slowly dying out, and they had completely run out of logs. The other ones were out in the storm, of no use at that moment.

“I suppose I could dry me shirt before the fire fizzles out,” he whispered, loud enough for her to hear.

“Aye, ye do that,” Elinor agreed.

Perhaps it was her sense of time or the fact that he was making a scene out of it, but she could swear he took his time taking off his shirt. With his back still turned to her, she had nothing to look at but his back muscles and the way they flexed as he pulled his shirt over his head.

The scars she had seen the previous day came into view again.

She wanted to ask him about them. She wanted him to tell her the story behind every scar that marred his body.

But she knew better. Not only would he not tell her, but it was likely that the stories per se would be so gruesome that she wouldn’t stand listening to them.

“Is there another blanket on the bed?” he asked, turning to her all of a sudden, catching her off guard.

Her eyes darted away from his back and to his face.

He hadn’t seen her, had he? She couldn’t tell.

“M’Lady? I said, is there another blanket on the bed?”

Elinor looked around the bed. There was nothing else. Nothing except the sheets that covered the mattress.

She looked back at him and shook her head. “Nay. Why?”

“I daenae want to sleep on the bare floor. I thought I might lay something out.”

“Ah…” Elinor trailed off. “I suppose I didnae think that part through when I took the towel.”

Ciaran shrugged, his half-naked body moving in the periphery of her vision, slowly whittling down her resolve not to stare at it.

Of course, they wouldn’t sleep on the same bed together. He had just offered to sleep on the floor between the bed and the door. Why was he being a gentleman? Given his history, that was precisely the last thing he should be. Yet he kept surprising her at every turn.

She watched him walk to the fire and carefully hang his clothes on a line nearby. He shifted her dress just slightly and turned back to her.

“So, I suppose I must say goodnight.”

Elinor nodded and watched him kneel on the floor, his knees thudding against the wood. “Aye.”

She lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Ciaran did the same, she could tell.

Silence hung over the room for the next few minutes, punctuated by the patter of rain on the roof and the window.

“Ciaran,” Elinor whispered, breaking the silence.

Nothing.

“Ciaran!” she hissed.

“What?” The word tore from his lips in an exasperated whisper.

“Are ye asleep?”

“Nae with ye continuing to talk me ears off. Nay,” he grunted.

“Aye,” Elinor whispered. “I cannae sleep either.”

“Is that me fault?”

“What?”

“Ye nae being able to sleep, is that me fault?”

“Nay.”

“So stop taking it out on me. I have to focus on sleeping with the wood digging into me back, so I apologize for nae answering ye from here on out.”

Elinor tore her eyes away from the ceiling and looked down at Ciaran, who lay on his back on the floor. His hands were folded on his stomach, and his eyes were closed. His body seemed to almost glow in the firelight, such that she couldn’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth.

“Ye should come up here. On the bed.”

Ciaran’s eyes snapped open at the same time her heart sank. She couldn’t believe she had suggested that.

“What did ye say?” he asked.

“I said, ye should get off the floor and come up here. Ye look miserable, and I cannae have the only man protecting me die from the cold.”

“Yer concern is quite touching, M’Lady. But if ye daenae mind, I would rather remain on the floor.”

“Do ye really lack restraint? Ye daenae believe ye can handle yerself in bed with a woman and nae do anything?”

She watched him press his lips together, a contemplative look creeping onto his face. Then, seemingly coming to a decision, he rose from the floor and climbed into the bed next to her.

His weight rattled the frame, and he settled into the space beside her, the heat from his body seeping into her almost immediately.

“Ye ken, body heat might also help with the cold,” Elinor muttered when he was close enough.

He didn’t respond, only turned his back to her, revealing his scars once again. Elinor stared at them, hoping that if she kept at it long enough, sleep would pull her under.

But the storm continued to rage outside, the noise yanking her back to consciousness whenever her eyes fluttered shut.

She didn’t know what had happened and exactly how. All she knew was that she had reached out, and before she could stop herself, her fingers had grazed the scars on his back.

“Elinor?” Ciaran’s voice was low, yet it vibrated through his back and into her fingers. She withdrew them almost immediately. “What in God’s name do ye think ye’re doing?”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she continued staring at his back, the noise from outside causing her mind to travel several paths and her heart to beat faster than usual.

She hoped the other lairds didn’t get caught in the storm. Part of her wondered if they were all able to make it back to the castle. Perhaps some of them couldn’t.

Wouldn’t it be funny if she saw a few of them the next day under the trees while she and Ciaran made their way back to the castle?

She might see their bodies instead. Or even find them dead in the castle.

Dead in the castle.

Dead in the castle.

Realization dawned on her, and her heart skipped a beat.

Wait.

She bolted upright, and her legs almost automatically swung off the bed and dropped onto the floor. She rose to her feet and took a step back from the bed.

Ciaran noticed and turned towards her. “Is this because I daenae want ye touching me back?”

“What did ye do?” she asked, her voice trembling. Whether from the cold or fear, it was hard to tell.

“What are ye talking about?”

“The other lairds. What did ye do to them?”

Ciaran rolled to the other side of the bed and lowered his feet onto the floor. “What?”

“None of them made it to the lake except ye. Nae a single one.”

“How is it me fault that they’re ineffective?” Ciaran asked, standing up.

Elinor took another step back, the heat from the dying fire hitting her legs. “Maybe they’re nae ineffective. Maybe ye killed them.”

“Ye think I killed the lairds?”

“Sounds like something ye can do, nay? Ye scouted the area, ye said. Perhaps ye needed a place to keep the bodies, but the storm ruined yer plans. Oh, dear Lord. Are they all dead? Are they all dead in the castle, ye… ye Hound ?”

Ciaran took a few steps towards her, and she stepped back again, until her back hit the wall.

There was no other place to go.

Ciaran leaned closer and rested his palm on the wall beside her head, his eyes boring into hers.

“I didnae kill any of the lairds, Elinor. I am nae so cruel as to give yer servants that much work to do. Do ye ken how hard it is to clean up a dead body? Nae to mention thirty of them.”

“Then how come none of them found us? How come nay one is here yet? The cabin is visible, is it nae?”

“Considering the fact that a storm is raging outside, Elinor, ‘tis understandable why some of them arenae here yet.”

“But ye’re here. Ye found me, did ye nae?”

“I’m different. Ye cannae compare me to them.”

“So ye killed them?” Elinor asked again, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

He was close. Again.

She hated the fact that he could almost see through her and hated even more the fact that she couldn’t do anything about it.

“I told ye I daenae . Maybe they’re just nae good enough. ‘Tis nae me fault if none of those men kens how to handle ye.” His voice had dropped to a whisper now. A low, seeking whisper.

She could see the green flecks in his eyes, the way they searched hers for something she was not sure was there.

“If ye didnae kill them,” she continued, her voice low, “what did ye do, then? Did ye tell them nae to come for me?”

“Why would I do that?”

“They all fear ye. I’ve seen it.”

“Nay,” he muttered. “Nay, I didnae ask them nae to come for ye. Perhaps…”

He inched closer. She could feel his breath on her skin. It sent chills down her spine. Thunder rumbled outside at that very moment, as if echoing what she was feeling.

“Perhaps they werenae men enough to have ye.”

Then, he closed the gap between them, his lips slanting over hers in a way that seemed final. Inevitable.