Page 21 of The Highlander's Auctioned Wife
Praying that she and the stallion had some manner of silent agreement, she made the potentially foolhardy decision to run around to the front of the giant horse, putting her hands up to stop the beast in its path.
“That drawin’ isnae even ye!” she cried out, eyes scrunched in case the stallion chose to trample her anyway. “It’s… It’severyLaird who is comin’ to this bloody auction to seek me hand in marriage! It’s every Laird who’s comin’ here to win me as a prize instead of a person! It’s every Laird who’s dreamin’ of me churnin’ out an army of bairns for ‘em, with no consideration for me at all! Lairds who daenae care what it costs me, so long as they get what they want!”
As she spoke, she realized it was the truth, as if she was once again drawing without thinking, but her words were thecharcoal, sketching the truth onto the paper of the woods around her. The monster she had drawn was the auction itself. The broken, dead-eyed bride was her, choiceless and eaten alive by the weight of expectation and “ duty”. The cruel-faced children were all the bairns the Lairds were imagining, those men unbothered by the efforts and exertions required for childbearing—men who would save the unborn child instead of her, if it came to it.
The stallion’s nose nudged her in the chest, no doubt to push her aside.
“Ye daenae ken what it’s like, ye cannae possibly understand, because nay lass wants to marry ye for yer body!” she yelled, expelling all the frustration that had been fermenting inside her since her father had told her what was going to happen, without bothering to ask her opinion. No… it had been fizzing up for longer than that: since Elinor had been taken, or perhaps even earlier, when Moira was handed over to her husband as if she was nothing but an object, signed and paid for.
Her eyes flew wide as she realized what she’d said,undoubtedlymaking the situation ten times worse. She wasn’t making sense; she was too angry, too exasperated to put her words in the right order, but trying to explain what she meant would only make a greater mess.
She gasped as Gordon jumped down, striding toward her, his arm catching her across the stomach as it had the night before, when they’d danced. Instead of spinning her around andhoisting her up into the air, she felt the hard thud of a tree trunk against her back, knocking the rest of the breath from her lungs.
Standing before her, one hand braced against the tree, just above her head, the other hand pressing against her stomach, Gordon leaned in and growled, “I assure ye, there are enough lasses who’d want me for me body.” He lowered his voice to a throaty whisper. “Or for what I could do to theirs.”
Anna’s cheeks flooded with warmth, her breath still struggling to return as she caught the soap and woodsmoke scent of his hair, and felt the slight grip of his hand as his fingers curved around her waist.
“Ye… ken what I mean… what I meant,” she murmured in reply, her heart racing as his breath tickled the sensitive skin of her neck, as if he might graze his lips along that curve. As if she might let him.
“I do,” he said, pulling back, meeting her dazed eyes with his one gray eye, “and, like I said, I daenae have time for ye. I daenae need a lass that thinks me a monster. I need a lass ready to stand at me side and rule me clan with me. I doubt ye can be that lass.”
Her mouth fell open, not quite believing her ears as words evaded her. Was he merely saying what he thought she might want to hear? A trick? He hadn’t mentioned children, hadn’t mentioned solely what she could do for him, butsurelyhe was there for the same reason as every other Laird.
Gordon’s fingertips rested beneath Anna’s chin, closing her mouth. “I bid ye farewell.”
He turned from her, the absence of him surging air into her lungs, allowing her to breathe. And with that breath, the ability to think straight.
CHAPTER 11
Anna lungedafter her parting suitor, grabbing Gordon by the back of his saffron-colored shirt, crying out, “Ye have it all wrong, M’Laird! I told ye—that drawin’ wasnae even to do with ye.”
He didn’t turn back to look at her, and she doubted she could have pulled him in any way that would make him twist around to face her again. It would be like putting a piece of string around a mighty oak and tugging on it, in the hopes of making it fall.
“Can ye be that lass, then?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.
Can I be a lass who ye daenaehide away to make yer bairns and nothin’ else?She almost laughed, still uncertain of whether he was toying with her, or if he had really meant it—that he wanted an equal, or someone as close to equal as a woman could be in this world.
Slowly, he turned around, and when he pushed her back against the tree a second time, the impact only stole half her breath away. Or, perhaps, it had nothing to do with the tree at all, but the closeness of him: the obvious strength of him, the heat that radiated from his body, the fact that he could crush her in an instant if he wanted to, yet she felt no real fear that he would harm her.
Ye could steal me away and nay one would ken…That thought lingered in the back of her mind as reassurance. If he was anything like Elinor’s husband, Laird Dalmorglen, he would have snatched her without delay. That, if nothing else, told Anna that Gordon wasn’t nearly so awful as that beast, that he was a man of greater substance, greater honor, greater morality.
Indeed, she had to wonder how many of the coming Lairds would have stolen her from the woods if they’d been granted the same opportunity that Gordon had now.
“Ye’re curious if I have what it takes to be yer husband,” Gordon whispered, “but ye havenae stopped to think if ye have what it takes to be me wife.”
She blinked up at him, breathing hard. “I ken me worth, M’Laird. I ken what I’m capable of.”
“And on a bitterly cold night, snow comin’ down so thick ye cannae see yer own hand in front of ye, and sheep loose from their fields, could ye abandon the warm to chase ‘em back to safety?” he asked, pressing closer, so she had to strain her neck to keep looking up into that intense eye of his.
“I wouldnae chase ‘em,” she replied, shivering at the thought, “but I wouldnae linger in the warmth of me bed either. I’d rouse the kitchens and have hot soup waitin’ for those who’d actually be of use chasin’ sheep in a snowstorm.”
A frown creased his brow, as if he were trying to decide if that was a suitable answer or not.
“I’m nae some precious lass, raised to never lift a finger,” she added defiantly. “I havenae been coddled, if that’s what ye think of me. Och, if ye had paper and charcoal, I wonder whatye’ddraw if ye thought of me—some doe-eyed waif who’d blow over in a light breeze, nay doubt.”
His frown smoothed. “Yer actions this mornin’ daenae suggest a capable lass.”
“Icouldhave rescued meself,” she insisted stubbornly, tilting her chin up.
