Page 114 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
“‘Tis yer wedding,” Anna protested, her voice carrying above the loud music. “Ye have to be.”
Ciaran watched as she pressed a cup of ale into Elinor’s hand while her husband took her other arm.
Elinor let them lead her to the dance floor. From where he sat, he watched her move, her bright yellow dress bright and shiny in the candlelight. Each time she turned, he felt a hollow ache behind his ribs.
Gordon slipped back to the table when the tune changed.
“She looks happier than I’ve ever seen her,” he noted. His tone was light, but his eyes were somber. “I mean, I ken I havenae seen her that much, but… Ye understand, do ye nae?”
Ciaran did not respond. He just kept staring at the rim of his cup, trying to remain as focused in the present as possible.
Gordon waited, then spoke again, his voice quieter. “What happened out there? The blood on yer shirt. ‘Tis what everyone is talking about.”
Ciaran let the question hang in the air for a moment. Then, he looked up. “I killed me braither.”
Gordon’s eyes narrowed. He did not ask why.
“He threatened her,” Ciaran added flatly, the words tumbling from his mouth. “He would have done worse if I’d let him walk away.”
Gordon reached for the pitcher and refilled his cup without comment, and Ciaran turned his gaze back to Elinor, watching her dance.
