Page 118 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
CHAPTER 32
Ciaran ran through the trees,the dark pressing around him so close that it felt like a living thing. The branches caught in his hair and whipped at his arms, leaving thin cuts on his skin that burned with the evening cold. The ground beneath his boots was slick with mud and littered with dead leaves.
He did not know where he was running to, but he knew that stopping would kill him, especially if the man in pursuit managed to catch up to him.
The man behind him kept running, but not as hard as he did. He had some kind of confidence in his steps. Something that let Ciaran know that there was no escape. That he could not outrun this.
He could not outrunhim.
His lungs burned as he ran and tried to look over his shoulder. But he couldn’t see anything. The darkness of the night blurredall shapes. He was not quick to turn his head back, and when he did, it was too late.
He stumbled over a root hidden beneath the shrubs, and his knees fell first, crashing into the ground. He inhaled sharply as the shock reverberated through his thighs. He pushed himself up, but his legs refused to carry him. He fell one more time, his palms slapping into the wet soil.
He couldn’t escape it.
A hand gripped the back of his neck before he could think and lifted him like he was a bag of feathers. Like he weighed nothing.
His feet dragged across the mud, and he tried to wrench himself free, but the fingers only tightened. The darkness eased just a little, in time for him to make out the face of the man dragging him back.
His breath caught as Logan’s face came into view, his eyes darker than the empty sky.
“Ye can run,” Logan whispered, his breath stinking of blood. “Run all ye like.”
Then, he shoved him into the soil.
Ciaran coughed, trying to pull in as much air as possible as Logan stood above him, his sword raised. Just like he had done.
“Ye’re a weapon, Ciaran,” Logan said, and for some reason, his voice seemed to carry through the room. “Ye’ll never stop being a weapon. Ye’ll never stop being the Hound.”
The sword came down, and darkness followed.
And then Ciaran’s eyes snapped open.
He woke up with a tortured sound in his throat, his bed creaking under him. His body was slick with sweat that had seeped into his nightshirt. He panted hard, looking around the room, his hands balled into fists.
A nightmare.He hadn’t had one of those in a very long time.
He looked out the window. The day was only beginning to break, and a thin sliver of light streaked across the mountains on the horizon. He pressed both palms to his chest, feeling his heart kick like it wanted to escape the prison of his chest.
Before he could push himself up, the door burst open so hard that it struck the wall behind it. He swallowed, turning to it.
Elinor stepped inside, her hair still loose around her shoulders and her eyes flashing with fury. She was still wearing the nightshift he had seen the previous night before retiring to his room.
She did not give him time to rise.
“Elinor– ” he started, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I have had enough,” she cut in. Her voice was steady, yet the anger in it was sharp enough to cut glass. “Enough of ye shutting me out at every chance ye get.”
He swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the cold floor. Still, he did not speak.
“Is this about the child– ”
“Ye’re damn right, this is about the child!” she snapped.
He watched as her throat bobbed and her chest heaved.
“I got married yesterday,” she continued. “I should be happy! I should be basking in the glow of me new marriage, but I cannae. Ye ken why? Because me husband willnae even sleep in the same bed as me!”
