Page 123 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
Gordon gently placed his sword back on a rock in the yard and handed Ciaran the rag.
Ciaran felt the man’s gaze on him as he wiped his blade clean. It bored into the back of his neck like a hole from a nail. Meanwhile, the muted morning light had begun to brighten into the golden hue of sunrise.
In just a few more minutes—half an hour, at most—the courtyard and the castle would be thrown into a bright morning. The dew on the grass had evaporated, and the mud beneath their shoes had disappeared from stepping on the grass repeatedly.
Ciaran lifted his gaze as he wiped the last spot of mud from his blade.
Anna was still waiting by the doors, her hands folded against her chest and somehow resting on her growing belly. Her hair shone bright red, contrasting with the dull grey of the doors behind her.
Ciaran could see the expression on her face as she watched both of them. She did not bother to hide her amusement.
“Well?” she prompted. “Have ye two knocked the worst of it out of yer systems? Has the fight calmed yer nerves?”
Ciaran snickered, and Gordon glanced at him, then let out a long breath. “Aye. For now.”
Ciaran did not argue. The fight had cleared some of the fog from his mind and left him feeling reinvigorated. As he grabbed his sword by the hilt, he considered the decision he had to make.
Anna gestured with her hand, then jerked her head towards the castle. “Well, come along, then. I daenae want the paint to dry wrong just because I stood here, watching ye both hug it out.”
Before Ciaran could react to her order, she had turned around, pulled the door open again, and stepped back in. Gordon followed next, and then Ciaran trailed right behind. When they rounded a corner, he managed to catch up, falling into step beside Anna.
The deafening silence in the corridor pressed close after all he’d heard in the past ten minutes was the clash of swords in the courtyard. For a while, the only sound he could hear was the echo of their footsteps on the floor.
As they turned into another corridor—the one that led straight to the gallery—Anna slowed down. He could feel her staring at him before she even spoke.
“I tried to find Elinor this morning,” she said, her voice so low that it almost felt like she was speaking to the shadows instead of him. “I heard she left the castle. Went somewhere to clear her head and think about the next steps.”
Ciaran’s shoulders tensed.
“She doesnae want company,” Anna continued, her tone gentler. “Katherine—ye ken, the healer—said that Elinor needed some time. To herself.”
Ciaran did not answer. Not at first.
The guilt struck him right in the heart, sharper than any blade ever could. Then, he spoke, the guilt just as thick in his voice.
“Aye, ‘tis me fault,” he said, just as they stopped before the door to the gallery.
Anna gave him a look that he could not decipher. Then, she pushed open the door and stepped aside to let them in.
The gallery smelled of old varnish and the faint sweetness of linseed oil. The tall windows let in bolts of light that struck the far wall, where a blank canvas rested on the easel.
Memories of the last time he had been here flashed through his mind. He could still feel the heat between Elinor’s legs on his fingers. How he had kissed her so passionately that his lips swelled. How hard she made him feel that afternoon, and the look on her face when he made her?—
He halted the thought. The look on her face… it had been utterly vulnerable. Trusting, especially after she told a little about what her former husband had put her through.
Ciaran almost slapped himself. He couldn’t believe he was doing it again. His eyes rose to take in the familiar view.
“Here ye go,” Anna said, showing him the canvas on the easel. His new portrait.
Ciaran stood before it and studied it.
He recognized the chair in the painting before he did the rest. It was the same one he had sat in on the morning Anna had called him here and asked him question after question while the painter’s brush moved in steady strokes across the canvas. She must have finished it herself today.
But he was not alone in the portrait.
Elinor stood beside him, one hand resting on the carved back of the chair. Her shiny auburn hair fell over her shoulder, adding more color to the smile on her face. She was in the same blue dress she had worn at the auction. The same dress he had seen on her the first time he had walked through the castle doors.
The sight of it broke something in his chest. Something heavy that he couldn’t name. He could still remember how she spoke to him the first day, challenging and unbridled.
