Page 44 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
Her eyes swept across the faces of the lairds. Some looks ranged from shock to utter surprise. She even caught a few looks of disappointment. She hoped she was only imagining those.
“By God,” a voice rang out, “ye’re alive. We have been worried sick about ye, M’Lady.”
“Thank ye, Laird MacLauren.” Elinor gave the man a smile. “However, I suppose ye werenae worried about finishing me food.”
“Ye survived,” another laird called out.
That sounded more like a threat than an expression of relief, but she dismissed the thought the instant it came.
“Aye, I did,” she confirmed. “Thanks to Laird MacTraigh here.” She gestured towards Ciaran, who was surveying the hall stoically. “He was the one who found me before the storm started and kept me safe till this morning.”
Another wave of murmurs rippled through the hall. Some of the lairds were utterly surprised, and others seemed to come to the realization before she could even speak.
“It must be clear to ye by now that we have a winner. I am grateful to all of ye for coming from far and wide to participate in this auction, but as of this morning, Laird MacTraigh has won the auction and, consequently, me hand in marriage.”
Louder murmurs rose from the tables before a sharp and familiar voice rang out. “This is preposterous!”
Elinor looked in the direction of the voice. “Well, perhaps ye should have waited a bit longer, Laird MacAllister, instead of flying back to the castle the instant ye heard the sky rumble.”
“For the love of God, ‘tis Laird MacAulay.”
Elinor laughed. “Forgive me. I am afraid I am unable to care about getting yer title right.”
Laird MacAulay’s face contorted with anger. “Ye sniveling, little– ”
“I warn ye,” Ciaran suddenly spoke up, drawing all eyes to him, “that ye’re about to speak to me future wife. So, only say to her what ye can say to me. To. Me. Face.”
Silence fell over the hall.
“Think about it, Laird MacAulay,” Ciaran continued. “Is this really worth losing a hand over?”
Even more silence, during which Elinor took the opportunity to finish her announcement.
“Yer horses have been fed properly by the stablehands, so ye should have nay problems returning to yer clans once breakfast is over.”
There was no answer. No further protest.
The lairds understood her; she knew that. She thanked them all for coming once again, and just as soon as she had come, she walked out of the Great Hall, Ciaran right behind her.
“I suppose I shall retire to me room and have a proper bath,” he whispered behind her as they walked through the long passageways. “Ye’re welcome to join me if ye want.”
“Have a lovely bath, M’Laird,” Elinor scoffed, practically waving him off.
She walked straight to the surgery, feeling like she would burst. She couldn’t wait to tell Katherine and Thomas what had happened.
She couldn’t wait to tell them every single detail.
Ciaran closed the door behind him and heard it click shut. A maid had informed him on the way to his room that a bath had been drawn.
“We drew it yesterday when we thought ye would return. But we replaced the water this morning,” she had explained.
Ciaran had thanked her properly, of course.
Now that he was alone in his room, he couldn’t wait to feel warm water on his body once again. He took off his shirt, feeling the morning air drifting from the open window kiss his skin. He then kicked off his trousers and stepped into the bath.
The warm water enveloped his body and stopped short at his neck.
He thought back to Elinor’s speech at the Great Hall. She had been way too cheery about their arrangement. It was either that or she was brilliant at hiding her real emotions.
He had expected a challenge to his proposal. No one wanted to get married to a killer, after all. Yet, for some reason, even if reluctantly, Elinor had accepted his proposal. She had seen the way he silenced the hall when he spoke.
The lairds were afraid of him. So afraid that some of them couldn’t even look him in the eye. He did not know what Elinor saw in him to agree to his proposal, and he could not help but wonder if she would see it for long.
At the end of the day, he was the Hound.
If he wasn’t the Hound, he was no one.
He had no idea who he was.
