Page 11 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
“Like I told ye, we are still quite young.”
“When ye said young, I didnae think ye were the first laird of the clan.”
“Ye daenae think I’m fit for the role?” he asked, his piercing eyes boring into hers. “Or do ye think a killer isnae good enough to be a laird?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Besides killing, do ye have any other hobbies? Like forcing words into people’s mouths, perhaps?”
Ciaran looked down at her lips, the way they were curled into a mocking smile, then back up at her. “I suppose I might have been a bit forward.”
“I would say, though, that yer entrance was quite the thing. Let us walk.”
He slowly clasped his hands behind his back and fell into step beside her as they made their way around the hall, all too aware of the other lairds’ probing gazes following them.
“Quite the thing?” Ciaran echoed, resuming the conversation.
“Well, dramatic, for lack of better words.”
“Dramatic.” He chuckled. “Ye’re the one holding an auction so ye can choose a husband, and I am the dramatic one?”
“This was born out of necessity. I have set up a series of foolproof tests to ensure that any man who passes them has the three qualities I require.”
“Three qualities?” he asked.
“Aye. The future Laird of this clan must be protective, caring, and humorous.”
“Ye might as well end the event and pick me as the winner, M’Lady. I am all of those things.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I have only met ye for all of five minutes, Laird MacTraigh, and the only thing I ken about ye is yer reputation.”
“Shouldnae that be enough?”
“Nae even close.”
They stopped, and he watched her reach for an apple on the table near them. She held the fruit with grace and elegance, and Ciaran felt the minutest self-doubt creep in.
“Ye have to pass these tests to be worthy of me hand. And the castle, of course.”
“And what, pray tell, are these tests?” he asked, watching her bite into the apple.
“For a man who takes time to plan his killings, ye seem a bit forward.”
Ciaran nodded gently. “I suppose I only want to ken what to expect.”
“Now, that’ll be giving ye an unfair advantage. Everyone has an equal chance, and everyone should have the same opportunity as well.”
Ciaran shook his head. “Even the seventy-year-old laird who came for yer hand?”
Her eyes widened. “There’s a seventy-year-old laird?”
“Aye, and he’s a hoot. I saw him right as I walked in. He plans to make ye his third wife.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Ach, well, everyone has a shot at the position. Nay one will be sidelined.”
He could hear the disgust she was struggling to hide as the words escaped her lips.
Something about it made him smile. He enjoyed unraveling her and seeing what made her tick, even if he had to take it slow. He knew how to play the long game.
They had done a full round of the hall and were slowly approaching the drinks table.
