Page 119 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
“It isnae like that.”
“Ye think because ye carry guilt in yer heart like a wound that nay one can see it?” she pressed. “But I see it. I see what it’s doing to ye. To us. Yer guilt is why ye refuse to have a child.”
His gaze fell to the floor.
She took a step closer. “It’s why ye would rather sleep alone every night than risk becoming a faither.”
“Elinor– ”
“I want a family,” she said, her voice softening slightly.
A lump formed in Ciaran’s throat. He could hear the crack in her voice.
“I want to ken what it feels like to carry a child that is ours. I want to have a wee lad or lass run around the castle.”
He said nothing, again. He could not. He could not tell her that he had killed his brother. Or that Logan’s words had been ringing in his ears since the previous day. He could not tell her that no matter how hard he tried, he would always be a weapon and would be damned if he brought a child into the world as a weapon.
“Ye have to understand me decision, Elinor. I am only thinking about the bairn– ”
“Dinnae blame a child that isnae even here,” Elinor hissed. “Ye’re thinking about yerself, and that’s it.”
Ciaran pursed his lips. He could feel his blood beginning to boil. He was not angry at her, that much was certain. He was angry at himself. Angry at this conversation.
“What is it, really? Do ye think if ye have a child, he is going to grow up to be like ye?”
“I am a killer, Elinor,” he responded, feeling something tug at his throat. “A weapon.”
“Ye’re also kind and generous, among other things. I ken that. Yer people also ken that. Ye only became the Hound to serve yer braither’s selfish interests. Why can ye nae see that?”
He swallowed, the breath he drew in tasting like smoke and mud. Like it had in his nightmare.
The thought made him shudder.
“I should have kenned,” she whispered, before letting out a shaky breath. “A man who doesnae believe he deserves love will never let another person share it with him.”
The silence dug deeper between them, almost taunting.
Ciaran didn’t know what to say. No matter how hard he tried, no word would come to the tip of his tongue.
“Ye’re nae going to say anything?” she asked, the pain in her eyes almost palpable as she continued staring at him.
When nothing came forth again, she nodded.
“I want a child, Ciaran. I want to carry a child of mine in me arms. And I want the child to be yers.” Her voice was clear and sharp. Then, she took a step forward. “But I willnae stand here and beg ye for it.”
He swallowed.
“When ye decide ye can be more than the Hound,” she continued, “ye ken where to find me.”
She turned on her heel and walked out, slamming the door shut behind her so hard that the lock jumped.
Ciaran remained still, stewing in the silence. Her words rang true in his head over and over again.
“I want a child.”
He hated being the cause of her pain. He hated the fact that he feared what could come from him so much that he was letting it affect her.
Feeling like he needed an outlet, he rose to his feet, the anger that had been simmering inside him rising to a boil.
