Page 65 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
“What about the portrait?” Anna asked, sniffling.
“We can finish it later,” Elinor assured her. “In fact,yecan finish it when ye’re nay longer angry at Laird MacTraigh.”
She looked at the painter and motioned for him to leave with a polite smile. He bowed and made his way out of the gallery.
“Go on. Gordon is waiting outside,” Elinor urged once he was gone.
Anna sniffled one more time and trudged out of the gallery. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound echoing through the room.
And thus Ciaran found himself alone with his wife-to-be.
“I must apologize for whatever me sister– ”
“Please,” he cut in, rising from his chair. “Ye have nothing to apologize for.”
“She’s with child, as ye probably noticed,” Elinor whispered. “It throws yer emotions all over the place.”
“I cannae imagine,” Ciaran said.
He took a step closer to her. For some reason, something about the light in the gallery made her look ethereal.
“She was just telling me about how ye dyed yer faither’s horse.”
“Christ,” Elinor hissed. “She told ye about that?”
“There is a lot I daenae ken about ye, Elinor Lane,” Ciaran continued.
He took another step closer, shrinking the gap between them until they were mere feet away from each other.
“I suppose I could say the same about ye. Nine Men’s Morris, remember?”
Ciaran laughed. But the only thing he could focus on was her lips.
