Page 8 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
“And ye must be…”
“Laird MacTraigh, at yer service,” he announced.
The silence behind them had started to dissipate and was replaced by cautious murmurs this time around.
“I’m afraid I am nae familiar with yer clan.”
“‘Tis nay issue. We’re still new.”
“New?”
“Aye. Young.”
“I see. And ye thought ye might as well try yer luck here?”
“Ach, well, ye did invite lairds, did ye nae?”
“And what makes ye, Laird MacTraigh, so special?” she asked, still confused by the silence he had commanded when he entered.
“Ye may ken me by me other name.”
“What other name?”
He smiled. “They call me the Hound.”
Elinor went still. “What?”
“Aye. That’s me.”
Waves of immense shock washed over her, and she could not tell the exact moment her grip on her glass had faltered. All she heard was the glass crashing hard against the floor and shattering into pieces.
The Hound?
