Page 9 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
CHAPTER 3
Ciaran had expected anxiety,of course. He had worked way too hard for that moniker not to strike fear in the hearts of people, especially people who considered themselves his enemies. Yet, the cup slipping from the lady’s hand was a complete surprise to him.
“The Hound,” she repeated, almost like she was testing out the words to see if they fit.
“Aye,” he uttered.
“Anyone could walk in here and claim to be the Hound,” the lady pointed out.
Ciaran smiled, surprised that she still held his gaze. “Believe me, M’Lady, nay one could impersonate me.”
The lady nodded. “If ye will excuse me for a minute.”
Ciaran released her hand and watched as she turned around and walked out of the hall with her friend. Part of him wondered if he had ruined his chances already before the competition even started.
Nay. She will return.
Something about the lady struck him— he confidence she exuded as she spoke. He had only caught the tail end of her speech, yet something told him that this was no ordinary woman.
She will return.
He kept repeating that to himself as he braved the crowd of the lairds.
Further silence fell in his wake, but he ignored most of it. He was used to it, anyway. He could tell that most of the men who were staring at him didn’t just see him as competition. They saw him as a threat.
He walked to the drinks table and grabbed a tankard of ale. Then, he turned around and swept an assessing gaze across the hall one more time.
He mentally calculated the number of lairds he planned to take, should he have to. The type of men he would be going up against. Most of them would be eliminated before the challenge ended.He just needed to keep an eye out for those with a stubborn streak.
He downed the ale in two large gulps and placed the tankard back on the table. The silence that had fallen over the hall with his arrival had dissipated entirely. Now that the other lairds were certain he wasn’t here to kill any of them, they all resumed their conversations.
He looked around, hoping to find Thomas somewhere, but he couldn’t. Instead, he walked to another corner of the hall, exchanging pleasantries with some of the lairds who were kind enough to greet him, and settled in.
Hopefully, this turns out even better than now.
He returned his gaze to the crowd before him. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder what kind of challenges the lady had set. What exactly was she planning to test? Would he win easily?
His eyes searched the hall, watching maids walk back and forth to deliver freshly made food to the lairds who requested it. The smell of ale and venison was thick in the air and murmurs swept through the hall from almost all sides. Most of them looked rather satisfied for some reason and he wondered if a stranger would be able to tell if this was an auction or just a feast.
He swallowed trying to bring himself back to the present. He came here for a reason.
This was not just an auction for a lady’s hand in marriage. This was a way for him to secure his people’s future. An alliance with Clan MacAdair would go an extra mile in cementing his place in the Highlands.
A man walked up to him and sat in the chair right beside him, his eyes glued on the event as well.
“I daenae think a man like ye would enjoy ceremonies such as this,” he started.
Ciaran studied him for a second. The man was old. Older than him, most definitely. There were streaks of grey in his hair that seemed to shine in the fragmented sunlight that filtered through the glass roof above them.
“I daenae think anyone is above a proper event, nay matter what kind of person they are.”
“Aye. But it is ye. The Hound,” the man insisted. “Ye should be—I daenae ken, on the front lines, killing people. Nae competing with people like us for a woman’s hand in marriage.”
“’Tis an auction. I am here to express me interest. I daenae ken how else to explain any of this to ye.”
“Aye,” the man murmured gently. “Ye think yer braither will be glad to ken ye’re here?”
Ciaran clenched his jaw. Part of him had been wondering how long it was going to take for the man to bring up his brother.
