Liliane barely registered as the lady was led to the podium.
Her turn would be next and if her plan failed there would be no one left to protect Nessa. Her sister would be alone with their father, defenseless against his rages. The thought made her stomach twist with familiar dread.
Their mother had tried to shield them both, and it had cost her everything. When a fever had taken her some years before, Liliane knew it was because her body had been broken by years of Roderick Munro's fists. Now Liliane stood as the only barrier between Nessa and a very unfortunate fate.
She would endure that humiliation, the sale of her body and future, because the alternative was unthinkable.
“Seventy-five.” A laird with a black and silver mask made his bid.
“Eighty-two pounds!” Another shouted with pride, confident his marks would not be outbidded.
“Sold tae the laird fer eighty-two pounds.” The satisfaction in his voice was final. "Now fer the fourth bride."
Her legs felt like water as the guard's iron grip closed around her arm, hauling her forward. Each step toward the platform echoed in her ears like a funeral dirge.
"All the ladies presented so far taenight have been exceptional. This one is no exception. Eighteen summers, skilled in music and letters, and blessed with the beauty of the northern isles. Only a laird who truly appreciates beauty will bid fer this lovely specimen."
A murmur of appreciation rippled through the crowd as all eyes turned to assess her. The weight of their stares felt invasive and unwelcome, as though their hands groped her.
“Look at her,” came the gruff voice of Ross, thick with entitlement. Even behind the mask, the way the man’s gaze raked over her made Liliane’s skin crawl. “Worth every coin I’ll be spendin’, that one.”
“Aye,” her father rumbled back, pride seeping through his tone, “she’ll breed ye strong sons, mark me words.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to show fear or repulsion at their insensitive words, even as her pulse thundered so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it.
"Biddin’ begins at seventy pounds."
The laird's hand lifted immediately. "One hundred!" His voice boomed across the hall with the confidence of a man who expected no competition.
The crowd stirred at the generous amount. Liliane's attention turned to the front row. She watched with disgust as her father openly displayed his satisfaction, and the way his shoulders straightened with pride.
"An excellent openin' bid!" called the auctioneer. "Dae I hear more fer this Highland beauty?"
"One hundred pounds going once!" the auctioneer announced.
Her father leaned toward the man next to him, whispering something that made them both chuckle loudly. Everything was proceeding according to their arrangement. Their smug expressions made Liliane's stomach twist with dread.
"One hundred pounds goin' twice!"
Ross settled back in his chair with the air of someone who believed the outcome already his. His thick fingers kept drumming against his thigh. In moments, she would belongto him, bound by law and coin to whatever fate he deemed fit. Relief and revulsion warred in Liliane's chest. At least the charade would end quickly. She could steal Nessa away, and they could disappear before?—
"One hundred and ten silver fer the bonnie lass."
The voice cut across the room like a blade, deep and commanding. Every head, including hers, turned toward its source.
Who—?
The breath fled her lungs. His head turned with deliberate slowness until their eyes met across the crowded hall. His gaze was winter-green and utterly merciless, studying her with the focused intensity of a predator.
There was no warmth there. No softness. Only a cold intelligence that seemed to strip away her defenses and see straight into her terrified soul.
A shiver raced down her spine that had nothing to do with the drafts in the castle, and she quickly looked away.
Her new bidder sat apart from the others, his dark hair pulled back severely, and though a black silk mask covered the upper half of his face, it could not hide the sharp line of his jaw or the way his mouth remained set in a hard line of what Liliane wouldhave thought was distaste, if he hadn't just shown his clear intent to buy a lass.
Her bidder jerked upright in his chair, his face flushing red behind his mask. "What is the meanin' of this?"
"It means," the stranger replied calmly, rising to his feet with fluid grace, "that the biddin' isnae yet finished."
