Fear.
Transparent ambition.
A softness too plain to miss.
A wish to be admired.
A hope for tenderness.
Each one made each woman less suited for the sort of marriage he intended. They all wanted tomarryhim, but he wanted awife.It was completely different.
He was also not trying to choose the prettiest one in the room. Prettiness would fade into inconvenience soon enough. He was choosing someone who could manage distance. A woman who would endure life in the castle without him. A woman who wouldn’t bother him or ask him for more than he was ready to give.
This would not be a love match. It would never be. Which was why the more openly the women sought to please him, the less he wanted them.
Then he came toher.
Ava.
He knew the name before anyone said it. His sister had spoken it too often over the last fortnight for it not to mean anything,though he had taken care not to ask questions. He knew she was Laird MacKenna’s daughter. He also knew she was clever, if Isobel was to be believed. She was also warm and well-liked.
None of that interested him half so much as what he saw now.
She flushed when he looked at her. That was plain enough. But her hands were clenched tight at her sides, knuckles nearly white against the folds of her gown. She looked away, then forced herself still. She didn’t melt or smile. She didn’t shrink either. She looked like a woman enduring an ordeal she had no wish to enjoy.
A smirk curved his lips.
Aye.
Her beauty struck him first, yes. He would have had to be blind not to see it. But beauty was not what drove his choice. It was resistance. The absence of softness turned toward him. The clear lack of eager invitation.
She was affected, which meant she understood the gravity of the occasion. Yet she was unwilling in a way that looked like she couldn’t bear staying in here for long.
Like she couldmanagedistance.
And distance wassafe.
Distance was exactly what he wanted.
He stepped to her without further hesitation.
Her breath seemed to catch. Up close, her eyes were finer than he had expected. Clear and startled and far too easy to read in that moment. He lifted her chin with two fingers so he could look at her properly, felt the brief heat of her skin.
“This one will do.”
The room shifted around the words as though settling into place. He released her and began to turn, expecting the natural flow of acceptance to follow.
Two hands caught him.
“Please daenae do this, me Laird.”
The whisper was low and urgent, but there was no mistaking it. It struck him as amusement at first, for the sheer impropriety, then as irritation, then as something far sharper.
He turned back.
Ava was clutching him with both hands. Her face had gone pale, and the look in her eyes was the farthest thing from composure. She wasn’t just reluctant. She wasalarmed.
“Are ye questioning me decision, me Lady?” he asked.
