She knew that look. She had seen it a lot of times on her friend’s face. It came whenever a mischievous plan started to grow in her head.
She could still remember when Isobel decided at twelve that the steward’s son could be frightened off from tormenting the kitchen maids if one released geese into his path at the correct moment.
She had also seen it when Isobel convinced her that climbing the old south wall at midnight would improve their understanding of moonlight. It was the face of inspiration, and it was never safe for anyone near it.
“And from the way ye’re eyeing me,” Ava said slowly, “I certainly daenae want to ken.”
Isobel blinked, all false innocence now, which only made matters worse. “I have said nothing.”
“That has never once reassured me in all the years I have ken ye.”
Bruce emerged from beneath the desk and barked once, as if taking Ava’s side in the matter.
“Even Bruce agrees,” she pointed out.
“Bruce would agree with whichever of us offered him roasted chicken first.”
“That is nay answer.”
Isobel folded her hands atop the list, but the spark would not leave her eyes now. It sat there openly, bright and intent.
Ava felt a dread that was half real and half amusing despite itself. Whatever idea had just occurred to her friend, it was not small. It was not sensible. And worst of all, it was very plainly pleased with itself already.
She narrowed her eyes. “Isobel.”
Isobel smiled. “I have an idea.”
That was enough.
Oh, dear Lord.
CHAPTER 2
Ava stoodin the middle of the auction hall, hating herself more than anything.
She wished she could return to the past, to a week ago and shake sense into the foolish girl who had once sat safe in her father’s study and agreed that this might be amusing, or useful, or at the very least survivable.
It was none of those things.
The hall was crowded, even though it wasn’t loud, and for some reason, that made it worse. Noise, she might have understood. She could hide in the noise. This, however, was low conversation and careful observation.
Women stood in small clusters or beside family members with composed expressions that fooled no one. Men watched with varying degrees of interest, caution, or calculation. Clan representatives lingered near the edges, and a few older womensat as if they had come merely to witness the spectacle, though their faces said they missed nothing.
Everywhere Ava looked, she found the same thing—attention disguised as casual ceremony. It made her grow even more uneasy with each passing minute. She kept her chin up anyway so that she looked like she belonged. At least to an extent.
“I cannae believe I let ye convince me to join an auction,” she muttered.
Isobel, beside her, did not appear nearly ashamed enough of herself. “It sounds much worse when ye say it that way.”
“How else is there to say it?” Ava asked without looking at her. “Should I call this a festive gathering of maidens waiting to be calmly inspected?”
The corner of Isobel’s mouth twitched. “Ye arenae being inspected.”
Ava gave her a flat look, then quickly turned her attention back to the room before anyone could catch her looking as rattled as she felt.
The women closest to them were better dressed than she had expected. That should not have surprised her, but it did. They had on silk sleeves and proper wool. Even their ribbons looked like they were taken care of.
Mothers and aunts lingered just far enough away to claim this had all happened naturally. No one wanted to appear desperate. That was the whole trouble.
