Ava watched him, obviously reading some change in his silence.
“I didnae mean harm,” she said quickly. “I only meant to help her.”
“I daenae care.”
The words cut across hers with enough force that she stopped.
He uncrossed his arms and stepped nearer, not fast, not threatening in any loud manner, but with a certainty that made her back meet the door before she seemed to realize she had moved.
“I daenae care for yer faults,” he said. “Nor yer excuses. Nor the little scheme ye and me sister cooked up.”
She stared up at him, color gone thin beneath her skin.
“I didnae come here seeking love,” he added. “I came to choose a wife.”
Her breath caught.
“And I have made me choice.”
“Me Laird, please,” she whispered, but the plea had changed now. “Ye need to pick someone else—yehaveto pick someone else.”
That interested him less than the truth she had already given him.
She had stood in his hall, played her role in a game meant to move other women into place, and assumed herself safe from consequence because no one meant for her to be touched by the outcome.
It was the most foolish idea ever, and he had no reason to reward it with retreat.
“Ye shouldnae have played such dangerous games,” he said.
Her fingers tightened against the wood behind her.
Then he gave her a look that said she was going nowhere.
“Now ye’re mine.”
CHAPTER 4
That night,Ava did not sleep.
She just lay flat beneath the blankets with her eyes open, staring into the dark until the chamber felt smaller than its walls.
The day kept returning in pieces. The hall. The line of women. Isobel’s face. Ciaran stepping forward with that infuriating calmness, as if nothing in the world could surprise him, wound him, or even give him the slightest bit of trouble.
She hated that he had been casual about this whole thing. In fact, that was probably the part she hated the most.
Being chosen had been bad enough. Being handled as though the choice required no more than a touch beneath her chin and a few plain words was worse. But being dismissed after it, left to swallow his decision alone while he carried on as though he had settled some minor business, was what had lodged like a thorn under her skin.
He had not looked ruffled. Not even a little bit.
He had not looked like a man who had just laid claim to a woman.
He had looked certain. Like he had chosen a tunic for the day, and no one else could sway his decision.
Ava clenched the blanket in both fists and closed her eyes. It did little to nothing for her. The room remained warm, the mattress soft, and the blankets heavy. The candle had long since gone out, and only a thin strip of moonlight filtered through the windows.
It should have soothed her, but instead it felt neat and settled and hateful. Almost like nature itself was mocking her for being so gullible.
She turned onto her side, then onto the other. Then onto her back again.
