Ciaran remained where he was. He did not turn back to the window. He did not even go down to the gardens. He justremained where he was, determined to enjoy his last moments of true freedom.
Tomorrow, Ava would become his wife. And his refusal to approach her, once so neatly defended as practicality, now felt less like strength than the last stubborn act of a man who knew too well that the walls he had built were no longer standing untouched.
The lass outside the window was holding a hammer, and he needed to make certain she never succeeded in breaking down those walls.
CHAPTER 8
The next morningcame before Ava could even blink. And before she could blink some more, she was in front of a mirror, preparing for a wedding.
A part of her still hoped, at least to some extent, that all of this was a dream. That in a few minutes or even now, she would wake up in her room back in Fraser Castle and tell Isobel about the utter nightmare she had where she had almost married her brother.
But she knew that wasn’t happening, because this was too real to be a dream, and she had no choice but to go through with it.
Isobel stood behind her, fastening the last laces of her wedding gown as carefully as she could.
The room held the small, intimate noises of dressing, linen shifting, a box lid being set aside, the faint clink of pins. It shouldhave felt peaceful. Instead, it felt fragile, as though one wrong word might split the whole morning open.
Isobel exhaled. “She would have hated missing this, ye ken. Millie wasnae one to miss out on whatever scandal she could set her eyes on.”
Ava looked at her reflection, then down at her hands folded too tightly in her lap. “Yer sister is perfectly fine where she is. I am certain she wouldnae do anything to betray her calling.”
“But she would have been here all the same. Her brother is getting married.”
That coaxed the smallest smile from Ava. “Aye, she would have.”
Isobel adjusted the fall of Ava’s gown one final time and came around to face her. Her eyes were bright, though whether from worry, lack of sleep, or emotion, Ava could not tell.
“Ye are beautiful,” she complimented.
Ava let out a faint breath. “That sounds ominously like something said before a sacrifice.”
“Ava.”
“I ken,” she said softly. “Forgive me.”
A knock sounded at the door. Before either of them could answer, it opened, and her father stepped inside.
Everything within her shifted at once.
Rory Fraser usually filled a room not only with his size—though he had that too—but also with the warmth of his presence. This morning, however, he came in more carefully than usual, as though he knew the question he carried might bruise if set down badly.
He looked at her for a long moment.
“Well,” he said, his voice gentler than she had expected, “there is me lass.”
The words nearly undid her.
She was doing this.
She was really doing this.
Why in God’s name was she doing this?!
Isobel moved aside at once, giving him her spot without being asked. He came to stand before Ava and rested one broad hand on her shoulder.
“How are ye feeling, lass?”
The care in his voice was so obvious that lying would have been impossible anyway.
