Page 7 of A Bride for the Kilted Beast

“Nay, nae yet. Listen, the bidding’s starting. Let’s wait and see what he does,” Diarmaid cautioned, putting a restraining hand on his brother’s arm. He was right; the shameful auction had begun.

Four trembling young women, all beautifully turned out as if for a grand occasion, surrounded by a chivvying phalanx of men who seemed intent on preventing any escape, were forced to mount the wooden dais and form a line. Their miserable expressions— two of them were crying—spoke volumes about what they thought of this horrific indignity being inflicted upon them by their own fathers.

“Look ahead, please, ladies,” shouted the so-called auctioneer from the sidelines. He was a disreputable looking fellow with bushy, unkempt hair and a sneering mouth. His dusty black clothing gave him the air of a funereal stork.

“I must say, I’m surprised Odhrán’s nae actin’ as Master o’ Ceremonies himself,” Ciarán commented scornfully, his flinty, dark-green eyes fixed on Lennox. ’T’would seem the kind o’ thing he’d enjoy doin’, sellin’ off these poor lassies like so much meat.”

Diarmaid nodded, watching with some surprise as Lennox came around the dais and appeared to join the crowd of men, inspecting the young women one by one. “Aye, I wondered about that too, but by the looks o’ things, he intends to join in the bidding.”

“By the Wee Man, Braither, I reckon ye’re right. Dae ye think he’s set on buying one o’ these lassies as a bride?” Ciarán asked, sounding as surprised as Diarmaid felt.

“Aye, I reckon he is, ye ken. Well, he probably cannae get himself a bride any other way with his reputation, the brute. Which one does he fancy, I wonder?” The thought struck him that they could maybe use this as an opportunity to goad Lennox into doing what they wanted.

But they had to wait a while to find the answer to his question.

The first unfortunate girl, announced as Laura, the daughter of the impoverished Laird o’ McGiven, was a tiny, freckled red head. Diarmaid admired her spirit as she stood silently, her chin proudly in the air, as the bidding commenced from the excited crowd.

After a few minutes, the auctioneer’s hammer came down, and she was sold to a fat young man in MacTavish tartan for a goodly amount of English pounds sterling. He hurried to pay the money over to her father’s agents and retrieve his stony-faced bride-to-be.

“Ach, the poor wee lassie. But she looks like she has spirit, so mayhap she’ll give the lad a run fer his money, eh?” Ciarán commented with compassion. “Ach, nay,” he added in a horrified murmur when he saw the MacTavish man grabbing at the struggling girl and pawing her.

“Aye. Now, let’s see if ’tis the next one who takes Lennox’s fancy,” Diarmaid whispered, watching intently for Odhrán’s next move. “Fer whichever one it is, I intend to outbid him.”

Ciarán exhaled sharply. “Ye’re nae as stupid as ye look, Braither. That’ll rile him fer certain,” he said, a note of admiration in his voice for his brother’s ingenuity.

They watched as the next girl, Clodagh, from Clan McGiven, was brought forward. She was a short, buxom lass with long brown hair and a pleasant, round face and rosy cheeks. She did not cry, but Diarmaid could see her whole body shaking with fear as she bore the insult of being bid for by the increasingly excited crowd of men.

Bidding was fierce and accompanied by ribald comments about the desirability of her rounded breasts and child-bearing hips. She too, was eventually sold and led away by her purchaser, a boyish looking fellow from Clan MacLeod.

“Two left. Which one dae ye think Lennox wants?” Ciarán asked, his tone urgent. Diarmaid shrugged, belying the tense excitement building in his gut.

“I dinnae ken yet, but we’ll soon find out.”

As they approached the spectacle from the inn’s yard and entered the field where she now deduced the auction was being held, Lillie cast about her in panic for an escape route, her every instinct screaming at her to run. But Caelin McIrving seemed to read her thoughts, and she gasped to feel the tip of his dirk at her kidneys.

“Dinnae try anythin’, lassie. Ye’ll dae as I tell ye or I’ll have ye tied, and ye’ll still be sold,” he told her menacingly. Her heart sank as they came up to the center of activity, and she began trembling with fear as the reality of her situation sank in. I really am going tae be sold!

He pushed her forward, and to her shock, she saw a wooden dais had been erected before the gathered crowd of men, with steps leading up the side. McIrving forced her up them after two other girls, with a fourth following.

The girls exchanged glances, their wide eyes and panicked expressions reminding her of terrified foals, spooked and about to bolt. She was sure she must look the same, for her heart was clamoring in her breast, and she could hardly catch a breath as she stood and faced the crowd of leering men, conscious of McIrving’s eyes burning into her back, his dirk concealed by his coat sleeve.

She was vaguely aware of loud voices shouting out increasingly large amounts of money as the first two girls were sold off. Gazing around at the rapt faces of the men who were buying and selling, she was hit by a wave of disgust. Despising them all for their greed and calumny, she refused to show fear, lifting her chin proudly as she stared out at them coldly.

Even so, she secretly quaked to see how roughly the first two purchasers treated their potential brides, manhandling them and pawing at them as if they were common bar whores. Is that tae be me fate as well?

Suddenly, she realized her turn had come. Her legs turned to jelly, and she thought she might fall. But then she heard the girl next to her sobbing so much, Lillie’s heart went out the girl and she clutched her hand tightly in a gesture of comforting solidarity.

But the girl did not acknowledge her, merely shivering with fear and chanting under her breath, “Dinnae let me be sold tae the brute Diarmaid Kincaid, please, God, dinnae let me be sold tae Diarmaid Kincaid, he’s the cruelest ’o them all.”

Lillie dropped the terrified girl’s hand, her blood running cold. She knew the reputation of this Diarmaid Kincaid. Everybody in the highlands did. He was renowned as being the worst sort of brute, a violent and cruel laird. Shaking, she wondered if she should start praying too.

The bidding was opened by a handsome, well-dressed young man with youthful good looks, long dark hair, and striking gray eyes. She did not know him, but he pledged a generous sum, and she realized from the dismayed shouts of the other bidders that he likely intended her to be his by stating such a high sum at the outset.

Nevertheless, some of the others were not put off and outbid him, to his obvious annoyance. She watched nervously as a scowl marred his handsome features. But he outbid them all, turning to stare at her with a hungry, determined expression that said he was indeed intent on having her. His look chilled her to the bone.

“The highest bid there from Odhrán Lennox,” cried the so-called auctioneer in a loud voice. “Any more bids before I bring down the hammer?”

Odhrán Lennox?