Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander (Breaking Highland Vows #1)

Chapter 1

Ava Fraser flew down the passageway with Bruce at her heels and shrill laughter in her throat.

The tiny dog’s legs were absurdly short for the ferocity of his pursuit, but Bruce did not know that, and Ava had long since learned it was useless to explain things like this to a creature with ears too large for his head and the soul of a charging warhorse.

He barked as he ran, sharp and outraged, as if she had committed some grave offense by snatching his ribbon and fleeing with it.

“Ye shallnae catch me,” Ava called over her shoulder.

Bruce barked harder as if he understood.

She rounded the corner by the stairwell and nearly collided with a maid carrying folded linens. She skipped aside at the last instant, one hand catching the wall, her skirts swaying round her ankles.

“Forgive me, Mairi.”

The maid huffed a laugh. “Me Lady, one day, that beast shall bring ye both to ruin.”

“Bruce would never ruin me. He adores me.”

Bruce launched himself at her hem as if to dispute the claim.

Ava laughed again and darted up two steps before pausing just long enough to let him think he had gained ground. He scrambled after her, his nails scratching stone, his eyes determined like those of a hunting hound despite the fact that he was no bigger than a well-fed loaf.

“Almost,” she told him. “A heroic effort.”

A footman flattened himself against the wall and shook his head as she passed. Ava tossed him a cheerful smile and kept on.

She knew every corner of the castle well enough to move through it without thought. She knew where the light from the narrow windows struck the floors in the late afternoons and which nooks could hide anyone, no matter their size.

Bruce reached her at last at the landing outside her father’s study and sank his tiny teeth into the hem of her skirt.

“There ye are,” Ava said, scooping him up before he could claim proper victory. “A savage beast. A terror of the Highlands. Shall I warn me father?”

Bruce wriggled in her arms, offended by the capture but pleased enough by the attention that he did not resist overmuch.

Ava pressed a kiss to the top of his head and pushed open the study door with her hip, still smiling.

Her smile faltered at once.

Her best friend, Isobel, sat at her father’s desk with papers spread before her in neat, troubling order.

There were letters stacked to one side, a list unfolded in front of her, and a small pot of ink near her hand.

She was bent over the page with such rapt focus that for a moment, she did not even look up.

Ava stayed by the door. The room felt different from the passageway behind her. It felt still.

“Well,” she said lightly, “ye look less like a guest and more like a steward preparing for war.”

That made Isobel raise her head, but the smile that came was late and thin. “Do I?”

“Aye.” Ava crossed the room slowly, with Bruce tucked against her. “And since ye are in me father’s study, looking whiter than usual, I must assume something is amiss.”

Isobel set down the quill. “I am making a list.”

“I can see that.” Ava came to the desk and looked down at the crossed-off lines.

Trunks.

Clothing.

Letters to send.

Stops along the road.

“The more alarming matter is why.”

Isobel’s fingers rested on the edge of the page. “Because I must soon return home.”

Ava blinked at her. The words did not make sense at first. They sat between them like some misplaced object, familiar in shape and yet wholly wrong in this room.

“Return home,” she repeated.

Isobel nodded.

Bruce gave a soft snuffle against Ava’s arm.

Ava stared at her friend, waiting for the grin, the jest, the explanation that would make it all small again. But none came.

“What do ye mean, return home?”

“To me brother. To me castle.” Isobel’s voice was gentle, but there was weight under it now. “I cannae remain here much longer.”

Ava drew a breath that felt oddly sharp in her chest. “Ye’ve stayed with us for more than a decade.”

The words came out faster than she had intended, almost accusatory in their disbelief.

Thirteen years. Shared mornings, shared meals, shared secrets whispered long after the candles should have been snuffed. Seasons layered one atop another until Isobel’s presence felt less like a visit and more like part of the shape of Ava’s life.

“I ken,” Isobel said softly. “And I have loved every year of it.”

“Then why are ye speaking as if ye are some passing guest collecting her cloak?”

A flicker of fondness touched Isobel’s face. “Because me brother has finally decided he means to marry, and he is making a poor business of it.”

Ava stared at her for another beat, then let out a short sound that was nearly a laugh from pure surprise. “Ciaran?”

“Aye.”

“Yer brother?”

“Aye, the older one.”

Ava sank into the chair opposite without being asked and lowered Bruce onto her lap. “That is the most astonishing thing I have heard all week, and trust me, I have heard a lot of strange things.”

Isobel smiled wider at that. “I didnae say the matter is proceeding well.”

“What does that even mean?” Ava asked. “Has he frightened a priest? Has he stared some poor woman into fainting? Has he proposed with all the warmth of a funeral bell?”

“Nay,” Isobel said, and now the humor thinned again. “It means that nay agreement has been struck. Nay one’s offering their daughter.”

Ava looked at the list again. This was no passing concern. Isobel was not chasing gossip or indulging family curiosity. She was leaving because the matter had become serious enough to call her back after thirteen years away.

“And ye must go because of this?”

“I must go because he is me brother,” Isobel corrected. “And because if I daenae help him, I daenae ken who will.”

Ava studied her friend’s face, the loyalty plain on it, the worry too. She could not help it. The truth rose before she had time to soften it.

“Maybe because nay one wants to marry their daughter off to the Silent Death?”

The name changed the air the moment it was spoken. Even Bruce went still under Ava’s hand, though that was likely an accident rather than from dread.

Isobel’s eyes flashed. “He isnae a monster.”

“I didnae say he was. I said people think he is one.”

“He is fierce,” Isobel argued. “That isnae the same thing.”

Ava gave a small shiver, half theatrical and half sincere. “It is close enough for mothers with daughters of marriageable age.”

Isobel leaned back, exasperation and affection tangled together on her face. “He may be grim, and quiet, and terrible at putting anyone at ease, but he is still me brother. I must help him.”

Ava’s gaze dropped once more to the list spread over the desk, and for the first time, she understood this was not some strange little family inconvenience. It was a problem big enough to pull Isobel out of the life they had shared, and it had Ciaran Nairn’s name written over every inch of it.

Even though she had never met Isobel’s brother face to face, somehow his impact on her life had not gone unnoticed.

Bruce shifted in her lap, then gave up on dignity and put both front paws on the desk, sniffing the nearest sheet until Ava nudged him back with one hand.

“Ye are nay help at all,” she chided.

Bruce sneezed on the margin and settled deeper against her dress, which Ava thought was likely his way of disagreeing.

Isobel had already drawn the papers closer between them.

Aside from the list of items, Ava could see that there were also names written on the pages. They were most likely family names from neighboring clans. She noticed there were other little marks beside some and full lines struck through others.

“I am guessing these are the families ye reached out to?” she asked. “None of them responded?”

Isobel made a face and pointed to a name on the list. “That one was at least polite enough to ignore us quietly.”

Ava looked at the next and saw the short note Isobel had written beside the name. “This one regrets that his daughter isnae presently inclined toward marriage.’”

“A bald-faced lie. She wed a tanner’s son three months later.”

Ava glanced up. “Did she truly?”

“Aye.”

“That is almost insulting enough that I should admire it.”

Isobel laughed, though it came out thin with frustration.

Ava leaned further over the desk, Bruce protesting when her arm tightened around him to keep him from sliding off her lap.

There were more names. Better ones than she had expected, in truth. Daughters from respectable families, some with decent dowries and strong bloodlines. Ciaran Nairn was a laird. His lands were secure, and his name carried weight. On paper, there was no reason he should be failing so badly.

“That is what vexes me,” Isobel sighed, as if following Ava’s train of thought. “He is nay wastrel. He is nay fool. He is nay gambler or drunkard. He doesnae have bastards in every village.”

Ava smiled faintly. “Ye do set the standard high.”

“I am serious.”

“I ken.”

And she did.

That was the trouble. If the matter had been simpler, if Ciaran had been ridiculous or dissolute or plainly unsuited to marriage, the whole business would have settled more easily in the mind. But this was something else. The list itself proved it.

The only thing stopping these people was fear.

Ava traced one finger down the edge of a folded letter. “So he is suitable in every sober, sensible way.”

“Aye.”

“And yet nay one wishes to hand him a daughter.”

Isobel folded her arms. “That is a cruel way to put it.”

“It is an accurate one.”

“He is steady,” Isobel said. “He is honorable. He protects his people. He takes duty seriously.”

Ava tipped her head. “I didnae say otherwise.”

“Then why do ye sound as though he keeps wolves in his chamber and sharpens knives for pleasure?”

“Because,” Ava exhaled, “he looks as though he might.”

Isobel let out an exasperated breath. “Ava.”

“What?” Ava spread one hand. “Ye cannae expect me to lie simply because I love ye. He is alarming. Every tale that reaches this castle says so. Half the time, he is spoken of as if he were some war-spirit called up from the forest.”

“That is absurd.”

“Aye,” Ava relented. “But absurd things have never stopped people from believing them.”

Isobel leaned forward again, one elbow on the desk. “He is quiet. That is all.”

“He isnae quiet. He is the Silent Death.”

“That is only a name.”

“It is a dreadful one.”

“It isnae one he chose.”

Ava gave her a long look. “Did he object to it?”

Isobel opened her mouth, then closed it.

“That is what I thought,” Ava said.

Bruce, perhaps bored by the lack of proper attention, wriggled free and hopped down to the floor. He wandered beneath the desk and nosed at Isobel’s hem while the two women kept their focus on the papers between them.

For a little while, they studied the names in silence.

Ava read the evidence of the problem more clearly. Real efforts had been made, and real families had been approached. Real refusals had also arrived.

“He frightens them,” she concluded.

Isobel did not answer at once.

“He does,” Ava insisted. “It is the only explanation.”

“He shouldnae.”

“Perhaps nae.” Ava tapped the page lightly. “But he does.”

“I ken what they say,” Isobel huffed.

Ava softened a little. “And I ken ye daenae like hearing it.”

“Nay. I daresay I daenae.”

“He may be perfectly decent beneath it all.”

“He is.”

Ava lifted her eyes. “Still terrifying.”

Isobel looked ready to argue again, but Ava gave a smile.

“Well, if anyone truly hopes to change matters, they would need a way to show people he is safe to be around.”

Isobel went still. “Safe,” she repeated.

Ava shrugged, still not wary enough. “Or at least nae likely to bite the hand of every woman left alone in a room with him.”

A small spark lit up Isobel’s face. “Oh,” she said softly. Then, with gathering energy, her eyes grew even brighter. “Oh, I ken.”

Ava straightened in her chair.

Nay.

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.