The men turned their attention to the auctioneer and waited. Alexander’s nerves were on edge. He felt fidgety. Nervous.
The first lot he had no interest in. Then it was a lot of hogs, chickens, piglets. It went on and on. Of course, he didn’t bid on any of them. He had one sole purpose here, and it had not yet come up for bid.
He waited, and his impatience grew. What if the sod didn’t list his flock? Would Archibald find it intrusive if he approached the podium and had a look at the lists?
“Easy, brother,” Gunn warned. “Ye’re tight as a fiddle and we can all see it. Dinna let him see ye want it so much.”
Alexander looked around. “He is no’ e’en here.”
“Just because we canna see him doesna mean he doesna have some sort of presence here. We just have to be patient.”
Alexander nodded stiffly, rolling his lips inward as yet another lot of hogs was announced. How many people were selling hogs for crying out loud?
“Sold!” The smack of Archibald’s hammer was wearing on Alexander’s nerves. “We have one final lot, a late entry.”
Alexander snapped his head up and scanned the room, looking for Kitt. His hopes fell as he still didn’t see him in attendance.
“I will start taking bids for this lot of three hundred prize-winning sheep.”
“Those are mine,” Alexander declared. A lot of the townsfolk kenned what he was trying to do. His sheep were well-known and none of them would bid against him on this. Or at least he hoped not. “One hundred pounds,” Alexander stated above the crowd, who watched him curiously. He knew they were well aware of his brother’s shortcomings. Christopher had been and remained an embarrassment, but he was still his brother and he still loved him. Even if he was the reason he found himself in his current situation.
Alexander held his breath, hoping no one would bid against him. It wouldn’t be Kitt, since he wasn’t here. And Alexander was certain ye werena allowed to bid on your own lot.
“One hundred and fifty pounds.”
Alexander whipped his head around to the sound of the voice that called out. It was not Kitt, but it also wasn’t anyone he recognized.
“Do ye ken who that is?” Finlay whispered.
“Nay. Do ye?”
Finlay shook his head.
“Do any of ye ken who that is?”
An echo of nays rose up from the group. “No one is taking my sheep,” he whispered. “Two hundred pounds!” He called out.
“Three hundred pounds,” the unknown man countered.
“Hell’s teeth!” Alexander swore. The man was definitely not a local. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to outbid thedukeof said lands. “Four hundred pounds.” Mayhap that would be enough of a jump to deter the man.
The man twirled the end of his brown mustache as he studied Alexander.
Alexander returned the look, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the man.
“Eight hundred pounds,” the man called out with a sneer.
The crowd began to whisper amongst themselves as they watched the exchange.
“Bloody hell. The louse just doubled the bid.” He pushed his hands through his hair, knowing what he had to do. “One thousand pounds.”
Was the man laughing at him?
Alexander pushed off the wall, but Gunn grabbed his shoulder. “No’ here, no’ now. Keep your wits about ye. Dinna let him ken that he is getting to ye.”
That was much easier said than done.
“One thousand, five hundred pounds.”
