Page 11 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)
CHAPTER 11
Murdoch could not bring himself to look at Cecilia, much less speak to her. She rode in the saddle of his somewhat traitorous stallion, the puppy tucked into a sling she had made from one of the blankets, while he walked alongside, holding the reins.
It would be better if I never said a word to her again.
He kept his gaze fixed ahead on the wintry world, the snow so thick that it came up to his knees in places. It was precisely what he needed to push himself into utter exhaustion, for he had not slept a wink last night and could not afford yet another sleepless night when darkness came again.
He had lost control of himself last night. The heat of her, the feel of her in his arms, the soap-and-snow scent of her skin, the sound of her ragged breaths, the feel of her body against his—it had created a potent brew that had nearly cost him dearly, almost making him forget himself.
“What if… I… like that notion?”
He wanted to groan just thinking about those soft words coming out in a hesitant murmur. It was akin to a sudden and fatal fever, sweeping through him like wildfire.
And it concerned him deeply.
“Thank ye for comin’ to find me,” Cecilia said abruptly as the open moorland finally became visible through the tangle of ancient trees. “I ken it must’ve disrupted yer duties. I trust the castle hasnae fallen apart without ye.”
She was trying to provoke him again. It would not work. They had not exchanged a single word until now. When she woke up, she had been quick to get dressed, thinking he was asleep. Perhaps it was better that way.
“I expect ye to start writin’ what ye ken about Clan MacDunn when we return,” he replied bluntly. “The end of yer week here is fast approachin’.”
“Of course,” she said, her voice as flat as his own.
He wanted to look at her, to see if her expression matched her voice. Instead, he plodded on through the dense snow, grateful for the icy chill that crept up his legs and numbed him from toe to stomach.
Out on the moorland, a light flurry of snow continued to fall, but there were flashes of blue in the wintry sky above. A good sign that the snow would soon cease altogether and, in due course, what had already fallen would melt and make the roads safe to travel again.
The sooner ye are out of me sight, the sooner ye’ll be out of me head and me life can go back to normal.
He kept that thought firmly in his mind as he climbed up the shallow slope of the hill and turned onto the partially trodden road back to the castle in the near distance.
It took all the willpower Cecilia possessed not to say more to Murdoch than she already had. If he thought she could not go a single moment without speaking, or that she could not abide silence, then she would show him how wrong he was.
Kill him with kindness.
She smiled to herself, determined to ensure that she never found herself in that situation with Murdoch again. And even more determined to make him see that she was unbothered by his harsh—but timely—rejection.
Indeed, she hoped that he ended up feeling embarrassed for saying such uncouth things to her, in the solitude of that cabin.
As such, when the majestic stallion plodded through the gates of Castle Moore and Murdoch brought him to a standstill, Cecilia waited for him to come around to the side and help her down.
He turned his half-masked face away from her and held his hands up to receive her.
“Nay, thank ye,” she said politely. “I cannae have ye touch me. It wouldnae be proper. I’ll dismount by meself.”
He looked at her, his stony eyes flickering with an unfathomable emotion. A moment later, he stepped back and let her get down, clearly expecting her to make a fool of herself. But she had been riding horses since she was five and donkeys since she was ten—and donkeys had a far worse temperament than the lovely stallion.
Expertly, she swung down from the saddle and made a point of stroking the stallion’s nose and giving him a couple of “thank you” kisses before she headed for the entrance. Unescorted.
She was aware of eyes on her, and she glanced up at the battlements to find an array of guards staring down at her in bewilderment. Putting on her cheeriest smile, she waved up to them. “Good mornin’! I hope ye’ve got braziers to warm yerselves up there!”
A few waved back awkwardly, an incoherent mumble drifting back to her ears.
No more than a second later, they all sprang into motion, making themselves look busy. Cecilia did not need to look back to know that Murdoch had shot them one of his “I am the Laird, hear me roar” glares.
But she would not be dissuaded from her mission to be as charming as possible to the people of Clan Moore.
“Excuse me,” she said, entering the castle and finding the nearest maid. “Could ye be so kind as to tell me where Her Ladyship and her guest are?”
The maid blinked in surprise. “Of course, M’Lady. They’re currently breakfastin’ in the East Hall.” She hesitated. “Would ye like me to escort ye so ye dinnae get lost?”
“That would be delightful,” Cecilia replied, offering her a cheery smile too.
But Murdoch took that moment to cast his shadow over her, his presence behind her undeniable. “That willnae be necessary,” he interjected sharply. “She kens the way.”
The maid bowed her head. “Of course, M’Laird. Apologies.”
With that, Murdoch stalked off ahead of Cecilia, scattering servants wherever he went. They almost seemed to recoil from him, pressing their backs to the nearest walls, bowing their heads so low that he could not see their faces, their entire bodies tense with anxiety.
Why are they all so afraid of him?
Cecilia could not deny that Murdoch was intimidating, but she longed to know what he had done to frighten the residents of his castle. Their fear was not… normal.
She followed behind him, whispering soothing words to the puppy that was still nestled against her chest.
The little pup seemed to be very sweet-natured, and she had not forgotten how he had tried his best to protect her from Murdoch in the woods, as if he had known she was about to get herself into trouble.
“Ye’ll keep me safe,” she murmured. “Ye’ll raise merry Hell if I take leave of me senses again, will ye nae?”
The puppy stretched his little furry forelegs, bending them in the most adorable fashion as he fell back to sleep.
“Och, there ye are! I was so worried!” Aileen’s voice was the first to greet Murdoch and Cecilia as they walked through the doors to the East Hall.
Murdoch halted, opening his mouth to answer, when Aileen ran right past him and opened her arms to embrace Cecilia. It was all Cecilia could do not to burst into laughter at the sight of his fleeting confusion as he watched his mother breeze by and hurry straight to hug her.
“Are ye well?” Aileen pulled back, brushing snow-dampened locks of hair from Cecilia’s face. “Are ye hurt? Och, I’ve been prayin’ to gods nay one has prayed to in years, hopin’ ye’d come back to us safely. I was just about to gather some guards to—Och, me dear, who is this?”
Cecilia took the puppy out of the sling and set him down on the flagstone. All of the sleepiness abandoned the fluffy pup as he took in his new surroundings, his tail wagging, his nose twitching as he trotted off to sniff everything and everyone.
“I dinnae have a name for him yet,” Cecilia said. “But he was worth chasin’ after. I’m just so very sorry that ye’ve been worried about me. I didnae think he’d lead me on a merry chase through the woods or that the woods would be so vast I’d get lost in them.”
Aileen nodded, her eyes following the pup. “He’s a beautiful wee thing! Look at that wee black spot on his tail!” She clasped her hand to her chest. “And now that I ken ye’re safe and sound, I shallnae bear a grudge against the wee fella for makin’ ye run off after him like that.”
“I really am sorry,” Cecilia offered, meaning it.
At the same moment, she searched the faces of the other people gathered at the table in the East Hall. All were unfamiliar to her, and most of them were men, aside from one pretty young lass who could not have been more than a few years older than her.
“Is me aunt nae here?” Cecilia asked, her worries creeping in.
Aileen chuckled. “Nay, she’s still sleepin’, poor thing. She was restless last night, so she asked if I had anythin’ that could help to calm her nerves. I gave her a nip of the healer’s best sleepin’ draught, and it worked better than ye’d expect.”
“She’ll be askin’ ye for the bottle before we depart,” Cecilia teased, grateful that her aunt was safe and sound too. “She barely sleeps at the convent. I dinnae think I’ve seen her rest for more than a few hours a night in all the years I’ve been with her.”
Aileen looked at Cecilia strangely, as if the younger woman had said something that upset her. A moment later, Aileen was pulling her toward the table, where the men had all stopped what they were doing to lavish boyish attention on the equally eager puppy.
One man, in particular, wasted no time in getting down from his chair to play on the floor with the puppy. An exceedingly handsome man with golden brown hair and matching eyes, with a smile so bright and carefree that it felt like the sun piercing through the snow clouds.
“And what would ye say to me stealin’ ye, eh?” he cooed, swiping his hands across the floor while the puppy chased them back and forth, yipping and barking happily at the game. “Shall I have ye for meself, eh? Shall I gobble ye up? Och, I dinnae think I’ve ever seen a pup sweeter than ye, laddie.”
Aileen pulled Cecilia to the foot of the table, where there was an empty chair. “Everyone, it is me pleasure and delight to introduce ye to Miss Cecilia Adair,” she said brightly. “She’s the honored guest I was tellin’ ye about, for me cèilidh.”
“I keep tryin’ to insist that Aileen should be honored,” Cecilia interjected in earnest. “It’s only right that it should be a Lady who receives the respect of her guests, nae me. I’m nay one of importance.”
“Nonsense,” Aileen scoffed, gesturing to each person in turn. “This is Roger McGinty, Kelvin Stonehaven, Damon Hall…” The names blended into one as she pointed out the eight men around the table. “All councilmen of me son. And this fine lass is Tara MacGill, and that’s her faither beside her, George MacGill.”
Cecilia’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Yer son allows lasses on his council?”
“Nay,” George replied. “She merely scribes for us.”
Tara bowed her head, her cheeks turning red.
“Merely?” Cecilia frowned. “There’s nay ‘merely’ about it. I cannae imagine it’s easy to scribe a meetin’ of councilmen where everyone is tryin’ to talk over each other. I should ken, I—” She stopped abruptly, remembering Murdoch’s reaction to the revelation that she was the daughter of Laird MacDunn’s second-in-command.
She had a feeling that she would get the same reaction if she mentioned her father to these men, too.
“I’ve had to mediate a group of women shoutin’ at each other about who is doin’ what chores,” she said instead, hoping no one had noticed her hesitation.
The councilmen laughed affably, while Tara raised her head slightly, a look of gratitude in her eyes as they met Cecilia’s. Cecilia gave a small wink in reply, and Tara immediately bowed her head again, hiding a smirk this time.
“And who is the man tryin’ to steal me dog?” Cecilia asked, turning her attention to the man now lying flat on the floor, holding the puppy up in the air, bringing him down to smother him in kisses before lifting him again.
Aileen steered her toward the man, announcing with a strangely pointed note in her voice, “ This is Lennox Durness, the Laird’s man-at-arms.”
“A pleasure to meet ye, at last,” Lennox offered, diverting his attention from the puppy for a moment. “I’ve heard a lot about ye. And, forgive me, but I think I’m besotted with yer dog.”
Cecilia smiled. “I can see that.”
“What’s his name?” Lennox asked, sitting up and placing the dog in his lap.
“I havenae thought of one yet.” Cecilia did not know if there was anything more attractive than seeing a man dote on a puppy, especially one who was not afraid of appearing foolish.
“I’ll have to ease yer undergarments over yer hips and down yer thighs until ye’re bare to me… And when I’m done, when I’ve tired ye ‘til yer head is spinnin’, ye’ll have nay trouble sleepin’.”
Her heart raced at the memory, reminding her like a rock to the head that there was one thing more attractive. But the man who had spoken those words was not the man standing in the East Hall, glowering and sternly silent as usual. He was, she had decided, just a figment of fantasy that did not exist.
“Ye should call him… Dipper,” Lennox said decisively.
Cecilia arched an eyebrow. “Dipper? Why is that?”
“Because he looks like he dipped his tail and paw in the inkpot,” Lennox replied, scratching the pup behind the ears.
At that, Cecilia laughed. “It’s… perfect, Mr. Durness!”
The puppy really did look like he had had a mishap with an inkwell, but as Cecilia looked back to see Murdoch’s reaction to the name, her heart dropped like a stone, a chill slithering through her. He was staring right at her with a vicious glare, all semblance of last night’s warmth replaced with impenetrable ice. The kind that any woman would be a fool to think she could thaw.