Page 12 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)
CHAPTER 12
“Och, dinnae call me Mr. Durness,” Lennox said with a laugh that made Murdoch’s stomach twist.
Cecilia drew her gaze away from Murdoch and returned it to his man-at-arms, rewarding him with her most radiant smile. “What should I call ye, then? Kennel-master? Thief of hounds?”
“Lennox ought to suffice,” Lennox replied. “And I promise I willnae steal yer dog. But I’d ask that ye let me play with the wee thing as often as I can.”
Aileen elbowed Cecilia in the ribs not-so-discreetly, and the sight of it made Murdoch’s blood boil. He could see his mother’s scheming as clear as day, realizing that she had decided on a suitable replacement for him, just as she had promised she would.
She leaves in less than a week. I’ve given me order.
Murdoch wanted to say as much but knew it would make him appear weak in front of his councilmen. He should not allow such trivial things to bother him.
But it did bother him, seeing the way Cecilia smiled and laughed and fluttered her eyelashes at Lennox. And the way Lennox jested and grinned back at her, offering a warmth and merriment that lasses seemed to find irresistible.
Everyone was drawn to Lennox. Despite having the same history as Murdoch, both of them former pirates, he had no trouble winning people over.
Just yesterday, in the villages, the residents had gone to Lennox to inform him of any repairs or supplies that were required. Lennox, in turn, had passed the message on to Murdoch, for no one had dared to approach him.
Ye willnae touch her. I’ll have yer head if ye do.
Murdoch glared at his man-at-arms, who was paying him no attention whatsoever. Lennox was completely distracted by the puppy… and the woman who had gone to such lengths to rescue him.
“Do ye nae have a dog of yer own?” Cecilia asked.
Lennox shook his head, pouting playfully. “I keep tryin’ to convince the Laird, but he willnae permit it. Ye’ve got to be careful with dogs and horses, ye see, and until I can find the time to train a dog properly so it sticks to me side and doesnae bite anythin’ it shouldnae, it wouldnae be fair of me to have one.”
“Well, ye can certainly enjoy Dipper’s company whenever ye like,” Cecilia promised, and a muscle ticked in Murdoch’s clenched jaw.
He thought of last night again, and the feel of her against parts of him that had never been so easily, so powerfully stirred. She was no novitiate of anything, unless it was sorcery. There was a wildness in her that he had glimpsed, like a campfire through dense trees. And it called to the wildness of others—the puppy, the stallion, him .
His horse was notorious for biting the stable hands and kicking anyone who came close, as well as refusing to let anyone else ride him, but the traitorous beast had nuzzled her hand like a colt. As if it recognized something within her—that fierce, untamable spirit.
Lennox cannae tame her .
And ye think ye can? a darker voice whispered in his head, mocking him.
“While ye waste yer time here with these idle follies, I have duties to carry out,” he declared roughly, conscious of the fact that if he stayed in that room much longer, forced to observe the flirtation between Lennox and Cecilia, he would lose it.
He turned and left for his tower, slamming the door of the East Hall behind him. The reverberation followed him into the hallway, sending a fresh spike of frustration through him.
Not only was Cecilia threatening the very foundation of his self-discipline—and potentially inserting herself permanently into his castle, if Aileen’s scheme became a success—she was also causing him to behave in ways that were beneath him and awakening voices in his head that he had taken pains to silence long ago.
Cecilia flinched at the slam of the door, and she was not the only one. Dipper yelped and came running to her. She scooped the puppy up into her arms and glanced around the room, noting that everyone had a surprised expression. She had assumed that Murdoch always slammed doors about the place, but apparently not.
And no one looked more frightened than Tara MacGill.
Cecilia went to her, offering Dipper as a comfort. “There’s nothin’ more soothin’ than runnin’ yer fingertips through soft fur.”
“May I?” Tara held out her arms apprehensively.
Cecilia laughed and placed the puppy in her arms.
“Did that awful noise startle ye?” Tara cooed, her anxiety melting into a smile as Dipper wriggled upward and licked her face. “Och, ye cannae eat me, wee lad! Would ye like some pheasant instead?”
She wandered off to the side of the hall, picking up her breakfast plate on the way. Cecilia followed, and the two women sat down on the cold floor and watched as Dipper lunged at the roast pheasant, gobbling it down with eager enthusiasm.
George MacGill watched them for a moment or two, frowning as if he disapproved, but he soon returned to what he had been doing—namely, discussing some matter or other to do with one of the villages at the border. The rest of the councilmen settled back into the familiarity of the conversation, all offering their opinions, talking over one another as Cecilia had predicted.
Me faither used to complain about that all the time. I once thought he used to duel them all into silence.
Her heart was heavy in her chest, and she lifted the heel of her palm to that uncomfortable spot, trying to massage away the tight feeling.
“Does the Laird do that often?” Cecilia asked, scratching the puppy’s hind quarters, his backside wiggling in a funny little dance.
Tara furrowed her brow as she offered more pieces of pheasant to Dipper. “Do what?”
“Slam doors, huff and puff, charge around like an angry bull, make everyone feel so much smaller than him,” Cecilia replied with an awkward laugh, remembering how small she had felt in Murdoch’s arms, though for very different reasons. More pleasant reasons, albeit fleetingly.
Tara grimaced, a shudder rippling through her. “I’ve never kenned him to be any different.” She hesitated, casting a cautious glance at the nearby table before lowering her voice. “He… terrifies me. Always has. And I’m nae the only one. I dinnae think there’s a person in this castle, save for his maither and Lennox, perhaps, who isnae terrified of him. Everythin’ he does or says makes me blood run cold.”
Cecilia considered the words for a few moments, wondering which category she fell into. She was not “scared” of Murdoch, but she was not entirely impervious to his intimidating manner either. Then again, if anyone had told her that she would want to be touched by him last night, she would have laughed at the ridiculousness of such a suggestion.
He was… different, for a moment. Nae intimidatin’ and coarse, but… assertive and intriguin’.
Then, of course, he had switched back to being rude and mean, heating her up until she had burned like a furnace, only to dump an entire snowdrift on top of that feeling, extinguishing it and leaving her cold.
“I didnae even ken ye, and I was worried about ye when I heard that he’d gone lookin’ for ye and ye didnae come back,” Tara admitted, stroking the puppy. “It’s nae safe to be alone with a man like that. If that’s the only warnin’ ye ever heed, it’ll serve ye well.”
Cecilia chewed on the inside of her cheek in thought. “He has a… history?”
“With lasses?”
Cecilia nodded.
Tara tilted her head to the side. “I couldnae say for sure, but it’s a truth whispered around the castle to all the maids and other lasses that ye should never be alone in a room with him. And there’s nae often smoke without fire.”
The fear radiating from Tara was palpable, her words spoken in earnest. But no matter what Cecilia thought of Murdoch, she still could not entertain the possibility that he would cause her any physical harm. She thought back to something his mother had said.
“She couldnae be safer if she had a guard escort around her, I promise.”
Of course, mothers were the most susceptible when it came to misjudging the true nature of their sons, but Cecilia had felt safe with Murdoch. Just as she had felt relieved when she had seen him there in the woodland glade.
He truly is a man of a thousand contradictions.
And it was beginning to make her head hurt.
“I ought to let ye return to yer scribin’,” she said, scooping Dipper into her arms. “I’ve distracted ye for too long.”
Tara leaned over to kiss the puppy’s head. “Would it be… all right if I borrowed Dipper one day, to play in the gardens or somethin’?” She hesitated. “If ye want to be there too, that wouldnae be a bad thing. I dinnae get to meet too many new lasses, and with me faither bein’ on the council, there arenae too many lasses who want to spend time with me either.”
“I’d like that,” Cecilia said, forgetting that her time at Castle Moore would soon come to an end.
Tara’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful! Well then, I’ll… uh… see ye soon.”
“Aye, ye will.” Cecilia smiled and wandered toward the exit, offering her thanks and farewells to the others.
Lennox ran over to give Dipper a last rub, his boyish excitement as contagious as the winter cold, and out of the corner of her eye, Cecilia saw Aileen clasp her hands together, grinning happily.
Of course, Cecilia was not stupid; she could tell what Aileen was up to. And, yes, Lennox was as cheerful and endearing as he was extraordinarily handsome. But when Cecilia looked at him, she didn’t feel anything in particular.
Her breaths remained steady, her heart did not beat any faster, there were no butterflies fluttering in her stomach, and no warmth tingling across her skin. He was like some of the shepherds she had encountered over the years, the sort of man who became a good friend, almost like a brother, and nothing more.
Before she departed, she turned and addressed the table one last time, hoping she was not being too bold.
“Far be it from me to tell ye how to do yer duties,” she said, looking at the councilmen, “but ye might find it better to talk one at a time and raise yer hands when ye wish to speak. Ye might consider havin’ a mediator—a leader if ye like—when the Laird isnae with ye, to keep the order. That way, everyone gets a chance to speak, and ye might find that ye can get more done. It’ll certainly be easier for yer scribe to follow.”
She knew it was not her place to say such things, but she keenly remembered her father saying that was the only way to have a successful council. And she would have been remiss if she had not passed on her father’s wisdom, whether they took it or not.
With a smile, she hurried out of the East Hall, careful not to slam the door, and made her way back to her guest chambers.
There, she set the puppy loose again, chuckling as he ambled over to the woodpile beside the fireplace. Dipper took a small stick and settled down, chewing contentedly on the end of it, his black-tipped tail wagging.
Certain that would keep him busy for a while, Cecilia went to her writing desk and sat down, drawing out a freshly cut piece of paper and a quill. There was no time like the present for her to begin writing what she could remember about Clan MacDunn, keeping up her end of a bargain that had never truly been struck.
“I dinnae remember anythin’,” she mumbled, the nib of her quill poised over the paper. “I ken where the castle was, but I assume Murdoch kens that too.”
She closed her eyes and sat back, trying to force memories to the fore. But it was not memories of where she hailed from that flooded her mind. Instead, she was transported back to the hunting cabin, Murdoch’s mighty arm around her, pulling her flush against him. And his husky voice was in her ear, whispering about all the things he wanted to do to her, all of the things that she had tempted him to say.
The juncture between her thighs pulsed as she imagined him easing himself inside her, but the vision lacked detail. All she had to go by were the stories she had heard from the village girls, and they had their own language for that sort of thing, using a vernacular that they understood but was entirely foreign to Cecilia. She could not even picture the thing she had felt, hard and hot, against her backside.
“Concentrate,” she muttered, opening her eyes. “Write anythin’ and everythin’ that ye remember.”
A wicked idea occurred to her, bringing a smile to her lips.
And for every tidbit of information, I’ll have ye answer a question in return… or satisfy a curiosity.
That would be the new bargain, and if she was to leave Castle Moore in a few days, she wanted to know everything there was to know about Murdoch before her time ran out.