Page 15 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)

CHAPTER 15

Wandering through the castle, uncertain whether to return to her bedchamber, find her aunt, or just grab Dipper and run off while she still had some freedom, Cecilia was not exactly paying attention to where she was going.

She rounded the corner in the main hallway that would take her back to Mairie, who was watching Dipper in the South Hall, and half stumbled into the group of councilmen who happened to be walking in the opposite direction.

“Careful now,” a gentle voice said as two strong hands held her steady.

She blinked up at the vaguely familiar face. “Thank ye, Mr. MacGill. I apologize. I wasnae lookin’ where I was goin’.”

“Ye seem flustered.” George MacGill eyed her with concern. “Are ye well?”

During their meeting in the East Hall, Cecilia had not paid the oldest councilman much attention. He was tall, with a slight hunch, and worryingly thin. He had short gray hair and pale blue eyes. He must have been in his late forties or early fifties. But the sight of him knocked the air out of her lungs for a moment.

He’s around the age me faither would have been…

Perhaps talking about her father had made her think of him again, or perhaps she just missed him more than ever. He would have known how to deal with the likes of Murdoch. One word from her and he would have knocked down the door of that study and given Laird Moore a good hiding for treating his daughter so poorly.

“I’m… very well,” Cecilia mumbled, her heart heavy. “Ye all just gave me a fright, that’s all. I wasnae expectin’ to see a horde comin’ toward me.” She laughed awkwardly.

To her relief, George chuckled.

“After hearin’ what happened to ye out in the woods, I was worried ye might’ve caught an illness,” he explained. “I’m always tellin’ me daughter that she’s nae dressed for the weather, and I’m always worryin’ she’s goin’ to catch a chill. And that’s when it’s summer.”

Cecilia relaxed a little, smiling at the joke. “I’d be more surprised if I hadnae spent eleven years sleepin’ through the bitterest of winter on the cold ground. Me and the cold are old friends.”

“Even so, ye make sure ye keep warm. The weather hasnae turned for the better just yet,” George insisted as the other councilmen chattered behind him.

One councilman leaned over his shoulder. “I dinnae suppose ye’ve seen the Laird this mornin’, have ye?”

“He’s in his study,” Cecilia replied, her voice tight.

She did not want to be reminded of Murdoch. She did not want to think about him ever again.

The same councilman clapped George on the shoulder. “Och, that’s ideal. We can ask him now before he goes out on his mornin’ patrol.”

“Ask him what?” Cecilia blurted out before she could stop herself. Hastily, she added. “Sorry, I ken it’s none of me business, but I should warn ye that he might nae be in any mood for questions. He’s particularly… mercurial this mornin’.”

George waved a dismissive hand. “Och, why shouldnae ye ken? Ye were the one who suggested we designate a leader to keep order. Ye wouldnae believe what we managed to get done yesterday after ye made that suggestion. It seems obvious, aye, but we never thought of it. The Laird never liked the idea before, but if it works, it works.”

The other councilmen nodded and mumbled in agreement.

It was fairly obvious that, as the eldest councilman, George had been elected as the council leader.

“We were hopin’ to ask the Laird to reconsider marryin’ me daughter,” George continued. “Ye remember her, aye? She was the lass in the hall yesterday.”

Cecilia blinked. She had not known what the councilman was going to say, but that had not been on her list at all. Then again, lists seemed to be letting her down lately.

“Aye, of course, I remember Tara,” she said with forced cheer. “The scribe. Well, gentlemen, I wish ye luck. Ye’ll need it. As I said, the Laird is in a queer mood this mornin’. I dinnae envy ye.”

Offering a polite farewell, she watched the councilmen head in the direction of the study and then darted off in search of her aunt and dog. As she walked, confusion swept in like a winter fog, clouding everything inside her already overwrought mind.

Is that why he wouldnae keep his end of the bargain? Is that why he stopped and kicked me out?

She paused to steady her breathing, unsure how to feel. He had seemed like he wanted to kiss her, just as he had seemed like he wanted to do the things he had whispered seductively in her ear, but both times it had ended up feeling like a mean trick when he had pulled away.

Was Tara the reason? Was he already spoken for, and that was why he kept withdrawing from her? If so, Cecilia did not know if she should be gladder about the situation or even more furious with his actions. She did not want to be someone’s last grasp at premarital freedom… but then had she not done the same thing with her embarrassing, little list?

“Are ye well?” Mairie asked as Cecilia entered the chilly South Hall.

The older woman was alone in the vast room, running up one side and trailing a length of frayed rope that Cecilia could have sworn used to be part of her aunt’s scapular. Dipper chased after her giddily, trying his best to catch the end of the rope.

“Do I look sick?” Cecilia replied, injecting false cheer into her voice. “People have been askin’ me that.”

Mairie walked toward her, smiling in a way that Cecilia had not seen her smile in years. “Nay, ye dinnae look sick. Ye just look… flushed. It’s nae a fever, is it?” She rested her palm against Cecilia’s brow as Dipper finally caught the end of the rope. “Ye dinnae feel too warm.”

“I ran down the stairs,” Cecilia fibbed, laughing as Dipper tugged eagerly on the length of rope and tried to yank it out of Mairie’s hand.

But Mairie was not easily convinced. “Are ye sure ye’re well? I ken ye werenae well yesterday. I checked in on ye, but ye were asleep.”

“I had a headache. It was nothin’. I promise, I’m well,” Cecilia reassured her. “What of ye? How are ye feelin’ after yer deep sleep?”

Mairie blushed. “I cannae believe how long I was in me bed after takin’ that tonic. I dinnae think I’ve slept that long in… I cannae even remember. I didnae wake up until it was already dark and time to go to sleep again!”

“Ye look well rested, Aunt Mairie, and I’m glad of it.” For reasons she could not explain, Cecilia grabbed her aunt and hugged her tightly, needing some comfort after what had just happened in the study… and what she had just heard about Tara and Murdoch.

Hesitantly, Mairie held her in return. “Well, now I’m nae sure ye’re well at all.”

“I hugged ye before,” Cecilia pointed out.

“Nae often.”

Cecilia hugged her aunt even tighter, as if to make up for all the times she had not. They might have stayed like that a while longer if Dipper had not chosen that moment to jump up at her leg, bite a mouthful of her dress, and pull as if it were a new rope to play with.

“I should take him outside,” Cecilia said, pulling away. “I cannae have the wee beastie rippin’ anythin’ that doesnae belong to me.”

Mairie smiled fondly. “Aye, both of ye should get some fresh air. Meanwhile, I’m goin’ to go and find Aileen. She said there was somethin’ she wanted to discuss with me, so I shouldnae keep her waitin’.”

For a moment, it seemed like there was more that Mairie wanted to say, and more that Cecilia wished she could say, but they both fell silent.

Aunt and niece parted ways in the hallway outside the South Hall, heading in opposite directions.

Perching on a low stone wall that bordered the rather plain, modest gardens of Castle Moore, Cecilia watched Dipper running around like a hellion. He sniffed everything in his path eagerly, had already attempted to dig up a flowerbed, and kept trying to chase the rabbits that darted out of their hiding places, seemingly teasing him.

I wonder if it’s prettier in the summer.

The convent gardens were always beautiful in the spring and summer, and headily fragranced with growing lavender and herbs from the kitchen garden. It was the one thing, aside from her aunt, that she would actually miss if she never went back there.

“Cecilia?” A voice broke through her reverie.

She turned to find Tara approaching her hesitantly, holding something in her arms.

“I saw ye out here,” Tara began, holding up what appeared to be a cloak. “I didnae want ye to get cold.”

Cecilia shrugged. “I dinnae mind it. I keep tryin’ to tell everyone, but everyone is obsessed with keepin’ me warm.”

Her tone was shorter than she had intended, and the dismayed look on Tara’s face told her that she had definitely been ruder than she meant to be.

Cecilia sighed, not even sure why she was being so frosty toward Tara.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, patting the wall beside her. “I think I swallowed a hefty mouthful of bad mood with me breakfast this mornin’. Ye’re nae unwelcome. Thank ye for thinkin’ of me. Truth be told, I feel a wee bit cold.”

Tara brightened and went to sit on the wall, draping the cloak over Cecilia’s shoulders. “It’s the gloominess of this castle,” she said. “It gets into yer veins and darkens yer mood. I’ve felt it meself.”

Cecilia laughed stiffly. “Must be why the Laird is so grumpy all of the time.”

“That’s a polite way of puttin’ it.”

“Has he been that way as long as ye’ve kenned him?” Cecilia asked, wondering how she was supposed to bring up the marriage that George MacGill had mentioned.

Tara grimaced. “Aye. I ken he has a lot on his shoulders, and that bein’ a laird cannae be easy, but ye’d think he would crack a smile here and there to put his people at ease. Many of them would appreciate it if he wasnae so… grim-faced all the time.”

“Hm…Have ye ever been in love?” Cecilia blurted out, keenly aware that it had nothing to do with the previous subject. “Apologies, I’m all over the place this mornin’. I just… wanted to ask because, if I take me vows, I willnae have the chance to fall in love. So, I suppose I’m curious about it. How it feels.”

A dreamy look flashed across Tara’s face as she bit her lip, a pink flush rising to her plump cheeks. She could have said nothing at all and Cecilia could have guessed that she did know what it meant to be in love.

Leaning in, Tara whispered, “Can ye keep a secret?”

“I’ve lived in a convent for eleven years,” Cecilia replied with a giggle. “I was trained to keep secrets.”

Tara grinned, positively glowing in the pale winter light. “I am in love, Cecilia. I’m in love with the best warrior in the clan. Ye probably wouldnae ken that we are fond of each other, as we’ve kept it secret and he doesnae want to announce it just yet, but I dinnae think it’ll be long before we get married. There are some who ken, of course, but they’re as sworn to secrecy as ye.”

And that was the third strike of stabbing confusion that had hit Cecilia that morning, though perhaps it was more of a continuation of the second strike.

She’s in love with Murdoch. And Murdoch is… goin’ to marry her.

That was what Tara meant by no one being able to guess that they were fond of each other, as she had not spoken fondly of him the previous day. But it was the perfect ruse, pretending to speak harshly about him, acting as if she was scared of him, whispering of dark and treacherous deeds.

It had certainly fooled Cecilia.

And George had likely mentioned the marriage because he did not know it was supposed to be a secret, or because he was so excited about the union that he saw no harm in speaking about it. Fathers could be like that sometimes if her memory served her right.

“I thought ye were afraid of him,” Cecilia remarked, just to be sure she was not mistaken.

Tara giggled behind her hand. “Och, nay, but we have to pretend we dinnae care for each other until we’re ready to declare it publicly, ye ken?”

The words confirmed Cecilia’s suspicions, the realization leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

Murdoch had betrayed a woman who loved him dearly by kissing Cecilia and making sultry suggestions. He had put a stop to both of his indiscretions because he had undoubtedly realized it was wrong and had not wanted to say why.

All the while, Cecilia had been oblivious.

I should have kenned it would be so much worse than it seemed.

Indeed, she felt terribly guilty just sitting there next to the woman, who had no idea that she had kissed her beloved and spent one night half-naked in a makeshift bed with him.

“Ye’re a fine lass, Tara,” Cecilia said thickly. “I’m happy to have met ye, and I wish ye every luck and joy in yer future. I’ll write to ye from the convent and let ye ken how Dipper is farin’. But aye—be happy, Tara. I pray that ye will be.”

Running forward, she scooped Dipper up into her arms and left, unable to spend another moment in Tara’s presence, for she was now the one with a secret. A secret that could never be shared. In fact, Cecilia meant to bury it behind the doors of the convent for good, forgetting that she had ever set eyes on Murdoch Blaine.

But not before she had left him with a parting word or two that he would never forget.