Page 18 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)

CHAPTER 18

Murdoch wished he was a gifted painter, or that he could somehow commit Cecilia to memory at that moment, every detail intact in his mind so he could sculpt it later.

She was sitting on his work stool with the cup of spiced wine in her hands, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, her free arm casually covering her breasts—not in shame, but as if by habit. And she was leaning slightly forward, creating the most beautiful lines across her stomach. They would be a true challenge to carve.

But her eyes, so wide with shock, were something he could never hope to replicate.

“I’m surprised ye havenae heard from someone,” he said, fetching himself a cup of the heady wine, though he would be sorry to wash away the taste of her skin.

When he turned, the image of her had already changed. She had removed her dress from the three-legged stool and was pulling it over her head. His eyes savored the way her body tightened as she pushed her arms through the sleeves. He said nothing as he enjoyed the sight, knowing it would not last much longer.

The dark red wool tumbled down over her alabaster skin, her hands hurrying to push the skirts over her bare legs. She had not bothered to put her undergarments back on, and the tear in the neckline exposed more of her pert breasts than usual.

She seemed to notice a moment later, tucking the ripped bit of fabric in such a way that it covered what he had been admiring.

“Nay, nobody told me,” she said at last, retrieving her cup and taking a lengthy sip. “I cannae say I’ve ever heard of a pirate laird.”

He leaned against the nearby barrel where he stored his clay. “It’s nae common.”

“Nay, I dinnae expect it is.” She frowned at him. “Do… um… most people ken about yer… maritime history?”

“Here or elsewhere?”

She hesitated. “Both.”

“Here, it’s common knowledge. Beyond here, it’s nae.”

He could only imagine the uproar it would cause if such tales spread across the Highlands. There were lairds on the coast whose ships he had attacked and plundered, and he was wanted by more than a few Englishmen, though they had no name or face to go by if they ever did try to seek vengeance.

Cecilia nodded slowly. “I suppose that’s fortunate, or else ye’d have hordes of lasses seekin’ ye out, desperate to be romanced by the Pirate Laird.” A small smile tugged at her red, swollen lips. “Och, ye’d break a thousand hearts when they finally met ye and ye soundly kicked them out of yer castle.”

Murdoch sipped his drink, fighting the urge to smile in return. By the time he had swallowed the spiced wine, he had wiped any threat of a smirk from his lips.

“Some lasses dinnae ken what’s dangerous for them,” he grumbled.

“I cannae argue with that.” Cecilia eyed him strangely, rising from the stool. “Paisley was the reader and the romantic dreamer, never me. She got her handsome prince, in the end. I’ve never wanted one. Truth be told, I always found the villains in her fairytales more interestin’.”

Murdoch stared back at her, uncertain of what she was trying to say, and even more uncertain of why she was looking at him with such intensity. Of course, he knew all about his nickname, “the Beast”. It had never bothered him. In fact, it had come in handy on multiple occasions. But he had to wonder if that was what she was seeing when she gazed at him like that.

“Piracy is very dangerous, is it nae?” she asked, taking a half step toward him.

He shrugged. “If ye cannae swim, aye.”

Her eyes widened for a moment. “Was that a joke?”

“What? Nay. It’s the truth,” he replied, perhaps a tad too fiercely. “If ye sail aboard ships and ye cannae swim, ye might as well call it yer casket.”

She tilted her head, an emotion akin to disappointment flashing across her beautiful face. “So, it’s nae the cannons and the naval battles that are the most treacherous?”

“It’s nae different from a battle on land,” he said, unwilling to get into the contrasts and comparisons. “Risky, aye, with a big threat of dyin’, but ye’re doin’ a duty. If ye end up in the water, it’s down to ye if ye live or die.”

She pursed her lips and nodded faintly as if she understood. “And ye saw many battles?”

“Enough to ken.”

Her expression softened, confusing him. “Is that why ye wear that mask, then? Were ye… injured while ye were at sea?”

He tensed, every muscle tightening, his back ramrod-straight. Despite the stares he often received, it was not a common question. Usually, no one dared to enquire, just as he rarely deigned to respond. The reason he wore a mask was no one’s business but his own.

“Ye’re dressed already,” he said tightly. “Ye can leave now.”

She flinched as though he had struck her. “Ye’re kickin’ me out again?”

“Ye said it yerself—that’s what a lass can expect from a Pirate Laird,” he replied as calmly as he could. “Away with ye.”

For a moment, it seemed she was going to protest.

In truth, he was expecting it, so it was more of a surprise when she walked toward the door, tossing, “Fine by me,” over her shoulder.

She yanked on the iron ring that served as a door handle, but the door did not budge. She tried again, harder this time, muttering and huffing under her breath as she pulled with all of her might. She tugged and tugged, but the door seemed to be stuck.

“An old trick,” Murdoch remarked, striding over.

He nudged her aside and took hold of the iron ring, pulling with a little of his strength. He furrowed his brow, for though the door itself bent slightly inward, it refused to give.

Applying more of his strength, he tugged on the iron ring. The door bent inward even more, offering him a glimpse of the lock. The bolt was in place, and he did not have the key to unlock it.

“This is why ye shouldnae slam the doors in this castle,” he growled, glaring at her. “Ye’ve knocked the lock into place.”

“Me?” Cecilia protested, folding her arms across her chest. “I didnae do anythin’! Aye, I might’ve slammed the door, but it shouldnae have gotten stuck. It’s this ancient castle! I bet ye’ve never even thought to replace the locks, have ye? Do ye nae ken that locks rust over time?”

There was a note of panic in her voice as she ran her fingertips over the hinges. “See!” she cried. “These couldnae be more rusted if they tried! Och, I cannae believe this. I cannae believe it!”

She walked away and headed to the thin windows, where archers would have aimed and fired at approaching enemies once upon a time. She peered out, cursed under her breath, and whirled back around.

“Well?” she said pointedly.

“Well what?” Murdoch replied.

“Are ye nae goin’ to break it down with that brute strength of yers?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nay, I’m nae. Someone will come.”

“Someone will come to the tower ye dinnae let anyone come to?” Cecilia scoffed. “We could be waitin’ for days until someone notices that ye’re nae prowlin’ the halls like usual. Just break it down—I dinnae want to spend a moment longer with ye than I have to.”

Murdoch would not risk destroying the door and having to let workers come up to his sanctuary to replace it. Lennox would notice his absence by morning at the latest. So, whether she liked it or not, Cecilia was stuck with him until the door could be opened the ordinary way.

Unless Lennox takes me order too seriously…

He shook off the thought. Lennox would not be able to help himself if his Laird did not appear in the morning.

“Aye, well, ye’ll have to wait at least until Lennox comes,” Murdoch replied more cordially. “It willnae be later than dawn. He kens where the key is.”

She groaned, turning her back on him. “Why do ye nae ken where the key is? Why do ye nae have the key? Aye, would nae lockin’ the door be the perfect way to keep people out?”

“I’ve never needed to before ye arrived.” He tried the door one last time, but it remained stuck.

“Och, aye, because this is all me fault,” Cecilia grumbled.

Murdoch resisted the urge to tell her that, in essence, it was. But she did not need to hear that right now, not when she was trapped in a tower with someone who had told her so bluntly to leave. And after putting her virtue in such peril, too. She had every reason to be annoyed with him, and to want to be as far from him as possible.

I lost control again. I cannae keep lettin’ her bewitch me like that.

Taking a steadying breath, Murdoch unbuckled his belt.

“What are ye doin’?” Cecilia gasped, turning around at that inopportune moment. “Just because I’m locked in here with ye doesnae mean that I?—”

“Before ye start makin’ more accusations that’ll get ye in trouble,” Murdoch interjected, “it’s to keep ye warm. I’m always too hot in this tower, but ye’ll catch a chill.”

He took off his kilt and folded it until it resembled a woolen blanket. His léine covered him to just above the knees, so it was not as if she could accuse him of not being decent.

“To… keep me warm?” Cecilia seemed confused.

Murdoch approached her and draped the kilt around her shoulders, pulling it tight around her. “Ye should sit down. Finish yer wine.”

“Are ye commandin’ me?” she asked.

“Nay, just makin’ a suggestion. Keep pacin’ if ye like. It willnae make a difference.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion and sat back down, retrieving the cup of spiced wine. She took a deep gulp before she held out the cup, not saying so much as a ‘please.’

Letting it slide, Murdoch fetched the pitcher and poured her some more. He waited until she brought the cup to her lips before asking, “What else was on yer list?”

She spluttered, almost choking on the mouthful. “Pardon?”

“Ye heard me.”

And it’s likely the only way to distract ye.

He did not need her to be fretting over a door that would not open, nor did he feel like dealing with animosity in such a small space.

A faint dusting of pink colored her cheeks as she swallowed another mouthful and then cleared her throat. “Actually, ye… accidentally fulfilled another one before.” She cleared her throat again. “It’s somethin’ I heard the… um… village lasses talk about.”

Murdoch took a sip of his own drink and leaned against his clay barrel. “That’s an interestin’ list for a nun.”

He was not certain he had seen her blush before, and though it was subtle, it had a rather pleasing effect on her face. It gave her almost the same flush as her release, stirring him to the point where he needed to keep her talking, or he would have to fight to control himself again.

“ Novice nun,” she reminded him, refusing to look him in the eye. “And I’ll nae become a proper nun until I have crossed off all the items on me list.”

“Are all of the items on yer list like that?”

She glanced up at him. “Most of them.”

“Would that nae make ye incapable of becomin’ a nun?” he challenged. “After all, yer aunt marched ye all the way here because of a kiss that never happened and claimed that I’d ruined ye. I assumed there was a certain degree of purity that had to be maintained. Then again, what do I ken about nuns and vows?”

Cecilia shrugged and downed what was left in her cup. “I see it more as startin’ a new life, wipin’ away any marks on the old one.” She stood up, shrugging off the kilt. “But since ye’ve made it clear that ye’re nae interested in helpin’ me, I’ll just ask someone else. Aye, it’s nae written anywhere on me list that it has to be with the same person.”

She moved toward the door, but he was faster, grabbing her arm. “ Never say that again.”

Cecilia blinked at him, her gaze flitting from his eyes to his hand on her arm. “Why should I nae? Ye wouldnae help me before. Why would ye help me now?”

Murdoch desperately sought an answer, but it would not come. He could not explain, even to himself. But the thought of her entangled with another man, kissing someone else, unleashing those sighs and cries of pleasure at the touch of someone who was not him made him so angry, so livid that he could have driven his fist through the door without trying.

Control yerself. She cannae be of any concern to ye. For both yer sakes.

He let go of her. “Very well. Do as ye please,” he said, not meaning a word of it. “I’ll check the door again, and if it willnae open, I’ll break it down.”

He closed his hand over the iron ring and tugged. The door opened immediately, almost knocking him off balance. He had expected it to still be locked, throwing him into hours of temptation, forcing him to fight the urge to fulfill everything on her list right there and then before someone came to let them out.

“On yer way,” he groused, hoping there was no note of disappointment in his voice.

She stalked past him without a word and climbed down the winding staircase until her footsteps faded into silence.

Murdoch stayed where he was for a moment longer, wishing he had thought to ask what else was on that wretched, delicious, infuriating list. After all, the sooner all those items were crossed, the sooner they would both get what they wanted.

In theory, at least.