Page 19 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)
CHAPTER 19
What now?
Cecilia groaned, covering her pounding head with a pillow as a knock sounded at her door.
After spending the night tossing and turning, her heart racing, her dreams traitorous, she had just drifted off to what might be considered an ordinary slumber. Yet, it seemed that she would not be permitted any rest today, as if the night before had set a precedent.
“Cecilia?” Aileen’s voice followed the next series of urgent knocks.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Cecilia stayed as still and silent as she could, hoping that Aileen would give up and leave. How could she hope to face Murdoch’s mother after what had happened in the tower? She would surely blush and give herself away.
And I never blush! He did this to me!
However, Dipper, who had been comfortably curled up on the foot of her bed, decided to betray her. He jumped up, his tail wagging, and barked as if the English were at the door.
Taking that as permission, Aileen entered. “Mairie said that ye couldnae possibly be asleep at his hour. She told me ye’re always up with the birds,” she said, bustling over to windows to open the shutters wide. “Ye’ve missed breakfast, but I cannae have ye missin’ any more of the day. There’s too much to do.”
Cecilia poked her head out from beneath the pillow. “I have a headache.”
“Och, well, we’ll visit the healer on our way,” Aileen replied, pausing to scratch between Dipper’s pointy ears. “A headache is nothin’ she cannae remedy.”
Cecilia sat up a little more, panic striking her as she remembered the torn red dress that was now draped over the back of her writing desk chair.
“On our way to where?” she croaked, praying that the older woman would not spot the wide tear in the neckline.
“The gallery, me dear,” Aileen replied. “It has the best light in the castle. The maids are bringin’ every gown they can for ye to try, and two dressmakers are on the way to the castle with more for ye to choose from. It cannae be any old gown, since ye’re the guest of honor tonight.”
Cecilia stared at her wide-eyed. “Tonight?”
“Aye, well, Mairie said that she had to go back to the convent soon, so we decided there wasnae a moment to waste. We’re havin’ the cèilidh tonight—did I nae mention that to ye before? Och, never mind, ye ken now. It willnae be as grand as I’ve hoped, but there’ll be enough guests to entertain ye. They should be arrivin’ soon, so I need ye out of bed,” Aileen explained in a clipped voice, coming over to throw back the coverlets.
Cecilia held them tighter to her body. Although she wore a nightdress, she worried that Aileen might be able to tell that she had experienced something… new last night.
Mairie had always said that she could spot the touch of a man on a nun from fifty paces. Of course, Cecilia had told herself that it was nonsense and had even assured Paisley of that, but now she was not so sure.
“I’m truly sorry, Aileen, but… I dinnae think I want to attend,” Cecilia confessed. “I’m nae really in a festive mood, and if this headache doesnae go away, I cannae think of anythin’ worse than music and loud chatter.”
Aileen chuckled to herself and went to fetch the basin of cold water. “Nonsense, me dear. Ye must attend. Everyone is so very excited, and if yer headache persists, all ye have to do is be there for an hour or so, then ye can retire to yer chambers. But I’ve never heard of a headache that our healer couldnae get rid of in as much time as it takes to drink the medicine she gives.”
Cecilia sensed that she would not be able to talk her way out of attending the cèilidh, and after all of the enthusiasm and effort that Aileen was putting into the occasion, she did not want to look ungrateful. Perhaps she could show her face for an hour or two and then sneak back to her rooms unnoticed.
And just because I attend, that doesnae mean I have to interact with Murdoch.
Cecilia glanced down at her arm, where he had grabbed her. There was no mark or bruise, just the memory of his words after she said she’d seek another’s help with her list.
“Never say that again.”
It made her heart and head race all over again, trying to decipher what he had meant by that. What did it matter to him? He had only touched her as a punishment for her accusation. He would not have initiated that world of pleasure if she had not sought him out first. It had all been a euphoric accident, and she did not have time to ensure that such an ‘accident’ happened again. She needed someone willing and eager .
But I dinnae want it to be anyone else…
She dropped her head in her hands before her brain exploded; she was tired of her thoughts warring with each other, tearing her in half.
“Come on,” Aileen urged as Dipper saw fit to start tugging at the coverlets, taking her side. “Out of bed with ye.”
Cecilia did just that, sighing and mumbling all the while. What choice did she have?
There was a reason why Murdoch did not like to host gatherings at Castle Moore—he could not stand them. If he wished to see people getting steadily more inebriated and bawdy, falling over themselves and wrecking rooms, he would have remained a pirate.
“Are ye nae dancin’, M’Laird?” Lennox came up behind him, grinning as usual.
Murdoch sipped his whiskey, glaring at those selfsame dancers who whirled and jigged about the dance floor. “What do ye think?”
“I think ye’re bein’ a very dull host,” Lennox replied. “What happened to leadership, eh? Ye should be settin’ an example for yer guests, nae starin’ at them like ye’re thinkin’ of ways to kill of them.”
Murdoch continued to sip his whiskey, uninterested in keeping up appearances. His people knew what kind of man he was, and the guests who were not from his castle would learn soon enough that this cèilidh had nothing to do with him. It was all his mother’s doing, and he still could not understand why she had been so insistent.
There are barely any lairds here for ye to foist Cecilia on.
Murdoch suspected that might have had something to do with the recent bad weather, but he was not sorry about it. The fewer choices Cecilia had, the fewer men she could solicit to help her with her list. And the fewer men Murdoch would have to resist punching.
“Suit yerself,” Lennox muttered, before rejoining the revelry.
A moment later, the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Aileen stepped inside. Mairie was on her arm, dressed in her usual attire, but she had a wide smile on her face that was almost giddy. Not what Murdoch would have expected from a Mother Superior. Indeed, he would not have expected such a devout woman to attend a gathering at all.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aileen began, and the musicians fell silent. “It is my pleasure to introduce ye to our guest of honor, Miss Cecilia Adair!”
The guests promptly applauded and cheered as the two older women stepped aside to let Cecilia through. The moment Murdoch saw her, his mouth went dry.
She wore a gown of ruby-red velvet, cinched at the waist with a golden belt of vine leaves. Puffed, gauzy sleeves in a lighter hue of red hinted at her slender arms, while a lowcut neckline drew his eye to her pert breasts, reminding him of the singular pleasure of drawing her nipple into his mouth. He ran his eyes up the column of her throat to her beautiful face, then over the dark hair piled high in curls, studded with golden hair slides and pins.
She looked… regal, as if an ethereal princess had just graced them with her presence.
He was not the only one staring—her appearance was causing quite a stir. Many of the invited gentlemen were staring a little too hard for his liking as they whispered to each other.
If any one of ye touches a single thread on her gown, I’ll have ye thrown out into the snow so fast ye willnae remember to shiver.
But Aileen was leading Cecilia closer to those lusty vultures, waving to someone in the crowd.
Murdoch watched, his hand gripping his whiskey glass, as his mother led Cecilia toward… Lennox. And worse, Cecilia lowered her gaze and fluttered her eyelashes, bringing a hand to her chest as she spoke with Lennox, who was grinning and chattering as usual. A flirtatious gesture that ignited Murdoch’s anger.
Ye’ll nae fulfill everythin’ on yer list with him! I forbid it!
But Murdoch could not say that out loud. He could not say anything. He had rejected her call for help, after all.
As such, he had to sit there, alone at the end of the feasting table, watching as Lennox took Cecilia’s hand in his and led her to the center of the dance floor. The other guests parted for them, and as the musicians struck up a lively tune, everyone gave the pair their full and rapt attention as they began to dance together.
Every time Lennox caught Cecilia by the waist to spin her around, every time he grabbed her hands to hop forward and back, every time he lifted her into the air and set her down again, every time he pulled her close and spun her away again, Murdoch’s anger burned fiercer and fiercer, transforming from smoldering embers of irritation to a blasting inferno of jealous rage.
Pouring more fuel on his fury were the wide grins that Lennox flashed her and the laughter that she rewarded him with in return, the two so at ease with one another that Murdoch could not bear it a moment longer.
He set his glass down on the table with such force that it shattered, shards scattering all over the wood. But the music was too loud for anyone to notice, their cheers of encouragement and delight ebbing only when he stalked down the side of the feasting table to reach the dance floor.
He cut in front of Lennox, wrapped his arm around Cecilia’s waist, and grabbed her hand, before beginning a series of dizzying circles. His limbs were scrambling to remember the dance, for he had not performed it in years.
Cecilia faltered, looking up at him in bewilderment. To balance herself, she gripped the front of his shirt, her breath catching in her throat when he pulled her closer. A few guests around the dance floor started whispering.
Murdoch gazed right back at her, spinning her around and around to the swell of the music. It would fade soon, making way for the next dance, but he would not let her continue on in this manner. Guest of honor or not, she would not dance with other men in his castle.
I wish ye had never come. I wish ye had stayed in yer convent, behind those walls. I wish… things were simpler. I wish I could kiss ye, claim ye, let nay other man lay his hungry eyes on ye.
She clung tighter to him the faster he spun her. Her curls threatened to come loose from the slides and pins, her eyes gleaming and wild. But this was not the place for him to lose control—he had already lost too much of his discipline, and the staff would be talking for days about their Laird dancing, however briefly.
Still, he could not undo that. But he could remedy what came next.
Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, “Meet me in the gardens after the song has ended.”
He did not wait for a reply, spinning her one last time before releasing her. Without another word, leaving his guests to cheer and applaud the dramatic conclusion of the dance, Murdoch left the Great Hall, certain that she would not dare to ignore him.