Page 20 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)

CHAPTER 20

“Ye cannae help yerself, can ye?” Cecilia called, hiking up her skirts as she ran to catch up to Murdoch.

He was already a good way ahead of her, and his strides were far longer than hers, but she would not be deterred. They were far enough from the Great Hall, and that was all that mattered.

And I was havin’ such a nice time, too.

There was nothing Cecilia loved more than gatherings, though she had not had much opportunity to enjoy them over the past eleven years. Still, she remembered them fondly from her childhood, and Paisley’s wedding had been one of the greatest nights of her life—a moment of true freedom that she had been chasing ever since.

“I’m talkin’ to ye!” she shouted, but Murdoch ignored her, marching down the labyrinth of hallways until a doorway spat him out into the gardens.

Even then, he did not slow down until he was out of sight of the castle windows, concealed by a row of thickly fronded fir trees.

“Ye cannae tell me to meet ye and then ignore me, Murdoch!” she fumed, hurrying across the last stretch to where he stood now, bathed in moonlight.

She did not consider it wise to meet with a man outside, alone, at night. Especially not one who had awakened things in her last night. But she was too overwrought to care about her safety. Besides, Murdoch would never harm her. She was certain of that if nothing else.

He did not turn around, his broad back facing her. And if she had not needed her shoes to protect her feet from the cold, wet grass, she would have hurled one at that expansive target.

“Am I nae allowed to have fun, is that it?” she accused.

“Ye were makin’ a show of yerself,” he replied evenly.

“How?” she sputtered, incredulous. “I was dancin’ at a cèilidh. That’s what ye’re supposed to do at cèilidhs, ye… ye oaf!”

His shoulders tensed. “Watch yer words, Cecilia.”

“I would, but I’m tired of doin’ so.” She puffed out a breath, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. “Do ye think I get chances like this often? Do ye think I get to wear beautiful gowns and dance and laugh and celebrate every day? I wasnae drunk, I wasnae bein’ bawdy, I wasnae doin’ anythin’ wrong—but then ye came along and ruined it.”

He sniffed. “So, that little act wasnae to get me man-at-arms to help ye with yer list?”

“What?” She rolled her eyes, incensed and confused in equal measure. “Well, actually, dancin’ was on me list, so I suppose yer man-at-arms did help cross it off.”

Murdoch bristled, and when he turned to look at her, there was fire in his eyes. “Ye’ve chosen nae to heed what I said in me tower?”

“Ye told me to do as I please. I am heedin’ it,” she retorted stubbornly, meeting his gaze.

His lips flattened, a frown creasing his brow. “I did say that…”

Clearly, he had forgotten that part.

“Murdoch, I dinnae ken what this is all about,” she continued, “but ye cannae just ignore me one night, then act like a jealous lover the next. If ye dinnae want me to dance with other men, then ask me to dance. If ye dinnae want me… to fulfill the rest of me list with someone else, then help me. But dinnae tell me I cannae do what I want with the time I have left before I lose me freedom. Ye might be the Laird of Clan Moore, but ye’re nae me Laird.”

Murdoch took a step toward her, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “That’s where ye’re wrong, lass. As long as ye’re here, I am yer Laird. As long as ye’re here, ye’re mine.” He cupped her face in his hand, surprisingly gentle as he brushed his thumb across the apple of her cheek. “And aye, ye can dance with whomever ye please, as long as ye dinnae mind havin’ their blood on yer hands.”

“Ye… ye cannae say things like that!” she gasped.

She opened her mouth to protest again, but his lips stopped her—a fierce kiss that silenced her and claimed her, that reminded her of exactly why she was having trouble imagining anyone else helping her with her list. His other hand cradled her throat, his thumb still stroking the apple of her cheek as he pressed his lips to hers more insistently, demanding that she kissed him back.

She was helpless to refuse, melting into him, kissing him back with equal fervor. She grabbed his shirt as he had grabbed her on the dance floor, her kisses so fierce they were almost angry—furious that he could not make up his mind whether he wished to pull her close or shove her away. And furious with herself for finding a thrill in that unknown, never certain which version she would encounter.

As suddenly as he had kissed her, he broke away, breathing hard in the cold night air. His eyes gleamed with desire, but that was no guarantee that he would not send her back inside.

“I can say things like that,” he growled. “It’s the truth, after all.”

He took her by the hand and led her deeper into the shadowed gardens, carefully guiding her as they came to a set of stone steps that shimmered with ice. The steps led down to another terrace in the gardens and another beyond that, which was barely more than a crescent of grass dug deep into the earth. In the center of that strange well stood a useless sundial.

A high wall hid what lay ahead, while another wall hid the gardens above and the castle above that. It was a peculiar, semi-circular pit that must have once served a different purpose. It could not have always been ornamental.

Murdoch stopped and brought his hands to Cecilia’s face, bending his head but not kissing her. He stepped forward, urging her to back up until her shoulders bumped against the nearest wall—the one with the next terrace above it.

Cecilia peered up at him, willing him to kiss her again. But this was all part of it—the anticipation.

He brushed his lips against hers in a slow, searing press that sent a delicious shiver to her core. She kissed him back in kind, eager for more, when he stopped again.

His hands settled on her waist, and in a movement as dizzying as their brief reel earlier, he spun her around. She gasped as his fingertips traced her curves, leaving tingling trails up the dip of her waist, before sliding toward the arch of her spine. She shivered as he trailed his fingers up to the nape of her neck, over her shoulders, and down her arms.

He was rougher as he grabbed her wrists and lifted her arms above her head, pressing her hands against the stone wall while he ground himself against her. He did not need to say a word; she understood his command perfectly—she was not to move her hands from where they were, she was not to touch him as she had done before.

“I wonder what forces ye actually worship in that convent of yers,” he purred, his lips finding the curve of her neck. “If I didnae ken any better, I’d say ye were a novice sorceress.”

“That’s heresy, M’Laird,” she breathed, secretly delighted.

“Aye, but what am I goin’ to do with ye?”

“Are ye sayin’ that I’ve bewitched ye, M’Laird?”

His hand slid down her arm and covered her mouth. “Careful with yer words, lass.” He paused. “Dinnae speak again unless ye cannae help it.”

He removed his hand from her mouth, one arm encircling her waist and pulling her harder against his chest. Meanwhile, his free hand closed gently around her throat. He halted there for a moment before his fingertips began to glide downward, skimming over her breasts and the slight swell of her stomach.

Still holding her close, he gathered up her skirts and pinned the fabric between their bodies.

Cecilia could barely breathe, certain of what was about to happen—a welcome repetition of what had happened in the tower. The only disappointment was that there would be nothing new for her to cross off her list.

Experiencing pleasure out in the open…

That would certainly be something new, whether it was on her list or not. Indeed, perhaps a few things needed to be added to her list.

He teased her with his fingertips, caressing the inside of her thighs and toying with the fastenings of her drawers. As he did, she felt his hardness press against her buttocks, the hard flesh straining for her, needing her, yearning for her, with just his kilt and the thin fabric of her undergarments between them.

Loosening the ribbons, he eased his hand inside her drawers… and touched that bundle of nerves that was aching for his touch.

“Would ye have let me man-at-arms do this to ye?” Murdoch whispered as his fingers expertly began to circle that swollen bud, knowing what would delay her release.

She expelled a shaky breath, her skin ablaze with the heat of her desire.

“Answer me,” he growled.

She shook her head, murmuring a soft, “Nay.”

His fingertips moved lower, closer to her entrance, giving her what she wanted. She had answered correctly, and this was her reward.

She pressed her palms harder against the wall for balance, though his arm around her waist made sure that she would not collapse if her knees buckled.

He stroked and strummed and circled, building up her pleasure. She gasped and whimpered and moaned in delight, closing her eyes and letting her other senses take over. And he seemed to be listening intently, noting what made her cry out in a certain way and repeating that motion more frequently.

A moment later, he eased her drawers over her hips, letting them fall to her midthighs.

Her eyes went wide, and she wondered if he had decided to cross something else off her list after all. Although this was not how she had imagined it, outside in the cold, unable to look into his eyes as he took her virtue.

“I wouldnae touch yer purity,” he said in a low, rumbling voice as if he had read her mind.

Still, her breath caught in her throat as she felt his solid, hot length gliding between her thighs. She braced herself against the wall, overcome with a need, a hunger, an all-consuming desire to feel him that nothing else would satisfy.

He dipped his head and sank his teeth into her shoulder as his manhood glided back and forth between her warm, slick folds, teasing her in a way she could never have imagined. Tormenting her in the most delicious, delirious fashion, as if he was deliberately pushing her to the point of maddening desire so that she would beg him to take her.

“Oh… Oh God… Oh…” she gasped as he paused his circling for a moment and pushed forward, his hot length brushing against her swollen bud and sending white-hot sparks through her.

He thrust again and again, slow and measured, until she could no longer bear the torture of it. It was as if her body knew what he should have been doing, that she should have been feeling his length stroking her walls instead, and was increasingly desperate to have that fulfilled.

He bit her shoulder harder and pulled back, withdrawing himself from between her thighs. But before she could even miss that sensation, his fingers were on her once more, easing through her slick folds. He slid his fingers into her silken cavern, pumping them slowly, while his thumb continued to strum her swollen bud the way she liked, pushing her toward her release bit by delicious bit.

Soon enough, that glorious wave struck her.

Her fingernails clawed at the wall, her neck arching back, every muscle seizing within her. That wave of euphoria shot through her veins, even more intense than before, and if it had not been for Murdoch’s arm around her, she did not doubt that she would have lost her balance entirely.

“Och, Murdoch… Aye, Murdoch… God… Murdoch!” she cried out, forgetting that they were outside, forgetting everything but her ecstasy.

He did not cease his strumming and pumping until her cries faded into ragged breaths, and she dropped her hands from the wall, sagging against him. He kissed her neck and held her for a moment, before turning her around in a dizzying spin once again and pressing her against the wall.

He kissed her harder while his hands sought the waistband of her drawers and pulled them back up. His deft fingers quickly fastened the ribbons while his lips never once broke the kiss.

With that done, he let her skirts fall back to the ground as if nothing had happened.

Cecilia kissed him in return, slower and more dazed than earlier, her hands smoothing over the hard muscles of his chest, relishing the opportunity to be able to touch him again.

He pulled back for a moment, his gray eyes shining. “When we go back inside, ye’ll remember whose name ye moaned just now.”

He kissed her again, and she could not help but smile against his mouth, eager to cling to this version of him for as long as she could before he inevitably sent her away.

Indeed, she might have held on and kissed him all night had it not been for the collective gasp that suddenly rippled through the air.