Page 22 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)

CHAPTER 22

“Are ye nae excited?” Tara asked as she dragged a frayed rope back and forth across the floor of the gallery for Dipper to chase. “Anyone would think ye were choosin’ a gown for someone’s funeral, nae a weddin’.”

Cecilia lay back on the cold floor and stared up at the rafters, folding her hands over her stomach. She was half-tempted to nap, considering she had not slept much over the past few days. Her mind was at war with itself again, dredging up vivid memories of the gardens one moment before assaulting her with whispered, “ A kiss is nothin’. It doesnae mean anythin’.” Murdoch had not sent her away that night, but he had still managed to reject her.

“I have nay reason to be excited. It’s nothin’ to do with me,” she replied at last, waving a hand toward the far end of the gallery, where Aileen and Mairie were clucking about like mother hens, making arrangements.

Tara quirked an eyebrow. “But it’s… yer weddin’, Cecilia. It’s yer weddin’, and it’s takin’ place tomorrow! Should ye nae be a little bit giddy?”

“Probably, but, to me, it’s just takin’ vows in a different form,” Cecilia sighed.

And this castle is just me new convent. I’m stuck again. Trapped somewhere I didnae ask to be.

A shudder of unease ran through her, reminding her of the fear she had felt eleven years ago when Mairie had ushered her through the doors of the convent and closed them behind her. That feeling of being locked in forever. Back then, she at least had a hope of getting out again, which had not been dashed until several years later.

But there was no such hope here.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, getting up in a hurry. “I need some fresh air.”

Tara furrowed her brow. “Do ye want me to join ye?”

“Nay, thank ye.” Cecilia struggled to swallow her rising panic. “Can ye watch Dipper until I return? And if the hens down there ask for my preferences, tell them that I trust their choices.”

She hurried away without another word, her stomach churning, her breaths coming in shallow pants, her temples throbbing as she raced toward the outside world. She only prayed it would be enough to quell the ocean of fear that crashed and roiled inside her, or at least be enough to make the maelstrom subside.

I should find Murdoch. I should tell him this is a mistake. I should tell him that I would rather find me own way in the world.

But she did not know where Murdoch was. For the past three days, since the night that had changed everything, she had not seen hide nor hair of him. She might have assumed he was sequestered in his tower, but she had not heard any of those telltale noises again. For all she knew, he had ridden off and had no intention of returning.

She burst out through the nearest door and stood gasping in the icy air, sucking in breath after desperate breath until her lungs felt like they were filled with frost. Her vision was blurry, and her heart thundered as if it wanted to escape her chest, but she managed to put one foot in front of the other, stepping further into the gardens.

“Are ye well?” a deep voice asked from behind her, making her heart leap into her throat.

“Quite well, thank ye,” she rasped.

A hand closed gently around her upper arm. “With respect, Miss Cecilia, I dinnae think ye are. Ye look pale. Here, let me help ye sit down before ye keel over.”

She did not resist as Lennox led her to the same low wall where she and Tara had watched Dipper play, and helped her sit down. Then, he crouched in front of her, searching her face with concerned eyes.

“Can I fetch ye anythin’? Somethin’ to drink? A restorative tonic from the healer?” he asked. “Och, there’s nae a drop of color left in ye. Me ma would say yer roses have withered in yer cheeks.”

Cecilia coughed out a laugh. “She wouldnae be wrong. I feel somewhat… withered. But nay, I dinnae need anythin’. If I just sit for a moment, I’ll be fine.”

“If ye’re sure.” He rose and sat beside her. “Is it the weddin’ preparations botherin’ ye?”

She shrugged. “In part.”

“Nae so much the blushin’ bride, then.” He smiled affably, his eyes still filled with concern.

“Apparently nae.”

They were silent for a while, both looking out at the tiered gardens and the vast expanse of moorland beyond the castle, stretching all the way to the gray horizon. Another snowstorm was coming, though Cecilia doubted it would make a difference. Whether there were guests or not, she would get married to Murdoch.

“I was surprised to hear that M’Laird proposed marriage,” Lennox admitted. “Ye must mean somethin’ to him if he did that.”

“I mean nothin’ to him,” Cecilia retorted, a tad harsher than she had intended. “He’s doin’ his duty, nothin’ more.”

Lennox nodded slowly. “So, it’s the groom ye’re nae keen on?”

“I’m nae keen on any of it,” Cecilia sighed, staring down at her lap. “I doubt there’s any lass in this world who’d want to be married to such a mercurial man. And nay lass wants to be told she’s an obligation.”

Lennox expelled a sigh that plumed in the wintry air. “I’ve kenned him for a long, long time.” He paused. “He’s nae the friendliest of men, I’ll grant ye that, but he’s nae like that without good reason. Ye might nae believe me, but he’s a good man. A very good man. He’s just endured a lot, that’s all.”

“Ye think he’s the only one?” Cecilia huffed, frowning at him, wondering if he would answer some of her questions if she were to ask. Or whether his loyalty to his Laird would forbid him from being too honest.

Lennox laughed softly. “Ye have a point there, but what I’m trying to say—badly, I’ll admit—is that ye should be patient with him. Think of it like… he’s wearin’ armor all the time. There’s more to him beneath that armor if ye have the patience to wait until he removes it.”

“Or a mask…” She gave him a pointed look, and his eyebrows knitted together as if he was trying to decide whether he had said too much.

He shrugged. “A mask, armor, a shell—ye understand what I’m tryin’ to say. He’ll be good to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Ye dinnae need to defend him, Lennox,” Cecilia said quietly. “He has made his intentions very clear. I dinnae think he means to have anythin’ to do with me once we’re wed. So, perhaps there is a different man under that mask, that armor, that shell, but I’ll never get to see it. I’m just a duty to get out of the way.”

She had thought perhaps there was a softer version of Murdoch. In truth, she was certain she had seen a glimpse of it on the night he “proposed” while holding Dipper in his arms. The puppy had been so calm and content with him, as if sensing that he was a good person, but she could not afford to fool herself into thinking that her future husband would change overnight.

He’s more likely to end up resentin’ me for trappin’ him in a marriage that he didnae want either.

He had shown no signs of that, actually. But then again, she had not seen him for days, so she couldn’t gauge his mood.

“Cecilia,” Lennox began gently. “I?—”

An eager mass of white fur interrupted him.

Dipper tried to jump and claw his way up into Cecilia’s lap. The puppy’s arrival surprised her, and as she scooped him up into her arms and turned around, she smiled at the sight of a harried Tara.

“I’m so sorry, Cecilia,” Tara wheezed, halting when she spotted Lennox. “I… um… I was… Nay, sorry, what was I sayin’? Aye, that’s right—a servant was comin’ into the gallery, and I took me eyes off the wee menace for a second. He shot out as if he’d been waitin’ for the chance. Must’ve scented ye out and wanted to join ye.”

Cecilia held the puppy close, smothering him in kisses. “Ye’re goin’ to be naught but trouble, and I wouldnae be without ye.” She smiled and leaned back when Dipper started licking her face far too enthusiastically. “Is that true, eh? Were ye tryin’ to find me? Were ye jealous of me bein’ outside without ye? Well, go on then.”

She set the dog back down on the grass and off he went, shooting across the gardens and stopping every so often to look back as if to say, What are ye waitin’ for? Chase me!

Laughing for the first time in a while, Cecilia got up and did just that. “If it’s chasin’ ye want, then it’s chasin’ ye’ll get!”

Hiking up her skirts, she ran after the puppy, darting this way and that, making him chase her in return until her lungs were on fire and her entire body was warm with the exertion.

She looked back at Tara and Lennox at the same time as Dipper, and though the pair were not sitting close to one another—indeed, both were standing a fair distance apart—she could not help but notice them stealing glances at each other.

Is that the secret keeper of her heart?

Cecilia had been too wrapped up in her troubles to remember the accusation that had driven her to the tower all those days ago. The accusation that Tara and Murdoch were betrothed already. She had not stopped to consider who was the actual betrothed if it was not Murdoch.

Smiling at the adorable awkwardness, hoping she was right, she made a mental note to ask Tara another time, when the man in question was not nearby.

“What do ye think, Dipper?” Cecilia whispered. “Do ye think they’re in love?”

Misunderstanding, or perhaps understanding perfectly well, the puppy took off toward the pair and began tugging on Lennox’s bootlaces, eagerly trying to pull him into the game.

They’re like bairns, runnin’ around like that.

Murdoch watched the scene in the gardens from the cross-hatched window of his bedchamber. The trio and the dog were quite a way down, but their laughter and giddiness carried on the wind, drifting through the glass to his ears.

But that was not everything he had seen.

He had observed Cecilia and Lennox before they were interrupted by Tara. He had noticed their closeness, how she had smiled and chuckled in his man-at-arms’ presence, how he had confidently taken hold of her arm and crouched in front of her as if they were familiar with one another.

And now, she was looking at him as they chased the dog around the gardens. Her eyes were soft, and she was smiling, her cheeks pink from the cold and the exertion and, no doubt, staring at the man she wanted to explore her list with.

I wasnae wrong. I kenned there was somethin’ between ye when I saw ye dance at the cèilidh.

Anger boiled up inside him as he continued to watch them from the window, unable to tear his gaze away. While he was up there, contemplating his impending nuptials and his duties, they were all down there having fun, growing closer than he would have liked.

Jealousy was an entirely new sensation to Murdoch, and he hated it with a burning passion. It made him feel out of control. It made him feel like he had no grip on his discipline. And, worse, it made him feel like the foundations of who he was had been weakened.

It’s beneath ye to feel jealous, he told himself sternly, twice as furious that his mind had permitted him to feel such a useless emotion in the first place.

The greatest frustration, however, was that despite what he had promised to Cecilia, Lennox was likely the only man in Scotland who was immune from his threat. If Cecilia chose him, if she asked him to fulfill her desires, Murdoch would have no choice but to stand back and let it happen.

“Curse ye both,” he muttered as he continued to stand there, watching his bride and his only real friend gaze and smile at one another.

If looks could kill, Lennox would have been dead already.

However, at that moment, a second wave of annoyance prickled up Murdoch’s back as an all too familiar voice cried out from behind him, “Well, well, well, the grumpiest malcontent in all of Scotland is gettin’ married at last! I said to Paisley, just before yer invitation arrived, that it was cold enough to be snowin’ in Hell.”

Murdoch unleashed a mighty groan, not needing to turn around. “Yer wife was invited, nae ye.”

“Och, is that any way to speak to a good friend who has come all this way to celebrate yer happy day?” Camden replied, laughter in his voice.

Murdoch turned to look at his fellow laird. “Gloat, more like.”

“Why would I gloat?” Camden put on an expression of innocence, his hand clasped to his chest. “I couldnae be gladder. It’s about time, if ye ask me, and since Paisley and Cecilia are like sisters, I suppose that means that we ought to be like braithers.”

Murdoch was in no mood for Camden’s relentless sense of humor, not when he feared that his bride might soon be wooed into the arms of Lennox, if she had not been already.

He gathered himself, narrowing his eyes at Camden. “It’s interestin’ to me that ye can come to Castle Moore at a moment’s notice when it’s somethin’ as trivial as a weddin’, but when I ask ye to attend to discuss MacDunn, it’s suddenly too far away.”

“Trivial?” Camden clicked his tongue. “Nay, nay, nay, Murdoch, there’s nothin’ trivial about a weddin’. And from what Paisley has told me, ye’re about to be a fortunate man indeed, marryin’ Cecilia.”

Murdoch stiffened. “Where is yer wife?”

“I expect she’s hunted her dearest friend down by now,” Camden replied, grinning. “Aye, there she is!”

Murdoch followed Camden’s line of sight to the window, a funny feeling prickling in Murdoch’s chest as he observed the scene. Paisley had just burst out into the gardens, and Cecilia had just seen her—her face a picture of shock that quickly transformed into momentous joy. A second later, the two women were running toward one another like long-lost sisters who had not seen one another in years.

Would Cecilia ever be so happy to see me again, if I had to leave for a while?

Murdoch shook away the thought, though his eyes remained on the two women as they met in an almost violent embrace, hugging one another and jumping up and down with excitement. They pulled back and their mouths started moving quickly, but he could not hear a word, nor could he hope to read their lips.

What are they saying? He imagined Cecilia telling Paisley how awful it was that she was being forced into a marriage, but then again, Cecilia’s expression did not seem so dismayed. She was smiling and laughing, offering everyone her easy joy except him.

“Och, I ken that look,” Camden said, elbowing Murdoch in the side. “Ye daenae think this marriage is trivial at all, do ye? Ye just cannae admit it.”

Murdoch flashed a scowl at Camden. “Mind yer tongue.”

“Because it speaks too truthfully? As ye prefer.” Camden smirked. “If ye want me to be quiet on the matter, ye’d best shut me up with some of yer finest liquor to begin the festivities early. This is a moment for the archives, Murdoch! The perpetual bachelor, the Beast of the Highlands, has finally found himself a lass to stroke his fur and smack his nose when he’s been naughty. I wouldnae have missed it for the world.”

Camden grabbed Murdoch by the arm, pulling him out of his bedchamber, and though Murdoch did not resist in order to abide by guest rites, he could tell that the time between now and the wedding was going to be the most unbearable of his life.