Page 23 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)
CHAPTER 23
“I cannae believe it,” Paisley whispered, lying in bed beside Cecilia as dawn rose behind the shuttered windows, slivers of bluish light piercing through the cracks in the wood.
Cecilia forced a smile. “Neither can I.”
“I prayed for ye to find someone who would make ye as happy as I am with Camden,” Paisley continued obliviously as she took hold of her friend’s hand and held it tight. “I prayed fervently for it. Ye never did belong in that convent. I was more likely to end up a nun than ye. See, I always kenned ye were destined for more. Cecilia Adair, Lady of Clan Moore. Och, it’s like music to me ears!”
Cecilia squeezed Paisley’s hand, wishing she could somehow draw some of her best friend’s enthusiasm into herself.
It had been a glorious surprise when Paisley had arrived the night before with her husband, and it had lifted Cecilia’s spirits somewhat. The two women had retreated to talk and gossip as they used to, but the one subject that Cecilia kept avoiding was the wedding. And Murdoch.
It would only be a disappointment to ye if I told ye the truth.
She had given what she hoped were satisfactory answers every time Paisley circled back to those topics, but she should have known that the interrogation would not stop.
“Do ye love him?” Paisley asked. “I remember ye said ye were intrigued by him at me weddin’, but I never would have thought that the two of ye would find one another. I never thought he would find anyone , though I suppose I prayed for him to be happy, too. Why, it’s like hittin’ two birds with one stone!”
Cecilia forced a chuckle. “Ye ought to be more careful where ye aim, or else ye’ll be accused of castin’ love spells.”
“Do ye think ye’ll be happy here?” Paisley continued, apparently believing that her initial question had been answered.
“I think there’ll be happiness here,” Cecilia replied, glancing at Dipper, who was fast asleep between them. “I dinnae ken if I’ll get used to the bitter winters, though. I thought the convent was bad—I didnae ken what real cold meant.”
Paisley sighed. “Well, ye’ll have to spend yer winters with us then. I’m sure Murdoch wouldnae mind sendin’ ye to me durin’ the cold months if I ask him very nicely.”
“That would be a fine thing, indeed,” Cecilia replied, meaning it. “Especially once the wee one arrives. I cannae wait to dote on the laddie or lassie.”
“Neither can I.” Paisley gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and the two of them turned to each other, smiling at last for the same reason.
I’ll have to give them the love I would’ve given to me own bairns, Cecilia realized with a heavy heart, for if she was to have a white marriage with Murdoch, then they would never have children of their own. She would never be a mother.
Uncomfortable with that thought, Cecilia carefully peeled back the coverlets and slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake Dipper.
“Where are ye goin’?” Paisley whispered.
“To stoke the fire,” Cecilia replied, the fib slipping easily past her lips. “Or else I’ll be shakin’ like a leaf by the time I have to put on me weddin’ gown, and I’ll be more inclined to go and say me vows in layers of blankets.”
She crept across the bedchamber to her writing desk first, discreetly picking up her folded list. Then, she tiptoed to the fireplace and crouched low, making sure that her back blocked any view of the paper in her hand.
After a few prods of the embers and an expert addition of kindling and smaller chunks of wood, decent flames started licking up the grate.
I’ll never be a maither. I’ll never have bairns of me own, she lamented, staring at the crackling fire. It was not something she had the opportunity to contemplate deeply, but now that she realized it could never happen, she wanted it keenly.
Of course, she was aware that someone else could father her children if Murdoch really meant what he said about never touching her again. But there was no way he would allow any child that was not his to remain in the castle. At the very least, he would likely not allow her to raise such bastards. They would probably be foisted on someone else, growing up with no knowledge of who their real parents were.
That was worse than having no children at all, to her mind.
As the flames burned hotter, she cautiously unfolded her list and read the entries, feeling foolish as she did so.
One – Kiss and be kissed by a man.
Two – Be touched by a man the way the village girls described.
Three – Be kissed… elsewhere by a man, like the village girls used to talk about.
Four – Make love to a man (whatever that means).
Five – Fall asleep in a man’s arms.
There were more, but none were as important as those five. And she was about to give up everything she had written down. The moment she was married, she could forget about ever experiencing what the village girls used to gossip about. It would remain a mystery, beyond what she had already learned.
With that disappointment in her heart, she took a breath and tossed the list into the fire, before getting up and returning to her bed. She knew she should at least try and get some sleep before her wedding, though the chances of that were very slim, indeed.
“Och, Cecilia…” Paisley gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth as her eyes filled with tears.
Feeling awkward and sweaty and about as uncomfortable as she had ever felt in her life, Cecilia forced a smile. “That bad?”
“ Bad? Are ye serious?” Paisley cleared her throat. “Cecilia, ye look… ye look?—”
“Beautiful,” Mairie interjected, her voice thick and her eyes beginning to water too. “Just… beautiful. Extraordinary, really. I dinnae think I’ve ever seen a lovelier bride.”
Cecilia smoothed her hands down the front of her wedding gown, struggling to remember to take deep breaths. It was not the wedding day she had dreamed of, though she had never really dreamed of her wedding anyway. Still, she rather envied those brides who were excited to meet their grooms at the altar.
“If yer maither could see ye…” Mairie said more quietly, her voice hitching. “And yer grandmaither. Och, they’d have fallen to pieces.”
A horrible realization struck Cecilia at that moment as she thought of the family she had lost—those who should have been there but were not.
“I… dinnae have anyone to give me away,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Me faither… I dinnae have anyone to give me away.”
That surge of panic threatened to snare her in its current again as she looked at Paisley, then Mairie, then Aileen as if they could somehow fix the impossible problem. But even the godliest woman—a Mother Superior, no less—could not bring people back from the dead.
“I’ll give ye away,” Mairie promised. “It’d be an honor.”
Cecilia took a breath, but it was not deep enough. And every breath after refused to properly fill her lungs, leaving her wheezing.
“I’m grateful to ye, Auntie,” she managed to utter, heading for the door. “If ye’ll excuse me, I just need some air.”
She scurried out, and, to her relief, no one tried to follow her.
As she wandered the upper hallways, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, her breaths began to even out again, and the swimming sensation in her head began to ease. Her legs stopped shaking, and her empty stomach ceased churning, while the fog in her mind slowly cleared.
It willnae be so bad. I wanted me freedom, did I nae? That’s what I’m gettin’, so it’s me fault for nae bein’ careful what I prayed for.
She mustered a half smile at that and paused beside a wall, leaning against it to catch her breath.
“Oh!”
The soft cry of surprise echoed down the hallway, and Cecilia raised her head… and heaved a sigh of relief.
“Dinnae mind me,” she said. “I’m just decidin’ how much rope I’d need to tie together to be able to reach the ground from that window over there.”
Tara chuckled, coming to stand beside her. “Ye must be nervous, eh?”
“Honestly, I cannae decide whether I’m nervous or hungry,” Cecilia admitted, putting on what she hoped was a show of courage. “Ye look nice.”
“As do ye,” Tara said, smiling. “Actually, ye look incredible. If Murdoch doesnae fall desperately in love when he sees ye, then I ken that countless other men will. Ye’ll be breakin’ hearts, Cecilia.”
Cecilia forced a laugh. “Then it’s a pity I’m breakin’ them on me weddin’ day. They should’ve spoken up sooner.”
Tara observed her for a short while, a look of consternation etched on her pretty face as if she was trying to decide whether she should be honest or continue the jovial conversation.
Cecilia let the silence stretch on between them, waiting patiently.
“Cecilia, can I be frank?” Tara asked, at last.
“Of course.”
“If… If ye’re also afraid of Murdoch and what he might do, then I can always create a diversion to help ye escape. I ken how terrifyin’ he can be, and if I were in yer position, I’d be inconsolable.” Tara gulped. “I ken I asked why ye werenae excited about yer weddin’ the other day, but I understood why ye werenae. I wouldnae be excited either. I’d be afra?—”
“I’m nae afraid,” Cecilia interrupted, surprised to find that she meant it. “I’m nae afraid of Murdoch at all. In fact, I’m contemplatin’ whether I should kick him in the shins or knee him where it’ll truly hurt when I meet him at the altar, since he’s the one who put us in this mess by essentially tellin’ me that we were goin’ to marry.”
Tara’s eyes widened, and, a moment later, she burst into rich, merry laughter that seemed to warm the hallways. As it did, it warmed Cecilia too, reminding her once more that things were not so bad. Rather, things could always be worse.
I likely wouldnae mind marryin’ him at all if he hadnae said it would be a white marriage.
She frowned, trying to imagine what sort of mood she would be in if he had not put that proviso into place. Would she be excited about the wedding night? Would she be eager to learn more about him? Would she be looking forward to the wedding itself, instead of feeling like she was just fulfilling an obligation?
“Actually, Cecilia,” Tara said, still chuckling, “I’m startin’ to think that maybe ye’re just the right bride for Laird Moore. Why, ye might even change him for the better. If anyone can, it is ye—I’d bet everythin’ I own on it.”
Cecilia was grateful for the compliment and offered Tara a smile, even though she knew that changing Murdoch was impossible. She did not have the patience that Lennox had told her she needed, nor did she think she had the right to try and change someone.
In truth, Mairie had set an unexpected example to Cecilia during her time at the convent, for no matter how irate she had become at her niece’s antics, Mairie had never tried to change her.
At least I’ll be allowed to wander beyond the castle walls whenever I like. That’s somethin’. At least I’ll be able to visit me friend—that’s somethin’, too. And I’ll be able to see Aunt Mairie when I please. That’s nae nothin’.
She would have to proceed with her new life step by step, but anything was better than returning to the convent. She just needed to remember that.
“I dinnae have any other option anyway but to make it work,” Cecilia said, drawing in a breath. “Come on, we should go back to me chambers before everyone thinks I have scaled the walls and made a run for it.”
Whether it was what she wanted or not, there was no getting out of it now.
Maybe I willnae be able to change him, but perhaps I’ll be able to change his mind.
She smiled at the thought, for if she could persuade a convent full of nuns to pretend that it was a different day to play a harmless, little trick on her aunt, then how hard could it be to persuade Murdoch to touch her again?