Page 26 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)
CHAPTER 26
Cecilia had not intended to eavesdrop on the council’s conversation. She had not known that the room Murdoch entered was the council chamber until she heard masculine voices and her name being mentioned. She was fully aware that she should have left, rather than invade anyone’s privacy, but her curiosity had always been her downfall.
Everyone kens… Oh goodness, everyone kens that me husband doesnae want me.
It was the first time in a very long while that she had felt her cheeks burn with the sting of embarrassment. In truth, she could not remember any time where she had been so thoroughly mortified.
She darted to the side, hiding herself in a corner as she heard Murdoch’s familiar, thudding footsteps approach the council chamber door. The last thing she needed was for him to see her embarrassment when he was the one causing it.
The whole castle must be talkin’ about me. Pityin’ me. Either that or they’re wonderin’ what’s wrong with me.
Cecilia was beginning to wonder that, too. Murdoch had no qualms about touching her before they got married, so what had changed? Why did vows change anything?
Murdoch strode out of the council chamber and headed in the opposite direction. Nevertheless, Cecilia remained in the shadows long after she had heard his footsteps fade into silence, needing that time to gather herself and cool her cheeks.
Once she felt calm enough, she emerged from the darkness and began to walk away, unsure where to go without having to endure the servants’ whispers.
“M’Lady?” A kindly voice stopped her in her tracks. She had been too slow in making her escape.
She turned around hesitantly. “Mr. MacGill. What good fortune this is—I was just about to go and find yer daughter to see if she wants to go for a walk.”
George smiled, a knowing look in his eyes, as if he did not believe a word but was too polite to say it. “Me daughter has grown very fond of ye. I’m certain she’d be happy to go for a walk with ye, but she’s nae in the castle at present. She went to the village this mornin’ and willnae be back for several hours.”
“Oh…” Cecilia did her best to keep her chin up. “Nay matter. I’ll see her when she comes back.”
“Ye could wait with me if ye like?” George gestured up the hallway. “I’ve been meanin’ to speak with ye, actually.”
Cecilia balked, her eyes wide.
“Nothin’ serious,” George assured her, as if reading her mind. “As the head of the council, it’s me duty to see to the welfare of me Laird and Lady. I cannae imagine it has been easy to marry into this clan, goin’ from a novitiate to a noblewoman. I suppose I just wanted to see how ye were farin’, especially as ye’re so dear to me daughter. We could have some tea if ye’d like?”
Cecilia relaxed a little, though she was furious that her cheeks flushed again. She was tempted to take George up on his offer. There was nothing like a calming cup of tea to assuage most worries, and she would certainly feel better if she was away from the main body of the castle, where people could see her and gawk at her.
But what if he wants to discuss heirs, like the other councilmen?
She doubted she would survive the humiliation, particularly in closer quarters.
“That’s very kind, Mr. MacGill, but nay, thank ye. I have somethin’ else to attend to,” she replied. “Another time, perhaps.”
George bowed his head. “Of course, M’Lady.” He hesitated. “And if I may be so bold, I hope that things improve between ye and the Laird. It isnae right, in me opinion, for him to let the rest of the castle whisper about ye. He should be doin’ everythin’ within his power to quell the gossip and be a good husband to ye. It’s the least he can do.”
The moment he said that, something ignited within Cecilia, burning far hotter than her humiliation. It was pure, simmering anger. Anger that her husband had abandoned her after the wedding; anger that he had shown her things that she could not forget and then taken them away; anger that he had not at least agreed to share a bedchamber with her for the sake of appearances; anger that her position as Lady Moore might be threatened if she did not bear him children, through no fault of her own.
I willnae let any harm come to meself just because he has made decisions without consultin’ me first.
After all, she knew what the councilmen had meant by “considerations.” They would get rid of her if they had to.
“Thank ye, Mr. MacGill,” she said firmly. “And please, tell Tara that I was lookin’ for her when she returns.”
She hurried away, knowing precisely where she needed to go if she was ever going to get the castle to stop gossiping about her, and to prevent that sting of embarrassment from ever catching her unawares again.
These stairs will be the death of me long before those two councilmen can do anythin’ to get rid of me.
Cecilia panted her way up the tower staircase, halting on the landing to catch her breath. She was not completely certain she would find Murdoch there, but it seemed the likeliest location.
Once her thighs had ceased burning and her lungs were drawing in enough air again, she steeled herself and marched straight through the door, making its rusty hinges groan.
Her husband was sitting on his work stool, though he was not chipping away at a statue. Instead, he seemed to be shaping something out of clay.
“How many times do I have to tell ye that ye cannae be in here?” he growled, not bothering to turn around.
“Ye shouldnae have made me yer wife if ye didnae want me to share yer life,” she snapped back, striding over to where he was working and putting herself in front of the small, circular work table. “I’m Lady Moore. This is Castle Moore. I can go where I please. Och, ye said so yerself.”
He raised his stony gaze to hers. “Nae this room.”
“What a surprise—another rule to torment me with.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Aye, go on, ban me from this tower. That way, ye can spend even more time avoidin’ me than ye’re already doin’. Why, ye might as well move yer bed up here and stay here permanently.”
“I’m nae avoidin’ ye,” he replied gruffly, returning to what he was doing.
The clay had the figure of a woman, with faint details showing the beginning of a dress, but her face was an eerie blank. Was he sculpting that woman he had spoken to at their wedding? She was very pretty and seemed to know him well, her gesticulations revealing a certain familiarity.
Cecilia had considered confronting him about her, but it would not have helped her plan to get him to change his mind. Now, however, she saw no reason to hold back.
“Aye, ye are, and I wouldnae mind if ye werenae the Laird of this castle,” she replied coldly. “But everyone is watchin’ ye, and everyone is observin’ what ye do, and all they’re seein’ is a husband who cannae stand his wife. They’re all talkin’ about it, and ye’re up here, feedin’ into it.”
“Ignore it,” he muttered.
“Ignore it?” she shouted, enraged. “I cannae ignore it, Murdoch. I’m humiliated . Ye have humiliated me, makin’ sure everyone kens that ye dinnae want yer wife. But ye had nay trouble speakin’ with that lass at our weddin’, did ye? Och, nay, ye couldnae have been more comfortable.”
His eyes snapped up to hers. “Dinnae start accusin’ me of things again, Cecilia. Fiona is nothin’ to me.”
“And neither am I!” Cecilia roared back. “Ye’ve made that blatantly clear. Ye dinnae want me, nor will ye let anyone else have me. Ye’ve trapped me in a passionless marriage, and I cannae bear the thought of endurin’ this embarrassment for the rest of me life, hearin’ the servants whisper about what failings drove me husband away.”
He rose to his feet, wiping his hands on a wet cloth. “Ye think I dinnae want ye?”
“Of course ye dinnae!”
He dipped his clay-covered hands in a nearby bowl, washing off the evidence of his work. “Ye think I was content to see ye in naught but yer stays and nae bend ye over the bed?”
She blinked.
“Ye think I was pleased to undress ye and nae run me tongue between yer thighs?” he continued, drying off his hands, his eyes blazing with ravenous desire.
Cecilia swallowed thickly, a little nervous about what she had unleashed.
“Ye think I havenae wanted to grab ye and pin ye to the wall, sinkin’ deep inside ye every time ye’ve squeezed by me on the stairs?” He moved closer to her. “Ye think I havenae wanted to break down yer bedchamber door to have ye every night since our weddin’?”
She dared to shake her head, her body tingling with the thought of everything he had just said. She had a better idea now of what such things entailed. After all, he had almost shown her in the gardens. Almost.
“Then ye’re a fool,” he growled, scooping her up into his arms.