Page 28 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)

CHAPTER 28

“He isnae here? Ye’re certain?” Cecilia asked Lennox, struggling to keep the dismay out of her voice.

The man-at-arms smiled apologetically and shook his head. “He left before dawn. Didnae say when he’d be back.”

“I see…” Cecilia forced a smile. “Well, nay matter. I have things to attend to anyway.”

Lennox tilted his head. “Such as?”

“I thought I might venture into the nearest village and use the opportunity to meet the clansfolk,” she replied, the idea coming to her as she spoke. “It doesnae seem right for Lady Moore to remain behind the castle walls.”

Lennox seemed pleased by her response. “I think the villagers would like that.” He paused. “Of course, ye cannae go alone. I could escort ye if ye can wait for an hour or two?”

“An hour or two?” Cecilia deflated, certain that if she had time to dwell on her husband’s sudden absence, she would lose all desire to go anywhere. “Nay, I dinnae think so. Ye could… meet me there instead, perhaps? I ken the way. In truth, I think the convent donkeys are still waitin’ for us at the inn. What if ye meet me at the inn at, say, midday?”

Lennox furrowed his brow in consternation, so expressive that Cecilia could practically hear the cogs turning in his mind. No doubt he would be in trouble with Murdoch if he let the new Lady Moore wander off by herself. But Murdoch was not there and was not likely to return before midday.

“I am nae some nobleman’s daughter, Lennox,” she said firmly. “I’m nae a wiltin’ flower that cannae do things on her own. And if ye really must insist on me takin’ someone with me, I’ll ask me aunt or Tara. Aileen, even.”

That seemed to placate Lennox, for his expression softened. “Very well, but see to it that ye do have someone with ye.”

“Of course,” she assured him, before heading off in search of a companion for her journey to the village.

However, it seemed that her streak of bad luck was not over. She searched the castle from top to bottom and found no sign of Mairie or Aileen anywhere. None of the servants could tell her where the older women had gone, and no one had seen Tara either.

Apparently, the castle had emptied of everyone Cecilia cared about, but no absence stung quite as much as Murdoch’s.

Ye’re the idiot who thought he might change.

She should have expected him to withdraw and avoid her again. A pattern of behavior did not stop merely because she wished it to, and just because he had taken her virginity did not mean that he was suddenly going to be an affectionate, attached, attentive husband.

She understood now that she was the architect of her own disappointment. Still, she hated that such a wondrous, life-altering experience felt somewhat dimmed and diminished by his abrupt absence.

He carried me to me chambers. He tucked the coverlets around me. He was so… gentle, and I cannae understand why he cannae always be that way.

She cursed under her breath, wondering what on earth she was supposed to do with herself now that everyone had seen fit to abandon her.

“It’s me fault,” she muttered.

She had awoken at sunset, feeling like she had slept for days, and she should have gone to find him then, to discuss the meaning of what had happened. Instead, she had stayed in her chambers, luxuriating in a bath, some dinner, and the memories of what had occurred in his tower. Then, she had played with the puppy and enjoyed some wine with Tara, convinced that everything had changed, before going back to sleep.

That foolish confidence was now coming back to bite her in the arse.

Well, I’m nae stayin’ here until the servants take pity on me.

She could already picture them gossiping, no longer whispering about the fact that the Laird did not want her but that he had her and decided that once was enough. A duty fulfilled at the behest of a worried council, nothing more.

Retrieving her warmest cloak, warmed already by the fire of her disappointment, she headed out of the castle through the servants’ gate—an entrance that Tara had told her about, where no guards would question what she was doing or where she was going by herself.

I willnae be a wife who waits.

The walk to the nearest village was remarkably pleasant, blowing away the cobwebs of Cecilia’s annoyance. The sun was a hazy orb in a clear blue sky, the air crisp and refreshing, while old snow crunched pleasantly underfoot, still glittering all the way to the horizon.

Robins and blackbirds accompanied her, trilling their merry song as they hunted for a late breakfast. Rabbits darted across the snow, pausing every now and then to listen for danger, their ears twitching back and forth, while brightly colored pheasants streaked through the woodland and speckled grouse with red eyes warbled cheerily as they pecked through the undergrowth.

By the time Cecilia approached the outskirts of the nearest village, she was smiling and humming a tune to herself, feeling wholly unburdened.

“Good day to ye, Miss,” a young man called.

She smiled. “Good day to ye.”

Many more of the villagers welcomed her in the same fashion, offering nods and greetings and smiles, though none of them referred to her as “M’Lady.” Nor did she want them to. If they did not know who she was, then that suited her perfectly. Indeed, she was quite looking forward to just being “Cecilia” for a few hours, able to walk and browse and engage with the clansfolk without the pageantry of hierarchy.

Eventually, she found herself in the middle of a lively market, with stalls selling everything a person could possibly want—sweet treats, fresh fruit, roast meats, delicious cheeses, freshly baked bread, and countless trinkets and carvings and clothing to feast her eyes on once she had sated her hunger.

“Is that a donkey?” she asked a wood-carver, pointing to a hilariously monstrous figure that had been whittled from a pine tree and badly painted.

The carver shrugged. “Aye, somethin’ like that.”

“I’ll take it.”

Cecilia chuckled to herself; it was the perfect present to give to Mairie before she departed for the convent in a couple of days. Something fantastically awful to remember her niece by.

She handed the carver a coin, and he wrapped the glorious, hideous object in a square of burlap, cut straight from a sack. He passed it to her, and as she walked away with her precious gains, she felt yet more weight lift from her shoulders.

I dinnae have to rely on others for happiness . I can create it meself. I can find it meself, all around.

A thought occurred to her, prompting her to wander back to the wood carver. There was a very ugly carving of a toad sitting at the front of the stall, with a face so wonderfully grumpy that she could not resist it. Perhaps Murdoch needed a reminder too—an object he could carry with him and look at whenever he forgot that he was a husband now, in a marriage that could no longer be considered “white”.

“This one, please,” she said, handing over another coin.

The carver seemed delighted, mustering a smile as he took the coin and wrapped the toad in another square of burlap.

She held her presents in the crook of her arm as she wandered through the rest of the market, wishing she had brought a basket with her. There were so many things she wanted to buy, but unless she risked dropping half of her haul on the walk back to the castle, it would have to wait until her next visit.

“Och, that is delicious!” she cried, having paused at a stall selling baked goods. She had chosen a raspberry tart, the filling so sweet and sour that it made her mouth water in delight.

The baker blushed. “Ye must tell all yer friends and family, Miss. I make ‘em every week.”

“I certainly will!” Cecilia promised, pleased that she had decided to venture to the village alone. She doubted she would have had the same experience with an escort around her.

“Here, try the blackberry tart too,” the baker urged.

Cecilia hesitated. “I dinnae have enough coin for another.”

“Ye can have it for free, so long as ye come back and buy more the next time ye’re here,” the baker urged, passing her the blackberry tart.

It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, so buttery and sweet and sour that she immediately wished she could share it with Murdoch. Perhaps that would bring a smile to his face.

“Lady Moore,” a voice said suddenly, making her freeze with half of the blackberry tart in her mouth.

The baker frowned, then gasped, her eyes widening. “Lady Moore? Goodness, I had nay idea. I would never have let ye pay for the first one if I had kenned!”

“I wanted to pay for it,” Cecilia assured her, shooting the approaching figure an irritated look. “Ye deserve to be paid for yer hard work, Madam, and I swear I will buy more for the entire castle when I come here again. Please, dinnae worry.”

“B-But Laird Moore willnae like that ye paid,” the baker stammered.

Cecilia offered the woman her brightest smile. “ I am nae Laird Moore. I’m Lady Moore, and I wish I had far more coin to give ye for these delicacies. Truly, I’m pleased to be among ye and to see all of yer efforts. This village is a credit to the clan.”

The baker bowed her head, blushing. “Thank ye, M’Lady.”

“Nay, Madam. Thank ye for makin’ me stomach happy today.”

Cecilia stepped away from the stall, turning a stiffer smile toward the man who had revealed her identity.

George pulled an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, M’Lady. I believe I’ve just made a mistake by addressin’ ye.”

“A small one, but ye didnae ken,” Cecilia replied, softening her voice. “I was enjoyin’ me anonymity.”

George nodded. “Does the Laird ken that ye’re here?”

“Nay,” she admitted, feeling a pang of concern. “And ye mustnae tell him either. He’d be so cross with Lennox, and it wasnae Lennox’s fault. I confess I snuck out of the castle to see more of the clan.”

George pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing for a moment. “Ye realize that it’s me duty to take ye back to the castle though, aye? It’ll be dark before ye ken it. Ye dinnae ken these roads well, and a Lady shouldnae be outside alone. Moreover, if the Laird found out that I’d seen ye and didnae bring ye back, he’d have me head.”

It was not what Cecilia wanted to hear, but she could understand the older man’s worries. Her position in the castle was relatively safe, especially now that the marriage had been consummated, but George’s was not. If his actions displeased Murdoch, Murdoch would get rid of him and replace him with someone else.

“Aye, I suppose I understand that,” she sighed.

George offered her his arm. “It really isnae safe, M’Lady. Ye have to be more careful now that ye’re married to the Laird.”

She took his proffered arm, holding her purchases closer to her chest as she allowed him to guide her away from the village market. Evidently, being allowed to “do what she pleased” was just a facade designed to make her think she was free.

“Could ye nae get Tara to accompany ye?” George asked as they walked down a path between two cottages.

Cecilia shook her head. “She was out somewhere, walkin’ with me puppy.”

“And yer aunt?”

Cecilia shrugged. “I thought she might be here with Aileen, but I havenae seen them both.”

“What of the Laird?”

Cecilia heaved a frustrated sigh, already feeling her sour mood returning. “He left this mornin’ and gave nay indication of when he might return.” She paused. “I wasnae tryin’ to cause trouble—I just didnae want to be cooped up in the castle today.”

“Understandable,” George replied gently. “Nevertheless, it’s nae exactly… appropriate. Anythin’ could have happened to ye on the road from there to here.”

They continued on in an easy silence, leaving the chatter and village behind. The route was not the same one that Cecilia had taken, but she was happy to follow George’s lead, enjoying the passing scenery and savoring her last moments of rebellion before she found herself inside the castle again.

As they proceeded deeper and deeper into the forest, however, and even the creatures of the woodland fell silent, an eerie shiver slithered up her spine.

Something was not right.

“Is this a shorter path to the castle?” she asked, clearing her throat.

George glanced at her. “It is. Once ye’ve lived in Castle Moore for a while, ye’ll learn all the ways to the different villages and towns nearby. Someone ought to give ye a map, really.”

His words calmed her, though she looked around her anxiously as they continued down a vague path in the undergrowth. It did not seem like many people used this route, and there were no markers to show her in which direction to go.

She might have kept following George had she not glimpsed a familiar cabin up ahead, hardly visible through the trees thanks to its rudimentary camouflage.

We’re nae goin’ toward the castle at all, she realized as he led her west of the cabin—the very opposite direction to Castle Moore.