Page 3 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)
CHAPTER 3
Good to see ye behavin’ with more decorum.
Murdoch straightened up and walked closer to the unlikely pair. The lass avoided his eyes, her head bowed and solemn-faced. If he had not had such a sharp memory, he might have thought he was looking at someone else entirely.
“Are ye Laird Moore?” the older nun asked curtly. Her glower alone could compete with one of his finest glares for being the iciest.
But Murdoch did not appreciate being spoken to so sharply in his own residence.
“That depends on why ye’re askin’ with nay attempt at courtesy.”
“Are ye or are ye nae Laird Moore?” the older nun pressed, forcing a thin smile on her face. “The matter at hand is rather pressin’, or I assure ye, I would be more courteous.”
Murdoch observed the pair in stony silence, noticing some similarities between the older nun and the younger one—the bright blue eyes with dark rings around the irises and long lashes. The younger lass’s eyes were a shade lighter, so striking that they dredged up a memory of her staring right at him at the wedding feast—how they had pierced right through him, forcing him to glare back.
Indeed, the lass looked like the younger version of the older nun, with the rosy cheeks of youth and plumper lips with a defined shape that reminded him of a recurve bow. His favorite style of bow, in truth.
“Aye, I’m Laird Moore,” he declared coolly. “And who are ye, since ye havenae deigned to introduce yerselves? What has made ye dare to come to me doors without an invitation?”
The older nun’s eyes hardened, her voice a rasping hiss as she replied, “The question is, M’Laird, what made ye dare to sully the purity of an innocent lass? What right did ye have to take advantage of her?”
“Excuse me?” Murdoch snarled, his gaze shifting to the lass with the bawdy laugh.
Her throat bobbed, the rosy flush fading from her cheeks, her eyes still downcast as if she could not bring herself to look at him. She would not be the first; his mask often had that effect. He preferred it that way, favoring the fear of others over whatever the older nun thought she was doing, speaking to him with such rudeness.
“Dinnae play coy with me, M’Laird,” the older nun gasped, puffing up like a chicken about to sit on an egg. “Ye kissed this innocent lass, and , bein’ the Laird ye are, she didnae feel she could refuse ye!”
Murdoch continued to stare at the younger nun, hoping to glean some manner of explanation from her expression. But the young woman still refused to look up, her hands behind her back, only the rapid rise and fall of her chest giving away any hint of discomfort or stress.
Is this a story ye’ve come up with, eh?
He rolled his tongue across his teeth, struggling to make sense of the unusual situation.
Were ye so jealous of Lady Cairn that ye decided ye’d make a grab for any Laird ye could think of?
He respected Paisley. He looked at her as a force of good—honorable and possessed of a sweet, ladylike nature that befitted a Lady of a clan. He respected her all the more for bringing Camden to heel, making him take his duties more seriously.
But this lass… she was not worthy of his respect. She laughed too easily, smiled too freely, flirted too casually, and imbibed like a fish. Add to that the fact that she was, apparently, a nun—and a nun who told such extraordinary lies at that—and he was ready to throw her out himself.
“I wouldnae offend a Laird in his own castle if I were ye,” he warned calmly, stepping closer to the younger lass. So close that he could see the moment her breath stopped, a slight tremor running through her.
At least she had the sense to be afraid.
“Did ye make such a claim, lass?” the Laird asked in a voice so deep that it sounded like thunder. He towered over Cecilia, his shadow swallowing her up.
She had never meant for her “harmless” lie to go so far. If she had known that naming Laird Moore as her mystery kisser would have seen her marched to Castle Moore without delay, she would have insisted that she could not remember the man’s name.
Ye were supposed to be a safe choice .
She had picked him because he lived in a secluded corner of his territory, far from the convent, had no intention of ever marrying, and because he had a fearsome, violent reputation.
The Highlanders did not call him ‘The Beast’ for nothing. Cecilia had assumed her aunt would not dare to mess with such a man… but it appeared that she and her aunt were more alike than they cared to admit.
Cecilia rubbed her throat as if to urge her body to start breathing again. But he was too close, suffocating her with his imposing presence, while her embarrassment finished the job of holding her lungs hostage.
I really shouldnae have given any name at all. What was I thinkin’?
With all the defiance her aunt was always scolding her for, Cecilia lifted her chin. “Nay.”
“Nay?!” Mairie shrieked, her frantic gaze flitting between her niece and Murdoch. “What do ye mean, lass?”
Cecilia swallowed. She was already too far into the lie to back out now, but perhaps Mairie would be satisfied that no justice could be obtained from such a man and would urge them to depart at once.
She clung to that hope as she said, “I apologize, Auntie. I didnae hear him properly. I meant ‘aye,’ I did make such a claim.”
Mairie sniffed in satisfaction, jabbing a finger in Murdoch’s direction. “Well, I would hear it from the source. Did ye or did ye nae kiss me niece at Laird Cairn’s weddin’, M’Laird?”
“I did what now?” Murdoch’s half-concealed face was as blank as his mask, his gray eyes flinty and unfeeling, holding Cecilia’s defiant ones as if challenging her to look away first.
She would not. She would not repeat her weakness at the wedding festivities. If he wanted her to stop looking into his eyes, he would have to drop his gaze.
He lowered his head slightly to the side of her face that hid his profile from Mairie’s view. “Did ye want me to kiss ye, lass?” he whispered harshly.
When Cecilia did not answer, he whispered again, “Foolish creature. I’m nae the stuff of anyone’s fantasies, nun. I’m the very worst of yer nightmares.”
And ye dinnae frighten me, Cecilia wanted to reply, but she needed to be cleverer than that if she hoped to get out of there unscathed, with her aunt in tow.
“I told ye we shouldnae have come here, Auntie,” she said, affecting a slight hitch in her voice and what she hoped looked like hurt in her eyes. “I kenned it would come to naught. Now, it’s just embarrassin’.”
“Nay more than bein’ accused of ruinin’ a pure and innocent lass, I assure ye,” Murdoch retorted, pulling back.
Somehow, his gray eyes were even colder than before, like two perfect circles of mountain ice.
The lie had caught up to her, and worse, it had outpaced her. What had she expected? That Murdoch would just play along? She doubted he even knew how to, his very being devoid of lightness and merriment. She would have had more chance of getting the abbot to go along with the ruse and admit that he had kissed her.
And after Paisley told me, all those months ago, to be nice to ye.
Cecilia remembered her friend’s generous spirit, suggesting that Murdoch’s demeanor was, perhaps, not something of his own choosing but a result of unfortunate circumstances. And she had just added to the beastly myth of him by calling him a reprobate who went around kissing nuns.
She needed to salvage this somehow. If not for her own sake, then at least for that of the Laird, whose name she had just dragged through the muck.
“Auntie, might I have a moment alone with the Laird? I’ll explain everythin’ to ye once I’m done.”
Mairie huffed and puffed, still glaring at Murdoch as if she thought he was a demon sent to test the very limits of her faith. “I think ye bein’ alone together has caused quite enough trouble. Whatever ye have to say to him, ye can say in front of me.”
“Please, Auntie,” Cecilia urged. “If ye do this, I promise I willnae ask ye for anythin’ ever again. It’ll be to yer benefit.”
Her aunt clenched her hands into fists, took a deep breath, and expelled it violently. “Very well, but I’ll be just outside that door, a step shy of earshot. But rest assured that if there’s even a hint of tomfoolery, I’ll hear and I’ll be back in here with the fury of God pushin’ me forth!”
She turned on her heel and stormed across the entrance hall and back out into the cold, with her wimple flapping and one hand gripping the cross on her scapular, no doubt praying for a quick solution to the ongoing issue of a wayward niece.
“I’m terribly sorry, Laird Moore,” Cecilia whispered, meaning it. “I didnae mean to entangle ye in this, but I was runnin’ out of excuses nae to take me vows, and?—”
“And ye thought to trap me, of all people, in marriage?” Murdoch interrupted in that throaty, rumbling voice, his expression implacable.
Affronted, Cecilia threw all courtesy out the window. “What? Of course nae!” She kept her voice low, entirely aware of her aunt’s keen hearing. “I’m nae some silly lass with silly dreams of becomin’ a Lady. I told me aunt I’d kissed someone at Paisley’s weddin’, as that would prohibit me from joinin’ the order, and she insisted on findin’ out who.”
“How did she ‘find out’ me name?” Murdoch asked flatly.
He clearly did not believe her, and she could not exactly blame him; she understood how it looked.
“Because I panicked,” she shot back in a hiss. “She wouldnae stop askin’. She was houndin’ me, and yer name popped into me stupid head because I didnae think she’d march out of the convent to confront a laird, much less one like ye. I was mistaken, obviously.”
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing with doubt. “So, ye didnae want to be kissed by me? This wasnae some strange and unwelcome invitation?”
“Kissed by the Beast ?” Cecilia snorted, masking the sting of his insult with her annoyance. “And here I was, certain that ye were incapable of bein’ amusin’.”
His eyes flashed.
“I just wanted me aunt to be too afraid to do aught about it,” Cecilia added in a hurry. “But, apparently, she’s nae as swayed by infamy as everyone else.”
Murdoch folded his powerful arms—so thick and muscular that she imagined if she sat on the palm of his hand, he would lift her with ease—across his equally powerful chest. “So, it’s nae a marriage that ye’re seekin’ to gain with this deceit?”
Taking a steadying breath to keep some control over her patience, Cecilia shook her head. “Nay, that’s very much what I dinnae want. To me, there’s little difference between takin’ forced marriage vows and taking forced convent vows.” She paused. “I just want me freedom, but nae at the cost of bein’ thrown out with nowhere to go and never bein’ able to see me aunt again. She’s the only family I have left.”
“I’m sure there’s a sad story in there somewhere. Pity I dinnae care.” Murdoch nodded his head in the direction of the doors. “Ye’ll explain to yer aunt that ye lied, and then I never want to see ye again.”
But repeating what she stood to lose ignited something inside Cecilia, dragging all of her fears back to the surface and striking fresh panic into her heart. If she left the convent in less disgrace, she was certain that her aunt would allow her entry again—to visit, at the very least. If she left the convent as an ungodly thing who had caused nothing but trouble, lying about being impure as a trick, that door would forever be closed in her face. To Mairie, it would be the very last straw in an entire bale of them.
“I ken ye have nay reason to do me any favors, M’Laird,” Cecilia said, softening her voice. “But I ken ye’re fond of me dearest friend, Paisley. She’d be heartbroken if she heard that ye refused to help me in me hour of need.”
Murdoch sneered. “Threats now?”
“Nae threats, just pleas,” Cecilia insisted. “I dinnae want marriage, and I ken ye dinnae either. That’s nae what I’m askin’ ye for, but if ye would consider… a betrothal to buy me some time so I could figure out what to do with meself, then I’d be indebted to ye.”
“Ye might nae understand, seein’ as ye’ve come from a convent, but betrothal leads to marriage,” Murdoch pointed out drily.
Cecilia nodded. “Aye, but this one wouldnae. It’d be a ruse, a pretense, and as ye can see, I’m plenty good at those—well, I usually am. Admittedly, this has gone hideously awry. But as soon as enough time has passed, we’ll sever the betrothal and part ways without a word.” She held his gaze, clasping her hands together. “Please, M’Laird, I’m beggin’ ye. I’ll give ye anythin’ in return.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. It was foolish to promise ‘anything’ in return, especially to a man with such a particular reputation. At that very moment, he had red speckles across his léine and one or two dried red spots on his mask. Unmistakably blood.
One of Mairie’s most condemning speeches came back to haunt her in that instant, sending a chill from the tips of her toes to the top of her head: “If ye dinnae guard yerself with the power of Heaven and protect yer soul with piety and faith, ye will be tempted by a devil one day, and ye’ll barter that soul of yers for a measly price. Dinnae damn yerself, Cecilia. Please.”
Murdoch’s eyes glinted, his lip curling in a half-sneer. “Careful, lass,” he said, his growling voice thrumming with threat. “Ye shouldnae make such promises to the Beast. ”