Page 32 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)

CHAPTER 32

It had been a week since Murdoch almost lost his wife to George MacGill’s devious scheme, and just shy of a week since she had left him. The entirety of the castle was walking on eggshells, unsure who might be on the receiving end of their Laird’s wrath next, not knowing what mood they might find him in, though none were pleasant.

If she thinks I’m goin’ to fetch her back, she can think again.

Murdoch squashed another clay sculpture underneath his palm. He had been trying for days to get it right, to replicate Cecilia’s figure, but something kept going wrong, his memories of her not nearly as reliable as having her there as a muse.

Her keep had been ready for days, and though he was fully aware that a letter would have sufficed to bring her back, he had not written it. In many ways, he figured that she would be better off in the company of friends, around those who could keep her safe and coax that rich, glorious laugh out of her every day.

Footsteps hurried up the staircase outside his tower, and the last thread of his patience snapped.

“I’m goin’ to lock the downstairs door from now on!” he barked as the door opened.

“Aye, ye might nae want to do that,” Lennox replied. “There’s somethin’ ye should see.”

Murdoch turned around more quickly than he had intended, his heart fluttering. Had Cecilia returned?

He could not ask the question, but Lennox seemed to read his mind, shaking his head.

“A soldier attacked a group of our scouts, M’Laird,” he said. “A MacDunn soldier. He was captured, and he’s awaitin’ yer judgment in the dungeons.”

In the confusion and turmoil of Cecilia’s absence, Murdoch had almost forgotten about MacDunn. But he remembered now. He jumped up from his stool with vengeful purpose and walked toward Lennox, leaving the squashed lump of clay behind.

“Ye dinnae want to wear a shirt?” Lennox asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Murdoch’s expression darkened. “I’d only dirty it.”

He pushed past Lennox and headed down the spiraling staircase, not caring that he was bare-chested. The entire castle likely thought he had already lost his mind, so what did it matter if he shocked them a little more?

He did not stop, hurrying down hallways where servants gasped and skittered out of his way, and down gloomy stairwells until he reached the dungeons. They were as wretched as dungeons could be, without warmth or light, the stone walls perpetually damp, the cells small and devoid of anything but a bucket, a thin blanket, and old straw on the ground.

He found the MacDunn soldier immediately, huddled like a twisted creature in the corner of a dank cell.

“Ye have one chance to save yer life,” Murdoch barked, halting in front of the rusty iron bars. “Tell me where MacDunn is, tell me what he’s lookin’ for, and I’ll let ye go. Lie to me, and I’ll ken. Deny me the answers, and ye’ll die here.”

The MacDunn soldier lunged at the bars like a feral dog, baring his teeth, his eyes wild and almost possessed.

Murdoch did not flinch. He was not afraid of a caged beast.

“I willnae tell ye anythin’!” the soldier snarled. “Ye’ll have to kill me first.”

“Is that yer final answer?” Murdoch asked coolly.

The soldier faltered slightly. “Ye wouldnae dare kill me. I’m the only one who kens where MacDunn is.”

“Aye, but ye just said ye wouldnae tell me anythin’. As such, I have nay use for ye alive.”

Murdoch was in no mood for games and continued disappointments when it came to MacDunn. He had tried and failed to get many of his men to talk too, though never in his own castle. There were things he had learned as a pirate that he could have used to make the man talk, but they were things that no laird would do.

And I am already marked enough without addin’ stains to me soul.

Torture was a line that Murdoch would not cross, not for anything. Except for one person. But she was not his concern anymore, and nor was she in any danger that would require torture.

The soldier seemed to decide to stick to his earlier resolve, as he spat at Murdoch. “Aye, I willnae tell ye aught! I’m loyal to MacDunn, and I’ll be loyal to him till me last breath!”

“Why?” Murdoch asked suddenly. It was a question that had bothered him ever since he began gathering information about MacDunn.

The soldier smirked. “Because he’s righteous. Because he’s worth bein’ loyal to. Because he’s ten times the Laird that any one of ye will ever be. Even if I die today, he’ll see to it that me family is taken care of, and he’ll honor me for sayin’ nothin’ to the likes of ye.”

“Then I ought to make sure he kens what ye’ve done,” Murdoch replied.

The soldier furrowed his brow in confusion, but then his eyes widened as, in one rapid movement, Murdoch drew the broadsword of the guard standing nearby and plunged it into the soldier’s chest.

If MacDunn’s man did not want to talk, then so be it. Murdoch had grown tired of chasing a ghost. It was high time he brought the ghost to him instead.

“Lennox, send the body back to where ye found him, or to MacDunn’s territory,” he instructed.

Lennox arched an eyebrow. “Send it back, M’Laird?”

“Aye, I want this man to serve as a message,” Murdoch replied. “See it done.”

Lennox bowed his head. “Of course, M’Laird.”

After handing the sword back to the guard, Murdoch walked off without another word, wishing that he had some manner of distraction. Sculpting had become useless, as it only reminded him of what he had lost, and his mother was not currently speaking to him, blaming him for Cecilia’s departure.

So, he wandered the hallways for a while, searching for inspiration. Anything to stop his mind from racing with thoughts of his wife and how much—if he was being honest with himself—he missed having her around. Even the keep would have been too far.

As he walked, he spotted something in the gardens. A streak of white chasing a balled-up bundle of rags. Tara was watching the puppy from the low wall, throwing the ball when Dipper brought it back to her, but neither seemed happy.

The puppy kept stopping, looking around, and sniffing the air, before continuing the game, as if he was searching for someone who was not there. Tara, on the other hand, looked like she had been crying.

Taking a breath, Murdoch stepped out into the gardens. He had avoided the puppy and Tara for long enough.

And that daft dog is the only thing givin’ me hope that Cecilia willnae stay with Camden and Paisley forever. She wouldnae leave him…

But then he had thought the same about himself.

“M’Laird!” Tara jumped up, swiping her sleeve across her eyes as she dipped into a shaky curtsy.

The puppy halted what he was doing, letting out a whimper that seemed a little too accusatory, as if he was saying, Why did ye chase her away?

“Please, sit,” Murdoch insisted.

Tara did so, while Dipper approached him cautiously.

“He misses her,” Tara said a moment later as the puppy sniffed Murdoch’s legs. “He hasnae been the same since she left, though I expect the same is true for all of us. I miss her too, and I hate to think that…” she trailed off, shaking her head as her breath hitched. “I hate to think that me faither was the cause of her departure. I hate that he did this. I hate that he’s gone, and I hate, most of all, that I cannae argue against what happened.”

Cecilia didnae leave because of what yer faither did, Murdoch wanted to say, but he held his tongue. She left because of me and what I did… or didnae do.

He reached down and scooped the puppy up into his arms, scratching between his pointy white ears. At first, Dipper tried to wriggle free, but it was not long before he settled in Murdoch’s lap, whimpering every now and then to let him know he was not entirely forgiven.

“Ye can hate me too,” Murdoch muttered. “I wouldnae blame ye if ye did. He was yer faither, after all.”

And I ken, all too well, the difficult relationship a child can have with their faither.

Tara stared at him aghast. “I dinnae hate ye, M’Laird. I suppose I’ve just… been waitin’ for me punishment. I ken ye cannae have a traitor’s daughter stayin’ in the castle.” She drew in a nervous breath. “Have ye come to give me that punishment?”

“There’s nay punishment,” Murdoch told her. “It wasnae anythin’ to do with ye. I’ve made inquiries. I ken ye’re innocent. In truth, I’ve long assumed ye would rather chew off yer own thumbs than be in any room with me.”

To his surprise, she laughed.

His heart ached, wishing it was Cecilia at his side, laughing at something he had said.

“Was I so obvious?” Tara stared down into her lap. “I’ve been terrified of ye for as long as I’ve kenned ye, and every time ye refused me faither’s suggestion that ye marry me, I felt a relief like nay other. Nay offense, of course, M’Laird.”

“None taken.”

She hesitated. “Does this mean I can stay here?”

“Ye’re the council’s scribe. Where else would ye go?”

She sighed as if she was trying to expel all of her burdens at once.

“Is that nae what ye wanted to hear?” he asked, confused.

She blinked in slight alarm. “Nay, M’Laird, it is what I wanted to hear, but… I’ve just been so worried over the past week. Worried that I’d be hoofed out or worse. Worried that I wouldnae be allowed to marry the man I love.”

“Pardon?” Murdoch quirked an eyebrow, for he had never known that Tara harbored any affection for anyone. George had certainly never mentioned it.

She glanced at him shyly. “Lennox, M’Laird. We’ve been… secretly courtin’ for some time, but… we couldnae decide when to announce it. Me faither would have forbidden it, I expect, but we’d have eloped or… maybe Lennox would have come to ye to ask for yer permission, so me faither wouldnae have been able to argue.” Her expression darkened. “I suppose that doesnae matter now, seein’ as he’s… nae here anymore.”

Murdoch did his best to hide his shock. Of course, he had been aware that plenty of women found Lennox charming—the man was always surrounded whenever they attended gatherings outside the castle—but he had never suspected his man-at-arms was in love with anyone.

I suppose I wouldnae ken what to look for even if it was starin’ me in the face.

In matters of threat and justice and conflict, he was as perceptive as any general, but in matters of the heart, he was no better than a novice. How could he learn to understand something he had never been taught, had never experienced for himself?

“I admit, that’s a surprise,” he said, frowning. “But… how did ye ken that ye loved Lennox? How did ye ken that he loved ye in return?”

Tara eyed him with something akin to discomfort, as if she thought the question might be some trick. “It’s simple, really. I just… kenned it.” She chewed on her lower lip in thought. “I kenned that I didnae want to be parted from him. I looked forward to seein’ him even if it was just a glimpse. I feel… at ease when I’m with him—like I dinnae have to pretend to be someone I’m nae. We make each other better, I think, and there’s nothin’ like bein’ around him.”

“As for kennin’ that he loved me in return, it’s harder and easier to explain,” she continued, a faraway smile on her face. “He told me, for one, but… it’s in everythin’ he does—the small gestures, the way he makes me laugh and smile, the way he goes out of his way to make me happy, the way he just… is when he’s near me. It’s like he sees only me, and when he looks at me, me heart sort of… leaps.”

Murdoch gazed down at the puppy in his lap and understood at that moment why his heart had been aching lately. He had thought it might be a pulled muscle or a lack of sleep—for he had been restless every night—but now he knew what it was.

I want her with me. I want her to be me wife, properly. I want to… learn how to love her the way she deserves.

It was a shocking revelation for him, and one that demanded quick and decisive action. That, at least, he could do.

“If ye’ll excuse me,” he murmured. “I have somewhere to be.”

He carried the puppy with him, for nothing would make his apology better than Cecilia’s beloved foundling of a dog. And if he could not convince her to come back, at least the pup would be where he belonged.

Just then, Tara called out to him. “M’Laird?”

“What?” he replied abruptly, conscious that he had no time to waste.

Tara smiled. “Good luck.”