Page 34 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)

EPILOGUE

Cecilia’s heart soared as Castle Moore came into view, the glow of lanterns in the windows welcoming their Laird and Lady back home. Snow had begun to drift down from swollen clouds in light flurries, though it would not be long before it started to tumble from the heavens more thickly, no doubt blocking the roads and isolating the castle from the rest of the world once more.

“We timed it well,” Murdoch said, his arm around her waist, holding her against him as he led the stallion up the winding road to the castle. “If we’d lingered longer with Camden and Paisley, we’d have had to take shelter somewhere.”

Cecilia smiled. “A huntin’ cabin in the woods, maybe?”

“Or a warm inn with a hearty stew and pleasant chambers,” he suggested, for not all their memories of cabins were good ones.

She groaned. “Well, ye make that sound better. We should turn around.”

“Another time, perhaps,” he said softly, bending his head to kiss her shoulder.

Paisley had been overjoyed by the news that her dearest friend was returning to a place where, at last, she belonged.

Of course, Paisley had been sorry to say farewell to Cecilia, but they had promised to meet soon and to write to each other often. As for Camden, he had been thrilled that Murdoch had finally succumbed to the gift his fellow lairds had already received—love.

“I told ye I saw pigs flyin’ over the fields over yonder. Och, it’ll be us tryin’ to get ye to attend meetings about MacDunn now. We’ll have to drag ye out of yer castle and yer wife’s lovin’ arms,” Camden had teased, but Cecilia had seen on his face that he was as overjoyed as his wife that Murdoch had finally found someone to love and care for.

And they were not the only ones relieved, for there was a party awaiting the happy couple as they rode through the gates of Castle Moore—Aileen, Tara, and Lennox, as well as countless residents of the castle who were pretending to be busy while secretly watching and listening.

“Fortune was smilin’ on ye then, M’Laird?” Tara asked as Murdoch brought the stallion to a halt.

He slid down from the saddle and held out his arms to Cecilia. “Aye, ye could say that.”

Cecilia braced her hands against his broad shoulders, smiling at the feel of his hands on her waist, and allowed him to help her down.

“Dipper convinced me,” she said, flashing Tara a smile.

“I kenned he would,” Lennox interjected as he walked up to the horse and took the puppy out of one of the saddlebags.

The furry creature had slept through most of the journey, lulled by the rocking motion of the stallion and the comfort of the wide leather bag.

Aileen clasped her hands together, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m just glad ye saw sense, Murdoch. Ye’d have been a fool to let Cecilia go, and all we did would have been for nothin’.” She looked at her daughter-in-law. “Did he tell ye that I stopped speakin’ to him?”

“He mentioned it,” Cecilia replied with a chuckle which faded into a frown. “But what do ye mean ‘all ye did would have been for nothin’?’”

Aileen blinked. “Did I say that?”

“Aye, ye did,” Murdoch interjected, pursing his lips.

Aileen cleared her throat. “Och, well, it wasnae much. Just… me and Mairie helpin’ ye to see what was already there. Nudgin’ the pair of ye in the right direction.”

“What did ye do, Maither?” Murdoch demanded to know, his brow furrowed.

Aileen pulled a face. “We… Well, we… um… locked ye in the tower together briefly, and we… may or may not have followed ye out into the gardens that night, to make sure that ye had to marry.”

Embarrassment threatened to heat up Cecilia’s cheeks, but it did not quite manage the feat. Of course, it was marginally mortifying, but she had to wonder if the two of them would have ended up married, with the promise of a happy future, if not for Aileen and Mairie’s intervention. In truth, Cecilia did not know whether to be furious or whether to applaud their deception.

“Me aunt was in on this?” she asked. She could not help it.

Aileen nodded shyly. “We could both see that ye were made for each other, and yer aunt couldnae bear the idea of ye havin’ to return to the convent where ye would never be truly happy. So, aye, we were a little sneaky, but has it nae all turned out well?”

“Fortunately, aye,” Murdoch said in a gruff tone. “But I dinnae appreciate anyone mentionin’ such things out here where everyone can hear. I’d prefer for everyone to believe that we decided it because we wanted it—which I do, by the way, me love.” He peered down at his wife, his gray eyes warm.

Cecilia squeezed his arm gently. “I ken, love.” She glanced at the others. “Now, if ye dinnae mind, we had a long journey and we have a lot to contemplate after that revelation. I thought we might rest for the remainder of the evenin’, with nay one disturbin’ us. Truly, I could sleep for a week.”

“Tara and I will distract this wee menace,” Lennox said, scratching behind the puppy’s ears.

“And I will distract meself,” Aileen piped up. “But tomorrow mornin’, at breakfast, I have some things to discuss with ye, Cecilia, if ye’re nae too cross with me.”

“I’m nae cross,” Cecilia replied. “Just surprised, and a little impressed by me aunt.”

Aileen seemed relieved. “Then, we’ll talk tomorrow, about a gatherin’ to properly celebrate yer weddin’. I ken we had one already, but I want to invite everyone. Real festivities to celebrate this happy occasion.”

Cecilia chuckled. “Aye, we can do that.”

“We’ll see. I havenae decided if I ought to punish ye for yer meddlin’ yet, and I cannae think of a better punishment than denyin’ ye a gatherin’,” Murdoch uttered, a grimace of disapproval on his face. Not as a result of his mother’s meddling, though; Cecilia could tell.

He might have changed in some ways, with his promise to be a better husband and a good father, but there were some things that he would never be enthusiastic about. Gatherings, it seemed, were among such things.

“Come on, love,” he added, wrapping his arm around Cecilia and ushering her toward the castle.

“ This is yer bedchamber?” Cecilia gasped upon entering the grand rooms that served as her husband’s private domain. A place she had never had any reason to visit but had now been welcomed to.

It took up the entirety of the southernmost tower, offering an astonishing view of the windswept moorland and what appeared to be a small loch in the near distance. The colors were captivating—greens and ambers and purples from the heather—and she could just imagine how pretty everything would be in the spring.

There were four adjoining rooms in total: an area where Murdoch’s four-poster bed stood alone, a room for his writing desk and books, a room that seemed to be reserved for lounging, and a stark square of a room that appeared to be a smaller version of his sculpting tower. In it stood previous works of art like animals, warriors in different fighting stances, and a depiction of a selkie—a naked woman holding her sealskin in her hand.

Cecilia eyed the latter. “I hope this isnae a former muse of yers.”

“Nay, it occurred to me one day,” he replied. “The only time I’ve ever sculpted a real woman is when ye arrived. Even then, I couldnae get it right. There’s a lump of clay up in me tower that has been squashed flat at least ten times to prove it.”

Cecilia laughed softly, but her breath caught in her throat as his arms wrapped around her from behind, his lips seeking the curve of her neck, kissing her until her skin tingled with desire.

“I’ll have to help ye practice,” she said, leaning back into him, “until ye get it right. Though I hope ye dinnae plan on showin’ it to anyone. I’m nae sure I’d like everyone seein’ what I look like without me clothes on.”

He growled against her skin. “That’ll be just for me.”

She turned in his arms, running her hands up the hard lines of his chest, unable to stop smiling.

“I can work while ye sleep if ye like,” he suggested, pressing a kiss to her lips.

She smiled against his mouth and pulled back for a moment. “I wasnae actually plannin’ to sleep. I doubt I could even if I tried.” She hesitated. “But there is somethin’ I would like to do. I think it was number four on yer list, with a variation.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What variation?”

“Can I take off yer mask?” she asked, running her hand through his hair until she found the leather strap that held the mask in place. “I want to see ye, love. All of ye. Nay barriers or distance or doubts.”

His throat bobbed. “Aye, ye can.”

He seemed to hold his breath as she slowly pulled the mask up and off his head, uncertain of what to expect, but certain that she would still love him no matter what he looked like.

Her heart ached as she saw the brand his father had left on him. It was a diagonal scar that ran from the middle of his right cheek, skimming past his right eye and up to the top of his temple.

Wide, with a deep line in the center. It was clear that a smoldering sword had made that mark. The skin was almost shiny and slightly puckered in places, but it did nothing to take away from his handsomeness. Indeed, to her, it was far better than the mask.

“Perfect,” she murmured, touching the scar gently. “Ye’re entirely perfect.”

He shook his head, trailing his hand up the curve of her back until it cradled the nape of her neck. “Nay, love. Ye are.” He frowned a little. “Ye werenae afraid of me in me mask, and ye’re nae afraid now that ye’ve seen me. Ye’re… remarkable, love.”

He kissed her then, with desire, with relief, with gratitude, with love. She melted into him, kissing him back as longing burned within her—smoldering embers that could never be doused.

Their lips moved in a slow ebb and flow, their tongues dancing, holding one another in the warmth of what might soon become their marital bedchamber.

Cecilia kissed his face, pressing her lips carefully to his scars and the smooth side of his cheek. She kissed everything that had been hidden from her before, his vulnerability making her bolder and more confident, letting her lips and touch explore his neck, his throat, his chest, his arms—every inch of exposed skin she could find.

And as they kissed, as he explored her in return, they began to slowly undress one another. She peeled away his léine, untucking it from beneath his belt, and pulled it over his head, relishing the sight of him as his bare torso was revealed to her bit by bit. She kissed him there and moved to undo his belt, his kilt dropping to the floor.

She glanced down shyly, thrilled and astonished in equal measure to see what she had felt on the night they made love in his tower. He was already hard and swollen with desire, and her curious hand reached out to touch him.

“Nae yet,” he growled with a half smile as she stroked her fingertips along his length. “I want ye to have all the pleasure ye can take first.”

To prevent her from continuing, he pulled her dress up and over her head, forcing her to raise her arms. Then, he tossed her dress on the floor and made quick work of her drawers and stays until they were both naked.

Murdoch pulled Cecilia to him, kissing her more fiercely, his hands roaming over the smooth curves and contours of her warm body. She, in turn, savored the hard lines of his muscles and the excitement of being able to touch him as she pleased—more or less.

She caressed the ridges of his abdomen, the broad muscles of his chest, his powerful thighs and arms, the cords of his neck, the swell of his muscular buttocks, and the tight muscles of his back and shoulders.

She yelped in delight as he suddenly hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the room with the largest fireplace—a room designed for comfort and relaxation, appointed with cushioned armchairs, a chaise longue, and a thick rug.

He laid her down on the wide chaise longue, where the heat of the fire kissed her bare skin. She gasped as she felt him brush against the most sensitive part of her, his loins nestled between her thighs, but he did not thrust into her. Not yet.

Instead, he kissed her deeply, sliding his arms beneath her to hold her close. She wrapped her legs around his waist to press him even closer, kissing him with all the love that swelled in her heart, overjoyed that she could see his face and look into his eyes, at last. She had relished every encounter that had come before, but there was an intense intimacy to this one that heightened the sensations and the anticipation of what would happen next.

“I love ye,” he murmured, kissing down the column of her throat and her bosom.

She bucked as he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked, crying out, “I love ye too.”

Her entire body crackled and thrummed with the force of their passion, her moans and sharp breaths filling the air as he drew her other nipple into his mouth. The warm heat traveled downward, awakening the nerves between her thighs and making her ache for him.

He followed that delicious shiver, kissing across her stomach and down her thighs, before moving inward. He licked the inside of her thighs, edging higher until his tongue found that swollen bud.

“Oh, love… Oh!” she moaned, her legs trembling as he tasted her, curling his tongue and sucking gently, flicking it against that exquisite bundle of nerves.

By the time he slid his fingers inside her, she was already close to her conclusion. And as he began to pump those talented fingers, he pushed her over that blissful edge. She soared as electricity arced through her, rushing through every vein and nerve and muscle and limb until she was shaking and crying out, unable to form words, just moans of pure pleasure.

She writhed on the chaise longue, gripping the upholstery, giving herself over to the all-consuming sensation. It was undoubtedly the closest a person could ever get to flying, and she allowed herself to soar until the powerful feeling began to subside.

He seemed to know when it had, as he withdrew his fingers and tasted her one last time, before kissing his way back up to her mouth. She grabbed his head and pulled him closer, kissing him hard, relishing the warmth and feel of him on top of her.

Even without the roaring fire, she would not have felt the least bit cold.

He pulled back, searching her face, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I never thanked ye.”

“For what?” she murmured, caressing his face.

“For thinkin’ of me name when ye were seekin’ yer freedom,” he replied with a smile. “For nae takin’ nay for an answer.”

She smiled back at him, a soft laugh bubbling up her throat. “I can be very stubborn when I want to be.”

“I’ve noticed.” He kissed her tenderly. “I really do love ye.”

“As I love ye,” she replied, her words fading into a breathy moan as he shifted his hips, and the tip of his manhood teased her entrance.

“And I swear to ye,” he purred, pushing forward, “I will be a better man.” He eased himself inside her, teasing her, not yet plunging himself into her depths. “I’ll be everythin’ ye need me to be.”

He sank deeper as her breath caught in her throat. His eyes did not leave hers, his smile lingering on his lips as he buried himself inside her to the hilt. A moan rumbled in his chest as he stilled above her for a moment, the two of them becoming one just like Cecilia had dreamed of.

She clawed at his back, pulling her hips back to feel the glorious, slippery friction again, needing the sensation of his thrusts. A sound that might have been a laugh escaped him as he gave her what she wanted, withdrawing to the point of denying her his flesh and then plunging back in.

“Och, love! Aye, me love!” she cried out, raking her fingernails and teeth over his skin, biting and kissing and scratching, reveling in every moment of their newfound closeness.

To her mind, there was nothing more powerful than looking into his eyes as he thrust into her, seeing the passion and desire and love that gleamed there with every measured stroke. In a way, it made her feel powerful, observing the hold she had over him too, hearing the sounds of his bliss, watching his face contort with pleasure when she surprised him by meeting his thrusts with the tilt of her hips.

They moved together on the chaise longue, both bathed in the heat of their love and the flickering fire, their sighs and moans echoing in the air around them, sheltering them in a bubble of the most profound intimacy. Paradise on earth. An indescribable experience that Cecilia hoped to recreate again and again and again for the rest of their lives.

This was what those village girls had meant by ‘making love.’ It was no longer a purely physical act, but one that involved mind, body, and soul, both of them joining in a bond of emotion as well as satisfaction.

She savored every kiss they shared as he moved inside her, running her hands through his hair, pulling him closer, squeezing her thighs around him so that he would be nearer still.

“Mine,” he murmured as he kissed her neck, rocking his hips back and forth, causing more friction against her bundle of nerves that spurred on the rising wave of pleasure that threatened to crash over her.

She grasped his buttocks, urging him on, stealing a hungry kiss from his lips as she felt her conclusion racing toward her once more. He thrust harder, striking the flint of her ecstasy with every stroke, until it erupted into an inferno of absolute euphoria.

“Och… Och, Murdoch—och, me love!” she half screamed as her release swept over her, more powerful and potent than anything she had felt before.

It was akin to being possessed by pleasure itself, becoming a vessel for a feeling so extraordinary that she knew she would never cease craving it. She bucked and writhed and thrashed as the sensation tore through her entire being, making her legs shake, her breath catch, and her stomach tighten, while her back arched off the chaise longue, welcoming the ensuing spark that every thrust ignited.

As she moaned and cried out, Murdoch’s pace quickened. He thrust into her with delirious abandon, his eyes holding hers, and as he bent his head to kiss her, he growled his own bliss against her mouth. The taut muscles of his back flexed beneath her hands, his brow creasing, his kiss so fierce that it burned as she felt him throb inside her. A throb that triggered a fresh wave of sparks.

“My love,” he murmured, thrusting twice more before he stilled.

A moment later, he collapsed on top of her, pulling her to him. They lay there, panting, both of them aglow with the pleasure they had just experienced.

Cecilia held on to him, relishing the weight and warmth of him, unwilling to let him go even if he crushed her. But, somehow, he was still propping himself up on his elbows, careful not to squash her as he had done with his lumps of clay.

He pulled his head back, smiling down at her. “I love ye, Cecilia Blaine. Thank ye for takin’ yer vows with me instead of at that convent.”

Her heart fluttered upon hearing her new full name for the first time. “I wouldnae have taken vows for anyone or anythin’ else,” she told him earnestly. “I love ye. I love ye so very much.”

Still smiling, he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. And as he held her, both of them entwined, she listened to his racing heart and knew that it belonged to her. She had a home, at last, in a place where she could be safe and free, wrapped up in the arms of a man she loved with all of her heart.

And with ye, me love, I will have a family again…

All these years, she had assumed the heavens were not listening when she prayed, punishing her for not being the nun everyone wanted her to be. But Murdoch was proof that not only had the heavens been listening and biding their time, but they had also finally answered her prayers.

Indeed, she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

The End?