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

CHAPTER 4

“There must be somethin’ I could offer in return,” Cecilia pressed, trying to rephrase her side of the bargain. “Please, Laird Moore. I am one-and-twenty, and though I’ve enjoyed me years at the convent, of late I’ve felt like I’m wastin’ me life away. I dinnae want to waste any more of it.”

Murdoch had not stepped back, still far too close for her comfort, but if he thought he could intimidate her with his proximity, he had underestimated her. Even if he did scare her just a bit, she would never show it.

“I love me aunt,” she continued. “I do love her with all me heart, but I just dinnae believe that the life of a nun is the life for me. Have ye never felt… trapped, M’Laird?”

He licked his thumb and rubbed at one of the red specks on his léine, pulling a face. “Aye, by a wee nun—or almost-nun—that said I ruined her.” He tucked his hand back into his folded arms. “Ye dinnae get to ask favors when ye burst in here, makin’ accusations. I told ye, I dinnae care what yer story is.”

“Nay,” she replied solemnly, “why would ye? Ye dinnae ken me. I’m a stranger to ye, and ye’re right to be furious. Och, I’d be livid if I was in yer place.”

He watched her with those emotionless eyes until she decided to give him what he wanted.

She lowered her gaze and dropped her chin to her chest, murmuring reluctantly, “I’ll explain to me aunt, and we’ll leave at once. I’ve troubled ye enough.”

She awaited the scathing remark that would likely be the last thing he ever said to her, but it did not come. Instead, searching fingertips slipped between her chin and her chest, rough knuckles grazing the coarse fabric of her habit—far too intimate a touch for a novitiate to receive from any man.

“Dinnae lower yer eyes,” he snapped. “It’s deceitful, and I’d say there’s been enough of that for one day. I dinnae believe ye’re someone who ever backs away from conflict, whether ye caused it or someone else did.”

She blinked at him in astonishment, recalling the look he had given her at the wedding—how it had burned right through her. Had he somehow seen her true nature that night, or was he seeing it now, beneath the facade of a novitiate? She had thought she was better at hiding her real self than that, but perhaps she was not.

“Ye might have decided how ye’d enter me castle,” he continued, “but ye dinnae get to decide how ye’ll leave.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, aware of his fingers still touching the underside of her chin. “So, ye’re nae hoofin’ me and me aunt out?”

“Ye disrupted me peace, ye behaved poorly, and ye’re clearly troublesome, but I understand yer resolution,” he said, surprising her.

“Ye do?”

He shifted his hand, holding her more roughly by the chin. “It was the first thing ye said that was honest.”

She stared at him in confusion, trying to make sense of the half-masked man with cold eyes and grim temperament. He had gone from insisting that she get out of his sight to telling her that she could only leave at his say-so, leaving her mind reeling from the unexpected back and forth.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the sharp screech of the door hinges and the howl of the wind that blasted into the entrance hall halted her words. Footsteps hurried across the flagstones, and Cecilia braced herself for the scolding she was about to receive for “tomfoolery,” though she could not turn to look at her aunt with Murdoch’s hand still holding her by the chin.

“This isnae the time,” Murdoch grunted over Cecilia’s head.

A feminine voice that did not belong to Mairie asked, “What do ye mean? Would ye have me wait out in the cold instead of hurryin’ in to meet me new daughter-in-law?”

“What?” Murdoch’s eyes darkened.

“Och, ye cannae imagine me surprise when I arrived and heard that ye’re betrothed, at last!” the woman gushed, stepping into Cecilia’s field of vision. “That sweet nun outside just told me the good news! I couldnae believe me ears. I’d say it was fate that I returned early, but I ken how ye feel about such things, Murdoch.”

The woman was perhaps in her fifties, but she still carried a youthfulness about her, with barely any gray in her chestnut-brown hair and sharp eyes that gleamed with mirth.

Upon seeing her, a lump formed in Cecilia’s throat, for though they did not look alike, the woman’s mannerisms were very much like her grandmother’s.

I’d wager ye wouldnae be intimidated by this man, Nan.

“Maither, ye’re mistaken,” Murdoch said flatly. “This isnae me bride. Whatever that nun out there told ye, it’s nae true.”

His mother frowned. “But she was very certain.”

“Aye, because there was a grave misunderstandin’,” Murdoch insisted, shooting Cecilia a hard look as if to say, Do ye see what ye’ve done?

But Cecilia was too surprised by his behavior toward his mother to pay his look much mind initially. This powerful giant of a man could probably crush a skull with his enormous hands—and probably wished to do that to Cecilia, at that moment—and had such a violent reputation, yet he spoke to his mother with great respect in his tone. Firm and blunt and masterful, yes, but his voice was less harsh, his eyes absent his customary glare, as if he wished to shield her from unpleasantness. In himself and the situation around him.

“It’s true, M’Lady,” Cecilia chimed in. “It was me misunderstandin’. A dear friend of mine suggested that yer son might be in need of a wife, so I came here to volunteer meself. Ye see, that was me aunt out there who ye spoke to, and it’s her wish to see me safely positioned in the world, so I suppose she thought the arrangement was as good as made. But, havin’ spoken with yer son, I can see that me friend was wrong. He is neither in need nor want of a wife.”

Murdoch gave her a look so chilling that she wondered how she was able to face it and smile. Despite recent events, she did not like to lie if she could help it, but there was no way she was going to reveal her embarrassment to his mother.

Dinnae fret, Murdoch Blaine, it’ll yield the same outcome.

After all, this was his mother . She was probably well aware of his aversion to the idea of marriage. It was not as if she had received any new information.

The older woman’s face crumpled with disappointment. “And what is yer name, dearie?” She brushed past her son and took Cecilia’s hands. “Och, ye’re cold as ice! Has me son nae even had the decency to offer ye a seat in front of the fire and a hot cup of tea?”

“He hasnae,” Cecilia replied, feeling Murdoch’s glare burn into her once more as she focused her attention on his mother. “In truth, I dinnae much feel the cold. I’m well accustomed to it.”

“Aye, that may be so, but there’s such a thing as guest rights to be upheld!” The older woman clicked her tongue at Murdoch. “What did ye say yer name was again?”

“Apologies, M’Lady, I didnae.” Cecilia was already warming up to the older woman, who reminded her even more of her grandmother. “Me name is Cecilia Adair. It’s a pleasure to make yer acquaintance.”

Murdoch’s mother gripped Cecilia’s hands tighter, lifting them to her mouth to blow warm air on them. “Well, Cecilia, I am Aileen Blaine, and I assure ye that the pleasure is all mine.” She flashed her son a smile. “Is she nae a bonny thing, Murdoch? Come now, I ken ye wear a mask, but ye cannae be blind to beauty when it walks through yer door.”

“Her beauty is of little interest to me,” Murdoch replied, his thunderous voice reverberating through Cecilia’s veins, making them tremble with nerves.

She had crossed him twice already, and she doubted he would take kindly to that.

Aileen tutted, returning her attention to Cecilia. “Aye, well, we cannae have yer visit be in vain, Cecilia.” She nodded toward the doors. “Let us fetch yer aunt from the cold and have us somethin’ hot to eat and drink. I’ll have chambers prepared for the two of ye, and certainly a bath to soothe yer chilled bones.”

“They were just leavin’,” Murdoch snarled, his eyes blazing with anger.

Cecilia half expected him to wrench his mother’s hands away from her, throw her over his broad shoulder, and carry her out whether she liked it or not. And though she would have liked to be thrown over his shoulder, to feel that power firsthand, she was not exactly thrilled by the idea of making the return journey to the convent.

“Nonsense,” Aileen said with finality. “It has just started to snow, and it isnae likely to stop anytime soon. That is why I returned from the village early—so I wouldnae be stuck on the road. I willnae have me guests travelin’ in such awful weather if I wouldnae do it meself.”

Cecilia watched Murdoch warring silently with himself, his teeth scraping his lower lip, his eyes burning, his nostrils flaring. But he was still a laird. If there was one thing that lairds upheld, above all else, it was guest rights—if they did not want to be unlucky and plagued with misfortune, at least.

Although the old gods and old ways had faded with the centuries, some traditions persisted.

“I trust that is acceptable to ye?” Aileen asked as if remembering that Murdoch was Laird Moore as well as her son.

Holding Cecilia’s gaze, drawing in a deep breath that puffed out his broad chest, he grumbled, “One week. If the snow hasnae cleared by then, I’ll take ye back to where ye came from meself.”

“Excellent!” Aileen did a funny little hop of excitement. “I must show ye around the castle right away—No, I said I would feed ye and water ye first, did I nae? Aye, that’s what we’ll do, and ye can tell me all about yerself and what possessed ye to come to this faraway corner of the Highlands in the middle of winter!” She paused. “What is yer aunt’s name, Cecilia?”

“Mairie.”

“A beautiful name.” Aileen sighed, before she shouted across the entrance hall, “Mairie, would ye join us?”

Cecilia’s aunt crept back into the room, frowning with uncertainty. “Me?”

“Aye, of course.” Aileen seemed positively giddy, making Cecilia wonder how often she had the opportunity to welcome guests. “I must ask what ye prefer to eat and drink and see if I can find a room that befits ye. I cannae choose rooms without meetin’ the occupant first. It’ll make me sound like a madwoman, but I have a knack for matchin’ the character of a person with the character of a bedchamber.”

Mairie smiled shyly as she approached. “Och, well, I expect a very stark and dull room, then.”

Aileen blinked… and burst into joyful laughter that seemed so out of place in the gloomy entrance hall of the similarly gloomy castle, watched over by its undeniably gloomy Laird.

“Och, I think we will get along famously,” Aileen said as her laughter ebbed, and she took Mairie by the arm. “Come now, to the… East Hall, I think. It is the smallest and warmest, with the largest fire. We shall be content there while the snow falls.”

Cecilia, pleased by the turn of events, was about to follow the older women toward the tempting heat of a fire and the promise of tea and something to eat when Murdoch grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back.

She stumbled at the sudden jolt, her side slamming hard into his muscular chest. He was as solid as an oak, but she could not enjoy the closeness, her wrist throbbing where he held her.

“We didnae finish our conversation,” he hissed in her ear.

The commotion caused the two older women to turn around, both frowning at the sight.

“I wish to discuss somethin’ with Cecilia,” Murdoch replied to their wordless question. “Ye may leave us to warm yerselves. We willnae be long.”

Mairie looked like she was about to protest, but Aileen began to tug her away while reassuring her, “She couldnae be safer if she had a guard escort around her, I promise. Let us leave the young’uns to talk while we have ourselves a proper introduction, eh?”

Mairie hesitated, but, with a softer frown, she allowed herself to be led away by Aileen.

As they reached the archway of an adjacent hallway, however, Aileen turned and tossed a final remark back over her shoulder that surprised them all. “A word of comfort to ye, sweet Cecilia—if me hermit of a son doesnae want to entertain the thought of marryin’ ye, rest assured that I’ll help ye find another man.”

The look on Murdoch’s face as he watched his mother go could have slain an entire army with terror alone. And despite what she told herself, Cecilia was not as impervious as she thought.

I dinnae ken if I want to be alone with him right now…

But it appeared that she had little choice as he pulled her toward the opposite archway, apparently taking her as far from her aunt as possible.