Page 6 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)

CHAPTER 6

Murdoch lumbered wearily up the staircase to the tower, his mood so sour it could have curdled milk. If anyone bothered him again, he could not promise he would not lose his temper entirely.

It’s just a week, he told himself, pushing through the door at the top of the stairs. And think about what I might gain. If there’s one morsel of useful information in that head of hers, it could be just what I’ve been lookin’ for.

The top of the tower was bathed in soft lantern light, the dramatic, almost rusty glow of the snowstorm sky filtering through the slitted windows. It was a sparse room, with just a basin of water, an old, stained table with a thin board on top, and a tall stool. That was all he needed, plus the peace and tranquility that no one usually disturbed.

There were shapes draped in graying cloth all around the room and a wooden barrel in the far corner. It was to the latter that Murdoch went. He lifted the lid and reached inside, scooping out a large chunk of clay.

Settling himself on the stool, he slapped the clay down on the board and stared at it for a moment, searching for inspiration. But that was not the way he usually approached his sculpting; it was better if he did not think at all.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, resting his hands on the cold clay, feeling what it might become rather than imagining it. Exhaling, he began to work without thinking, letting his sense of touch take over. His hands moved slowly, shaping the clay, the familiar motions soothing away the tension of the day.

Even as his attention turned briefly toward the snow falling outside, his hands continued to move, smoothing and shaping, forming something out of nothing.

What on earth?

He looked back at what he had half-crafted in horror, noticing that he was beginning to form the shape of a woman’s body. Not the formless figure her habit created, but the hourglass shape he remembered from Camden and Paisley’s wedding. Such a narrow waist, such round hips, such a pert and ample bosom. There had not been a man there who had not taken a lingering look at her in that gown.

“For pity’s sake,” he snarled, raising his hand over the shape, strongly considering squashing it.

He had banished Cecilia as best as he could from his mind, but it seemed his hands had not gotten the message.

“That infuriatin’ creature,” he muttered, swiveling on his stool so he had his back to the clay figure. “Nay one defies me, much less in me own castle.”

But she had defied him, made demands of him, lied about him, smiled and stared at him without even a hint of fear, offering him none of the courtesy or respect he deserved. Even when he had leaned over her and grasped her wrists, her soft, shaky breaths had not felt as fearful as they should have. Or perhaps it was the sound of them that had not had the same effect it should have had on him , stirring him when it should have satisfied him in a darker fashion.

A nun shouldnae have feminine wiles. A nun shouldnae even ken what they are.

He remembered, then, that she was not a nun yet. But the point remained—if she really had been in a convent for so many years, how could it be that she seemed so… worldly?

Before her week is through, I’ll make her obey as a proper lass ought to.

“Did MacDunn put her there?” he whispered to the empty tower. “She’d be right in the middle of Camden’s territory, which is in the middle of me territory. It’d be the perfect spot for a spy.”

He shook the thought away, realizing how ridiculous it was. How could MacDunn have known that Murdoch and the other three Lairds would seek to crush him eleven years ago? Eleven years ago, MacDunn had only just claimed the Lairdship for himself. No one had that magnitude of foresight, not even a laird who appeared to have the ability to vanish into thin air.

I’ll have to send word to Paisley, see if Cecilia’s story is true.

He got up, no longer inclined to sit at the table and sculpt. Clearly, he would derive no comfort from it today. But he could appease himself with that letter, even if it could not be sent until the snowstorm died down.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, ready to return to the study he had only recently left, he cursed as a figure started running toward him.

“M’Laird, there ye are!”

Murdoch halted. “If I was that hard to find, maybe I didnae want to be found.”

“Aye, maybe, but I’m like a hound with the scent of fox in me nostrils. I cannae stop ‘til I’ve chased ye down,” his man-at-arms, Lennox, replied with a grin, coming to a standstill in front of him.

“If it’s the guests, I dinnae want to ken,” Murdoch said tersely. “They’re me maither’s guests—they’re her responsibility.”

Lennox waved a dismissive hand. “Och, nay, they’re havin’ a rare old time in the East Hall. I cannae remember the last time I heard actual laughter in these halls, M’Laird. ‘Tis a fine thing.”

Murdoch shot his man-at-arms a disapproving look, but Lennox was incorrigible in his enthusiasm. Murdoch had tried for years to get Lennox to be more like him to no avail. The man could be on the brink of battle, and he would still be smiling, making light of the situation, optimistic to a fault.

Indeed, it appeared that Murdoch was destined to be surrounded by unserious people.

“What is it ye want?” he snapped.

Lennox pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. “Well, M’Laird, it seems the guests and yer maither arenae the only ones destined to have a rare old time tonight. Fiona just arrived from the village.”

Murdoch raked a hand through his messy hair, cursing more colorfully under his breath. He had forgotten the hour and, as such, had forgotten all about Fiona. She usually arrived around that time of the evening, but the snow and the short winter days had masked the hour… and he had been too occupied to bother looking at the clock.

He thought of Fiona, waiting for something to stir, to make him believe that her presence might take his mind off Cecilia, but nothing happened. He felt nothing at all.

But that wee nun’s shaky breaths had me loins burnin’…

He could not fathom it, deciding it was just Cecilia’s disobedience that had affected him—not with any ardor, but with the desire to make her submit to him.

“I cannae deal with that tonight,” he said flatly. “Give her a mule and some furs and tell her to return to the village. And nae to come back unless I send for her.”

Lennox nodded, his lips curled into a smirk. “Makes sense that ye wouldnae want yer lover to accidentally bump into yer betrothed. That’s a squabble that can turn ugly fast.”

“Dinnae test me patience, Lennox,” Murdoch warned, shaking his head. “Ye ken as well as I do that she’s nae me betrothed.”

Lennox shrugged. “A lot can happen in a week, M’Laird.”

Before he could receive a harsher scolding, Lennox darted down the hallway to pass on the message to Fiona. She would probably be annoyed that she had come all that way in the cold just to be dismissed, but that was none of Murdoch’s concern.

Thinking twice about heading to his study, Murdoch turned and made his way back up the staircase to the tower. Perhaps sculpting Cecilia out of his mind was exactly what he needed, before she disrupted more of his life than she already had.

“I find there’s nothin’ so heartenin’ as a hot bath and a full belly on a winter night,” Aileen declared, raising her cup of spiced wine to the other two ladies.

Cecilia raised hers in return, basking in the cheerful spirit of the older woman. Indeed, she wanted to tell Aileen how much she reminded her of her grandmother, but she did not want to appear rude.

Mairie raised her cup too, clinking it against Aileen’s. “We’re so very grateful for yer hospitality,” she said, looking more relaxed than Cecilia had seen her in… well, eleven years. “I couldnae imagine havin’ to walk back to the convent in so much snow. We’d get lost in an instant, and I doubt there’d be anyone on the road who’d take us there.”

Aileen sipped her wine. “How did ye manage to reach these solitary hills? It’s nae a place people stumble upon often, and even fewer choose to come here of their own volition.” A sad note crept into her voice, but she shook it off. “Still, I’m pleased I have the pair of ye to fuss over.”

“I took the old vegetable cart,” Mairie explained. “We left it and the donkeys at The Vines—do ye ken of it?”

Aileen nodded. “Aye, there isnae a finer inn on this side of the Highlands. Nay one will steal yer donkeys there.”

“That’s a relief to hear.” Mairie smiled. “The innkeeper said that the roads would be too treacherous for beasts that dinnae ken the terrain, so we walked the rest of the way.”

Aileen nodded sagely. “He was wise too, considerin’ the weather and the lack of good daylight at this time of year. I cannae even bear the thought of ye bein’ stuck in a ditch somewhere.”

Could it be possible, after all these years, that me aunt has made a friend? Cecilia observed the exchange with pleased interest, hoping that her aunt’s good mood would last. Mairie was always so busy at the convent, wearing a perpetually harried expression. It was nice to see just ‘Mairie’ for a change, instead of Mother Superior.

“Is the Laird nae joinin’ us?” Cecilia asked during a slight lull in the conversation.

Aileen swallowed a mouthful of bread, thickly buttered. “Heavens, nay. He prefers to dine alone.” She paused, worry creasing her brow. “Och, but I should have insisted that he join us. It has been so long since anyone has been here—I do apologize for his absence. Tomorrow, I will ask him to join us.”

“Nay need,” Cecilia replied with a reassuring smile. “I was merely curious.”

She concentrated on the last piece of roast venison on her plate, hoping Aileen would not notice anything amiss.

Cecilia had never been prone to blushing and was notoriously difficult to embarrass, but when she thought about Murdoch bending over the back of her chair, his breath fanning her skin, it did unleash the faintest, most unusual tingle.

And now he wants me to be some manner of informant, though I ken nothin’, and I doubt he’ll keep his end of the bargain.

She stabbed the chunk of venison and mopped up the glossy blackberry sauce, before popping it, dripping, into her mouth. It was foolish, but she felt betrayed, somehow.

“I do apologize for me son’s… less-than-friendly demeanor,” Aileen continued. “Did ye have a… successful discussion earlier?”

Cecilia shrugged. “I dinnae ken if I would call it successful. He insists that I was mistaken, and he doesnae wish to be wed.” She glanced at Mairie, realizing that what she was saying might not make sense. “I believe it was a case of mistaken identity. I heard things, believed them to be true, and now we have come all this way for naught.”

She would have to tell Mairie the humiliating truth, and soon, but she did not want to do so at the dinner table, with Aileen present. It was a conversation best left to later, when aunt and niece could be alone.

“Aye, well, I meant what I said,” Aileen said. “I can easily find ye another prospect. In truth, yer arrival has inspired me in a way I havenae been inspired for years—I think it’s time we hosted a cèilidh at Castle Moore. Once the snow has stopped and the roads are clear, I’d like to honor the two of ye and, at the same time, invite many eligible bachelors so that ye might have yer pick, Cecilia.”

Cecilia did not like the idea of having a cèilidh thrown in her honor, for she had done nothing to deserve it, but she did like the idea of a cèilidh being held in Aileen’s honor.

She said as much, smiling warmly at the older woman. “It seems ye’ve been waitin’ for a reason, M’Lady, and what better reason than yerself?”

“Och, ye’re too modest. Beauty should be celebrated, nae a crone like me,” Aileen argued merrily, halting as she caught Mairie’s eye. “Of course, if ye wish to return to the convent, then I suppose it wouldnae be appropriate.”

Mairie chuckled into her cup. “I dinnae like to speak for others, but I daresay that is the very last thing me niece wants.” Her eyes shone with affection as she turned them toward Cecilia. “She never wanted to be a novice, much less a nun. Och, when she first arrived at the convent, I thought me maither had left a changelin’ on the doorstep!”

“She was a hellion?” Aileen asked, propping her chin on her palm, eager and attentive.

“ Was? Och, there’s nay past tense about it,” Mairie replied, laughing more boldly. “I remember, a few years ago, while we were in the middle of prayer—silent prayer, ye understand—she set the loudest goat we have loose in the chapel. It shrieked with such vigor that at least one nun fainted with the shock of it.”

Cecilia gaped at her aunt. “How do ye ken it was me?”

“I’m nae as oblivious as ye think, Cecilia,” Mairie replied, a twinkle in her eyes. “And there was the time she was makin’ candles and poured what eventually smelled like liquid fish into the wax—it reeked of rotten mackerel for months. The convent would probably still smell a little fishy if it wasnae for the fire, so there’s a small mercy.

“Och, and I cannae forget the day she snuck out of the church we were stayin’ at and came swayin’ back at three o’clock in the mornin’. She thought she was sly, and I assume she thought she was being perfectly quiet, but there wasnae a single thing she didnae knock off when she climbed back in through the storage room window. Unfortunately for us, they were all jars of preserves that had moldered, so there was rancid jam everywhere.”

“Ye said a cat got in!” Cecilia protested, not embarrassed by her stories being told to Aileen, but rather admiring her aunt’s determination to cover up her wayward antics. “If I’d kenned it was me clumsy self, I’d have scrubbed that floor ‘til it shone!”

Mairie smiled. “Aye, but ye were happy, and I didnae have the heart to scold ye. I ken what Paisley means to ye, and I ken things havenae been the same without her. Laird Cairn gained a wife, aye, but ye lost the constant presence of a lass who was practically a sister to ye.”

“Is that why ye want to marry, me dear?” Aileen chimed in, clasping her hands in delight.

How do I say that that’s nae what I want when she’s bein’ so kind?

Cecilia did not want to tell any more fibs to the lovely woman.

Fortunately, Mairie started recounting another story, as if she somehow knew that Cecilia was not ready to answer such a question.

“The best one of all, that even I nearly laughed out loud at, was when she dressed one of the donkeys in a fine gown—I still dinnae ken where she got it—and put a hat and a straw wig on the sweet beast. She painted a pair of pouty red lips on some wood and got the donkey to hold it, then came running through the convent, crying out that Royalty was coming.

“Well, ye can imagine how excited we all were, thinkin’ someone grand had come to visit us at last. But when Cecilia opened the convent doors, there it was—the donkey, saunterin’ in like it was well aware of its part in me niece’s theatrical. Bein’ Maither Superior, it wouldnae have been right for me to laugh—but it took all the prayer and discipline I possessed, let me tell ye.”

Aileen burst into rich, wholehearted laughter, while Mairie laughed along with her, gasping every time she tried to add some detail to the story, unable to get the words out.

Cecilia watched her aunt, a little saddened that she had never known that Mairie found her ‘theatrical’ just as amusing. Back then, she had been soundly scolded for the trick, not a hint of a smile to be found anywhere on her aunt’s face.

If nothin’ else comes of this, I’m glad I got to see ye so… free, Aunt Mairie.

Indeed, Cecilia almost did not want her aunt to return to the convent either, not if this was what she was like outside those prison-like walls.

“But she seems so… innocent!” Aileen snorted. “I cannae believe she was capable of such creative japes!”

“Somehow, I’m nae at all surprised,” a deep voice bellyached from across the room, as low and alarming as a predator’s roar.

Cecilia whipped around, the air leaving her lungs as she set eyes on Murdoch. Every time she saw him, she forgot just how monstrous he was—not in his appearance, but in his height and breadth and muscles—as if her mind could not comprehend such a bear of a man.

“Murdoch!” Aileen seemed unperturbed by his sudden arrival. “Have ye decided to join us for dinner? We’ve mostly finished, but we can have our puddin’ while ye have yers.”

Murdoch’s steely eyes fixed on Cecilia, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he turned and left, his voice echoing down the hallway beyond, demanding a bath be drawn by someone out there.

“I guess nae,” Aileen said, her voice a tad too cheerful, as if she, too, was disappointed that he would not be joining them.