Page 35 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Bride

CHAPTER 2

Present Day

This willnae do!”

That exasperated bark preceded the dull thud of a shoulder hitting Cecilia’s chamber door, shattering the makeshift lock that she had put on the inside to keep out unwanted visitors.

Cecilia sat bolt upright at the intrusion, pulling her blankets up to her chin as her aunt barreled in. The older woman had the look of someone who was at the frayed end of her tether, her blue eyes bright with anger, her cheeks flushed a patchy purple.

“Ye were supposed to be in the herb garden an hour ago!” her aunt, Mairie, shouted. “Do ye have any notion of how it makes me look when me own niece doesnae obey me orders?”

As Mother Superior, she had little choice but to run the convent with a firm but fair hand. Most of the novitiates were terrified of her, and no small amount of the nuns too, but to Cecilia, she was just her aunt. For eleven years, she had gotten away with things that no other nun or novitiate could dream of doing, driving Mairie to frequent distraction.

“I did me work earlier,” Cecilia protested feebly. “Ye can ask Arla. She was with me. Then, I didnae feel so well, so I came back here to rest before I go and milk the goats.”

It was the one thing that her aunt could never chastise her for, for she always did all of the work and chores that she was required to do. It was the rest of convent life that Cecilia did not much care for, even during spells where she was trying to be on her best behavior.

Mairie puffed out an exasperated breath. “Ye cannae just… do as ye please, lass! This has gone on for far too long.” She shook her head slowly, taking deep breaths. “I ken I’m partially to blame for enablin’ yer mischief and yer disobedience, but now that we’re back in the convent, I simply cannae allow it anymore. Ye’re one-and-twenty, Cecilia! Ye’re a grown lass actin’ like a fool and makin’ me look like a fool along with ye.”

Cecilia rubbed her throbbing temples, attempting to stop the headache she could feel coming. “It’s nae me intention, Aunt Mairie.”

“ Maither Superior! ” Mairie blinked up at the sky, no doubt asking the heavens themselves for help with her wayward niece. “Ye can either be a part of this convent or ye cannae, but this in-between cannae continue. Ye promised me ye’d take yer vows six months ago. Then, ye promised me ye’d take them once we returned to the convent from the church. Well, we’ve been back a fortnight now, and ye’ve still made nay sign that ye’re goin’ to take them.”

“I dinnae feel settled yet,” Cecilia replied, her head bowed, hoping to look as remorseful as possible. “I ken it looks the same as it did, more or less, but it doesnae feel the same yet.”

Thanks to Camden, the convent had been restored with surprising swiftness to its former condition, though the walls were now higher and the doors heavier, with more locks. He had explained the changes as a safety measure, considering what had happened there, but, to Cecilia, it just felt even more like a prison.

“Nay, I willnae hear any more excuses,” Mairie said, her hands clasped together. “I’ve overlooked yer tricks for too long, thinkin’ ye just needed more time, but yer time has run out. If ye dinnae want to take yer vows, then it is what it is, but ye cannae stay at the convent anymore.”

Cecilia’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in horrified surprise. “What?”

“It’s nae what I want, Cecilia,” Mairie continued, her voice catching, “but ye’ve left me with nay alternative. If ye dinnae wish to be a nun, ye cannae remain here. The rule has always been there, but I have stretched it for ye, as I stretched it for Paisley because she was yer friend.”

Cecilia pushed herself onto her knees. “Ye would… throw me out?”

“I would ask ye to leave, aye,” Mairie replied, unable to look at her niece. “I have given ye exemption after exemption, but there has to be a limit, Cecilia. I’ve reached it.”

On shaky legs, Cecilia lumbered to her feet. “But I dinnae have anywhere else to go. If ye throw me out, anythin’ could happen to me. And I wouldnae be able to see ye again.” She pointed at the broken door. “Once I leave the convent, I cannae come back in. Ye’re a closed order, remember.”

“Which is why I’m hopin’ ye’ll take yer vows.” Mairie met her niece’s eyes, her lips pressed together as if to prevent them from trembling. “I adore ye, despite yer mischiefs. I love ye, I wish to take care of ye still, but ye have to make yer choice now.”

Had this news come six weeks ago, Cecilia could have taken refuge at Castle Cairn, but Paisley had announced a month ago that she was with child.

Of course, Cecilia knew that her best friend would still take her in, if necessary, but she did not want to be the cause of any additional stress for Paisley at such a time. Nor did she want to be a burden—a woman without a family, station, wealth, or circumstance, cast adrift in a clan and castle that was not her own.

I couldnae just wander about, doin’ nothin’. I’d have to make meself useful, or else I wouldnae be able to bear meself.

She supposed she could ask Paisley to hire her as a maid or a cook’s assistant or something like that, but she feared that she would just be leaving one prison for another. If she defied orders at Castle Cairn, it would reflect poorly on Paisley—something Cecilia could not do to her friend.

“Ye dinnae mean that,” she said hopefully. “Ye’re cross because of me doin’ me chores earlier than ye wanted. I’ll do twice the chores to make amends.”

But Mairie shook her head. “It wouldnae make a difference if ye did, and that’s nae why I’m cross—I’m frustrated because ye’re takin’ advantage of me affection for ye. And because I… dinnae think ye actually want to be a nun. Ye dinnae take it seriously, though it means everythin’ to me, and… aye, it’s time for ye to make yer choice.” She paused, her sad eyes shimmering. “It’s dangerous out there for a lass alone, so I pray that ye will see sense, but if it’s yer decision to be free of this place, then… I’ll pray for ye always.”

Cecilia had lost count of the times she had snuck out of the convent, her jaunts into the outside world more exciting than dangerous, but she was no idiot. She knew there was a difference between brief excursions and having to stay out there, with nowhere to go, indefinitely.

What if there is a way to stay without takin’ me vows?

An idea began to form in Cecilia’s mind, watered by the memory of a young woman who had knocked on the convent doors in the dead of night a long while ago. She had been allowed to stay for several years with no word of taking vows and had departed only after falling in love with a man who had come to repair the roof.

“I didnae want to tell ye, Auntie,” Cecilia began, forcing her voice to hitch, transforming her face into a mask of consternation as she paced back and forth across her cell. “Och, I didnae want to. I hoped to keep it from ye forever. I?—”

“What is it, lass?” Mairie stepped forward, placing a halting hand on her shoulder.

Cecilia hung her head, fidgeting with the threadbare sleeves of her nightdress. “I cannae take me vows, Auntie.” She took a deep breath. “I cannae because I’m… I’m… nae pure.”

It was not true, of course. She had told countless lurid tales to Paisley over the years about such “exploits,” but those exploits had belonged to the village girls she had eavesdropped on during her secret excursions outside the convent . She had never done more than engage in conversation with the shepherds and village men whose attention she had drawn, though she had been curious here and there. Perhaps that was just as sinful, but it would not be enough to get her out of her vows.

“What?” Mairie gasped, oblivious to her niece’s secret adventures. “What do ye mean? Aside from the night ye stole away to attend Paisley’s weddin’, ye havenae left me sight.”

I have, Aunt Mairie, and so very often. I just havenae done anythin’ to lose me virtue.

Cecilia did feel a little guilty, but she could pray for forgiveness later. Right now, she needed to come up with something bad enough to avoid taking her vows, but not so bad that it would see her cast out anyway as a sinful creature.

“I… I kissed someone!” she blurted out, thinking fast.

“When?”

“At Paisley’s weddin’,” Cecilia replied solemnly. “That’s why I asked for more time to take me vows, because… because I kenned I couldnae, and I didnae want to disappoint ye as I’m doin’ right now. But I can make meself useful here, without takin’ me vows. I can cook, I can clean, I can?—”

Mairie gripped her niece’s shoulder harder. “I’m goin’ to need a name, lass. Now.”

The water in the basin had turned pink, the white washcloths streaked with red as Murdoch scrubbed the last remnants of blood from his forearms. His knuckles were too calloused to bruise anymore, but he felt the ache in the one belonging to his middle finger. His last punch had landed awkwardly, but no matter—his knuckle would heal.

A knock sounded at the tower door.

“What?” Murdoch snapped, in no mood for interruption.

A servant entered nervously through the narrow tower door, wringing his hands, his head bowed. “M’Laird, I apologize for disturbin’ ye, but?—”

“Then why are ye?” Murdoch growled, turning around.

The servant’s eyes widened at the sight of him, making him realize he might have missed a few spots of blood. “M’Laird, there are… visitors. We tried to send ‘em away, but they willnae leave.”

“So, force them to leave,” Murdoch tossed back, infuriated by the weakness of his staff.

How hard could it be to make a few threats to rid the castle of a few unwanted visitors?

“We… cannae, M’Laird,” the servant replied. “The guards willnae raise their swords to the newcomers, and nay one wants to lay a hand on them either. It’s a situation that demands yer presence, M’Laird, or I swear I wouldnae have disturbed ye.”

Murdoch cursed loudly, throwing the washcloth into the basin, causing a spill of pink water that dripped down onto the stone floor. With a black cloud hanging over his head, crackling with grim annoyance, he marched out of the tower.

The servant hurried after him, clinging to the rope that acted as a banister, while Murdoch thudded down at a swift pace, needing nothing but his fury to help him keep his balance.

He abhorred visitors. He did not invite them, he did not tolerate them, and he did not appreciate his servants and guards flouting his wishes. What manner of visitor could be awaiting him that even his best soldiers would not raise their swords to them?

Unless it’s the other Lairds, come at last?

He had been trying for a month to get Camden, Jack, and Noah to join him in discussing the issue of MacDunn. The greatest threat to the Highlands had gone quiet, but Murdoch did not trust a sleeping monster any more than he trusted a waking one.

He saw it as their opportunity to strike first, but the other Lairds could not be convinced—they were too busy in their bubbles of marital bliss, two of them already enjoying fatherhood, one of them preparing for that title.

Perhaps there has been another attack…

A strange excitement shot through him, for though he did not like to see villages razed to the ground, he had been hoping that MacDunn would rear his ugly head again. A violent act that might get the other Lairds to take the threat seriously again, considering they now had even more reason to protect their territories.

He quickened his pace, taking the spiral staircase all the way down to the ground. Entering the labyrinth of hallways that led to the entrance hall, he slowed down again, realizing that it could not be the other Lairds. If it was, the servant would have said it.

“ Who is here, exactly?” he asked bluntly when the servant caught up to him.

The servant bent over to catch his breath. “Well… it’s two nuns, M’Laird. Two nuns are here to see ye.”

“Nuns?”

Murdoch stormed forward, certain that he knew what they were there for. They would not be the first religious envoys to try and bleed alms out of him. But they would receive the same response he gave to every monk and priest and beggar who came knocking on his door.

He burst into the drafty entrance hall, made all the colder by the main doors standing half open, and drew to a halt. An older nun with a fearsome frown stared at him with barely concealed anger in her eyes, but the young lass at her side drew the blaze of his frosty attention.

I ken ye…

He did not recall her being a nun. She had certainly not dressed like one, the last time he had seen her—six months ago, at Paisley’s wedding. Nor would he have expected a brazen, smirking, shameless lass like her to ever don the habit and wimple and join a convent.

The shapeless attire concealed the pleasing hourglass shape he remembered from that night, her wimple hiding her long, dark hair. He had noticed her at that feast, from afar, but there had been no introduction, and he had not felt inclined to take a closer look.

All he remembered in any detail was her loud, audacious, equally shameless laughter.

Well, she did not seem to be laughing now.