Page 14 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
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 onhim, 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 hecouldappease 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 actuallaughterin 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.”
