Page 19 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
He did not care as long as they showed a healthy fear of him—healthy enough that no one would dare to stand against him, for any reason.
Nae a single one of ye kens what true fear is. I pray ye never do.
For it was not just his years at sea that haunted him.
Hands like two blocks of ice, red and raw from sawing and dragging the tree out of the road, and from aiding several other villages with supplies and repairs, Murdoch felt lighter upon his return to Castle Moore. Exerting himself had given him the peace that he had not been able to feel last night because of Cecilia’s interruption.
Hard work had always given him a sense of calm, from boyhood to that very moment. Sometimes, hauling something heavy or swinging a sword in the training yard or running until he couldrun no more were the only things he could rely on in moments of great strain or upheaval.
“If I didnae ken ye better, I’d say ye were finally jolly,” Lennox teased, yawning in his saddle.
Murdoch shot him a dark look. “The day ye see me any sort of merry is the day ye can summon as many priests as ye can to this place, because the devil has taken hold of me.”
“Ye dinnae feel at all like smilin’ when ye see yer pretty betrothed wanderin’ around?” Lennox asked.
Murdoch’s hackles rose, his eyes searching his man-at-arms’ face. “What do ye mean by wanderin’?”
“I didnae mean anythin’. She’s a guest. She wanders. I saw her just this mornin’, pretendin’ she wasnae as lost as a chicken in a duck pond,” Lennox replied, a puzzled expression on his face. “Och, she’s gotten under yer skin, has she nae? I’d bet me life on it.”
“Then ye mustnae put much value on yer life,” Murdoch retorted. “And if ye see her lost again, dinnae play foolish games—tell her where she ought to go. I dinnae want her endin’ up in places she shouldnae be.”
He had half a mind to scold Lennox for not being thorough enough, for it should not have been possible for anyone—muchless a novitiate who did not know the castle—to be able to find him up in his tower.
But to do that might mean confirming Lennox’s assumption that Cecilia had gotten under his skin, when that could not have been further from the truth. That woman had not gotten under his skin—no onewas capable of doing that.
Instead, Murdoch squeezed his thighs and urged his stallion into a gallop. The horse gave an excited snort and stretched into an elegant run, kicking up great plumes of snow, leaving Lennox in a spray of icy granules. It was not often that Murdoch gave his stallion its head, and the beast was more than seizing the opportunity.
He made it to the gates of Castle Moore, wind-whipped and breathless with something akin to exhilaration, reminding himself that he ought to do that more often. And if he had been prone to smiling, he knew that might have been one of those moments, feeling as if nothing could dampen his mood.
“Murdoch! Oh, thank goodness!” his mother’s voice echoed across the inner courtyard, drawing his attention.
Aileen hurried over with Cecilia’s aunt at her side, followed by six of the castle’s best guards, who looked as pale and troubled as her.
It took a great deal to fluster Murdoch’s finest men, and the sight of their concern troubled him more than that of his mother.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded to know, not bothering to get down from his horse.
Is it MacDunn? Has he attacked? Has someone breached our walls? Did Cecilia let them in?
He still had not quite abandoned the notion that Cecilia was a spy, despite it being a rather outlandish, unlikely theory. But if he knew one thing about Laird MacDunn, it was that he was crafty, always several steps ahead of anyone and everyone who sought to bring him down.
“It’s me niece, M’Laird,” Mairie said, breathless, her hand curled around her cross.
Aileen nodded, equally breathless and red in the face. “We’ve been searchin’ all over for her. A maid went to ask if she wanted luncheon, but she wasnae in her chambers.”
“And then another servant said that he saw her wanderin’ through the gardens,” Mairie continued as if they were part of a double act. “But she wasnae there either.”
“So, we started searchin’,” Aileen picked up, “and we heard from a couple of guards who were up on the battlements that they saw a lass head out a few hours ago. Nae long after ye left, in truth. They didnae ken who it was, so they didnae think to stop her.”
Mairie was close to tears. “A lad on a wagon just came up to the gates nae twenty minutes ago—said he saw her on the road. Heasked if she wanted help, but she told him that she was lookin’ for somethin’.”
“Aye, that she’d heard cries and was goin’ after whatever it was that needed help,” Aileen added. “We were just gatherin’ a search party to head after her. Och, Murdoch, she wasnae wearin’ a warm cloak, just the one she arrived in—she’ll freeze to death out there.”
Murdoch’s lip twitched, though he could not tell if he was annoyed with Cecilia or himself. “Stay here, all of ye. I’m nae wastin’ good men when I can do it meself.”
He turned his stallion around before anyone could utter a word of protest—certain that none of them would disobey his direct command, not even Mairie—and took off in search of the missing nun.
Evidently, Cecilia had a keen ear, for she had found him with relative ease last night. But he did not yet know if he believed the tale of hearing cries, or if, perhaps, she had gone to meetsomeoneelse in the woodland that stood proud at the bottom of a shallow slope, a short ride off the main road.
