Page 2 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
He had been in that corner since the dancing and singing began, apparently refusing to involve himself in the merriment. Nor had Cecilia seen him say much to anyone throughout the entire evening, just eating his food, drinking his drinks, and generally making anyone near to him too afraid to even ask if he liked the taste of the roast pheasant.
He towered over the other guests, including the three Lairds he had deigned to utter a word to, with an unkempt mane of raven black hair and stony gray eyes that glared from behind a black leather mask that covered the top half of his face. Whether he was just wearing it for the occasion or he wore it always, Cecilia did not know, but she was intrigued to discover what it was that he felt inclined to hide.
From where she was standing, he did not look grotesque. Far from it. Intimidating, perhaps, but the kind that sent a pleasant little shiver through her veins.
His sharp eyes turned toward the two women, and he bowed his head slightly. Paisley bobbed her head in response, but Cecilia did not, flashing him a grin instead. His eyes hardened, and his upper lip curled as he looked away with cold disapproval.
“Did ye mean Murdoch? Am I lookin’ in the right direction?” Paisley whispered.
“I mean that burly tree of a man with the blisterin’ scowl,” Cecilia replied, smirking.
Paisley chewed on her lower lip. “Aye, that’s Murdoch. Murdoch Blaine, Laird of Clan Moore. He’s… a strange soul.”
“Strange how?”
Cecilia observed his short beard, following a corded neck down to his broad shoulders and a barrel chest that pushed the fabricof his saffron-yellow léine to its straining limit. The imposing muscles were tragically half-covered by the plaid sash draped over his shoulder.
So much man. I bet his hands are the size of me head.
He was certainly an exciting change, compared to the wiry shepherds she was used to—the only men aside from the abbot and his acolytes, who were permitted to come close enough to the convent for a clandestine conversation or two.
“He’s very… stern. Doesnae say too much unless it’s about duty. Keeps to himself,” Paisley replied. “In truth, I dinnae ken him very well, but he works often with Camden. That bein’ said, I dinnae think he’d pair up too well with ye. Ye’d be desperate to hear a jest quickly enough.”
Cecilia tilted her head, wishing that the feasting table and her vantage point were not hiding the man’s lower half. “I dinnae ken. I reckon I could coax a smile onto that frosty face.”
“Och now, what’s this mischief?” a masculine voice rumbled from behind the two women, arms sliding around Paisley’s waist. “A married lass and an innocent, wee nun shouldnae be whisperin’ about deadly men like him. I hear that his sharpest glare has actually killed a man. The man was already dyin’, mind ye, but I’d swear it was one of Murdoch’s scowls that made him give up the last of his will to live.”
“Camden, there are people watchin’,” Paisley said shyly, her face lighting up, her cheeks flushing a happy pink.
Camden kissed her shoulder. “Let ‘em watch, the wee degenerates.”
Cecilia chuckled at the scene, overjoyed for her dearest friend. It appeared that Laird Cairn had not only swept Paisley off her feet, but he had also brought her out of her shell too. In all the years Cecilia had known her friend, she had never expected to see Paisley so… free.That, more than the husband, was something to envy, for though Cecilia took liberties and behaved mostly as she pleased, she was not free in the same way.
And I probably never will be…
“How’s yer man, Laird Cairn?” she asked, putting on a smirk. “I heard ye were keen on enlistin’ me into yer archery squad after I hurled that conker at his head.”
Camden chuckled. “Bruised in pride and skull. He’s here somewhere if ye’re in the mood to frighten him a second time. I wouldnae mind seein’ what ye’d pick for yer weapon of choice.”
“It’d have to be one of those chestnuts over there. I’m a creature of habit, M’Laird,” Cecilia replied. “Usually, in more ways than one, but yer dear wife saw fit to lend me a dress.”
Camden and Paisley both laughed at that, so utterly in love that their eyes sparkled in unison, their amusement aimed at Cecilia but their attention fixed on each other.
Camden clearly could not keep his hands off his wife, and she seemed so relaxed in his embrace—a world away from the bashful, embarrassed girl who would turn bright red and gasp at the stories Cecilia used to tell of her exploits in the outside world.
“Och, and I’m nae a nun yet,” Cecilia added. “Northatinnocent, truth be told. Or wee—I’m taller than most. Do ye have trouble with yer sight, M’Laird, or can ye nae concentrate on observation when ye have the most beautiful lass in the world in yer arms?”
Camden quirked an amused eyebrow. “Och, I like this friend of yers. Why did ye nae tell me that ye used to keep such wicked company, love? Sharp as a dagger, this one.”
“Or blunt as a conker,” Cecilia quipped.
Paisley laughed softly, reaching out to hold Cecilia’s hand. “I’ve got the rest of our lives to tell ye all about the years we spent together, though she tells the stories best.” She paused. “Yewillcome back to see me, Cecilia, will ye nae?”
“Me aunt cantryto stop me, but she hasnae succeeded before,” Cecilia replied, giving her friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “All she’s done is enhance me talent for escapin’.”
With a mischievous smile, Camden cast a glance at Murdoch Blaine, who was staring out the Great Hall windows as if there was not a raucous celebration of love and merriment in full swing. A staunch and severe guardian, so tall and muscular thatCecilia had no choice but to wonder what it might be like to be crushed against him in a feverish embrace.
He wouldnae be gentle with me, that’s for certain.
