Page 22 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
“There’s nothin’ livin’ in here, so if ye dinnae want to shiver yerself to an early grave, ye’d better come inside,” he called gruffly, before disappearing inside again.
Unwilling to leave the stallion alone in the cold, Cecilia walked back to the magnificent, enormous creature and bowed her head to it. The stallion snorted in reply, bowing his head slightly. She put out her hand to let the horse sniff her, and once she was certain he would not bite, she lightly stroked his nose.
The stallion gave a soft nicker, and when she took his reins and led him to the stall, he followed her obediently, gently chewing on the collar of her cloak and sniffing her hair.
“Ye’re a lovely beastie,” she murmured in a soothing tone as she set to work unsaddling the horse and replacing the bit and bridle with a halter that had been left on the wall for, presumably, that very purpose.
To ensure he stayed warm, she took off her cloak and draped it over his back. He nickered again, bumping his nose into her forehead.
“Och, do ye like kisses? Is that it? Do ye want kisses?”
She kissed his long nose and scratched between his ears, lavishing him with attention. So much so that she did not notice that Murdoch had come back out of the hunting cabin and was now watching her as if she were some kind of strange woodland spirit who had just bewitched his horse.
Her heart leaped into her throat when she finally saw him standing there. “I was just gettin’ him settled. It’ll be a miserable night for him—poor mite.”
Murdoch raised an eyebrow. “He’s nae a pony, lass. If ye do all that, ye’ll spoil him.” He pointed his thumb back into the cabin. “And ye have another creature in here to tend to. Never mind botherin’ with me stallion.”
“Is he always this mean?” Cecilia asked the horse.
The stallion blew a breath of assent through his nostrils, making her laugh.
“Well, ye rest well,” Cecilia said to the lovely creature. “Dinnae get too cold out here.”
After giving the horse one last kiss on the forelock, Cecilia retreated into the cold of the cabin. It was not much better than outside, but the first few flames of a fire were licking up the logs, and she sensed it would not be long until she could feel her limbs again.
As for the pup, he had chosen his spot, lying on his side in front of the hearth, already fast asleep.
Just then, Murdoch entered behind her and closed the door, trapping them both in that cabin.
She did not need to turn around to know that he was too close. She couldfeelhis presence behind her, like invisible fingertips skimming over her tingling skin. Although it might have been more appropriate to give him room, she stayed put, liking the feeling more than she cared to admit.
CHAPTER 10
The cabin didits best to hold on to the heat of the fire, but the moment Cecilia considered stepping out of its glow to find a place to sleep, the cold nipped at her feet, herding her back toward the blaze.
To make matters more complicated, Murdoch had chosen that moment to take off his clothes.
Cecilia whirled around, clapping a hand over her eyes. “What are ye doin’?”
“Ye should do the same,” he replied gruffly. “Wet clothes willnae help ye get warm again. I can see ye’re still shiverin’.”
“I cannae be in a room with ye wearin’ nothin!” she protested, resisting the urge to turn around and take a peek.
However, her mind saw fit to fill in the blanks as she heard the glide of fabric against skin, the sound of a buckle beingunfastened, and the heavy drop as wet wool hit the floorboards. She remembered the sculpted muscles of his chest and back, and she imagined them again, letting her mind’s eye rove over every scar and defined line and sinew.
She managed to picture him all the way to the hips, where her mind faltered, leaving a sort of vague haze between his navel and the middle of his thighs, where her imagination picked up again. She tried again to no avail; she had only gossip and stories she had heard from passing village girls to picture what was in between.
“How do I ken ye willnae look?” she asked awkwardly, uncertain where he was in the room.
“I willnae,” he replied in an unimpressed tone, and she finally ascertained his whereabouts.
He was by the fireplace, and as she stole a glance at him, she caught another glimpse of that magnificent, sculptured back as it slid beneath several layers of blankets and furs. It seemed he had created a bed of sorts in front of the fireplace, though she noted with some disappointment that he had not made one for her.
And in front of him was a rack, where his clothes were laid out, drying by the heat of the fire.
“Ye’ll join me here after ye’re done undressin’,” he added. It was not a request.
She whirled around. “I willnae!”
