Page 42 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
“Some lasses dinnae ken what’s dangerous for them,” he grumbled.
“I cannae argue with that.” Cecilia eyed him strangely, rising from the stool. “Paisley was the reader and the romantic dreamer, never me. She got her handsome prince, in the end. I’ve never wanted one. Truth be told, I always found the villains in her fairytales more interestin’.”
Murdoch stared back at her, uncertain of what she was trying to say, and even more uncertain of why she was looking at him with such intensity. Of course, he knew all about his nickname, “the Beast”. It had never bothered him. In fact, it had come in handy on multiple occasions. But he had to wonder if that was what she was seeing when she gazed at him like that.
“Piracy isverydangerous, is it nae?” she asked, taking a half step toward him.
He shrugged. “If ye cannae swim, aye.”
Her eyes widened for a moment. “Was that a joke?”
“What? Nay. It’s the truth,” he replied, perhaps a tad too fiercely. “If ye sail aboard ships and ye cannae swim, ye might as well call it yer casket.”
She tilted her head, an emotion akin to disappointment flashing across her beautiful face. “So, it’s nae the cannons and the naval battles that are the most treacherous?”
“It’s nae different from a battle on land,” he said, unwilling to get into the contrasts and comparisons. “Risky, aye, with a big threat of dyin’, but ye’re doin’ a duty. If ye end up in the water, it’s down to ye if ye live or die.”
She pursed her lips and nodded faintly as if she understood. “And ye saw many battles?”
“Enough to ken.”
Her expression softened, confusing him. “Is that why ye wear that mask, then? Were ye… injured while ye were at sea?”
He tensed, every muscle tightening, his back ramrod-straight. Despite the stares he often received, it was not a common question. Usually, no one dared to enquire, just as he rarely deigned to respond. The reason he wore a mask was no one’s business but his own.
“Ye’re dressed already,” he said tightly. “Ye can leave now.”
She flinched as though he had struck her. “Ye’re kickin’ me out again?”
“Ye said it yerself—that’s what a lass can expect from a Pirate Laird,” he replied as calmly as he could. “Away with ye.”
For a moment, it seemed she was going to protest.
In truth, he was expecting it, so it was more of a surprise when she walked toward the door, tossing, “Fine by me,” over her shoulder.
She yanked on the iron ring that served as a door handle, but the door did not budge. She tried again, harder this time, muttering and huffing under her breath as she pulled with all of her might. She tugged and tugged, but the door seemed to be stuck.
“An old trick,” Murdoch remarked, striding over.
He nudged her aside and took hold of the iron ring, pulling with a little of his strength. He furrowed his brow, for though the door itself bent slightly inward, it refused to give.
Applying more of his strength, he tugged on the iron ring. The door bent inward even more, offering him a glimpse of the lock. The bolt was in place, and he did not have the key to unlock it.
“This is why ye shouldnae slam the doors in this castle,” he growled, glaring at her. “Ye’ve knocked the lock into place.”
“Me?” Cecilia protested, folding her arms across her chest. “I didnae do anythin’! Aye, I might’ve slammed the door, but it shouldnae have gotten stuck. It’s this ancient castle! I bet ye’ve never even thought to replace the locks, have ye? Do ye nae ken that locks rust over time?”
There was a note of panic in her voice as she ran her fingertips over the hinges. “See!” she cried. “These couldnae be more rusted if they tried! Och, I cannae believe this. I cannae believe it!”
She walked away and headed to the thin windows, where archers would have aimed and fired at approaching enemies once upon a time. She peered out, cursed under her breath, and whirled back around.
“Well?” she said pointedly.
“Well what?” Murdoch replied.
“Are ye nae goin’ to break it down with that brute strength of yers?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Nay, I’m nae. Someone will come.”
