Page 71 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
An ember of hope encased in a shell of black fear pressed down on Murdoch’s chest as he smoothed the edges of his sharp tone. “What man?”
“I dinnae ken him, M’Laird,” the woman replied. “But she seemed to ken him.”
“Did she have anythin’ with her?” Murdoch had no choice but to ask, to figure out if Cecilia had fled from him or if this was another matter entirely.
The baker nodded. “She had two carvings wrapped in some kind of hemp or burlap. I couldnae tell ye what they were exactly, but she was holdin’ them close, like they were precious. I think they were… gifts.”
Carvings? Gifts?
It did not sound like Cecilia had been running from him, nor did it sound like she had simply gotten lost on the way back to the castle.
“This man. Describe him.”
The baker did her best. “Somewhat tall. Quite thin, with hunched shoulders. Short gray hair and… blue eyes, I think. She didnae seem afraid of him. He told her they should go back to the castle, and she went with him.” She hesitated. “But they didnae take the road. I saw him take her through the cottages over there and into the woods.”
“Thank ye,” Murdoch growled, urging his horse into a lope, following the same route that the baker had pointed to.
By lantern light, he rode with his men through the woodland, instructing them to fan out and search for tracks in the underbrush. There was still some old snow and ice on the ground, which should have been able to hold on to footprints, but he was leaving nothing to chance. If there was a broken twig, he wanted to know about it. If there was a clump of briar out of place, he wanted to hear it.
Where are ye, lass? Who did ye wander off with?
The description had not been as useful as he had hoped, his mind struggling to conjure such an image, but he would find outthe man’s identity soon enough. He would not rest until he did. Until he had Cecilia safely back in his arms.
“M’Laird!” Lennox shouted some twenty minutes later.
He banged his dirk against the side of his lantern, guiding Murdoch to the sound.
But as Murdoch followed the sound, a wave of unease washed over him like an itchy blanket. He knew where he was. He knew the place where Lennox crouched beside his horse, inspecting something on the ground. He knew it because he had brought Cecilia to that very spot on the night she got lost chasing Dipper.
“What is it?” Murdoch asked, coming to a halt.
Lennox lifted something from the ground, and Murdoch’s heart lurched, bracing for the worst. “It appears to be… a very ugly, very annoyed toad, M’Laird. A wood carvin’.” He pointed up the faint path that wended between the trees. “There’s another up there, though I couldnae tell ye what it’s supposed to be. A donkey, maybe.”
Gifts…
Murdoch knew, in an instant, that they were the objects that Cecilia had been carrying. She had been here, and she had been in a situation that forced her to drop those precious presents. The man who had led her away, claiming to want to return her to the castle, had done something to her.
“Search the cabin over there,” Murdoch snarled, eyes fixed on that vague path. “I’ll keep lookin’.”
Lennox bowed his head. “Aye, M’Laird.”
“Someone has her, Lennox,” Murdoch said, his voice as deadly as a blade. “Someone has taken what’s mine.”
“I hope ye’re nae fond of havin’ yer head attached to yer neck,” Cecilia hissed, her wrists raw from trying to free herself from her shackles.
George sat beside the fireplace in a cabin she did not recognize, a fair walk from the one where she had spent her first night with Murdoch. It was rudimentary, and the cold wind blew in through the gaps in the walls, making her teeth chatter. George had bound her onto a table, far enough away from the fire that she would not feel its warmth.
“I wouldnae taunt me if I were ye,” he replied grimly, a bruise blooming across his nose where she had managed to headbutt him.
It had not made a difference to her fate, but it had given her a small dose of satisfaction to at least fight him a little. It continued to give her satisfaction, seeing him in pain.
“Why nae?” she scoffed, staring up at the ceiling, where a spider was spinning a new web. “If ye’re goin’ to kill me, I can say what I like. Och, and ye should ken that Tara willneverbe Lady Moore, nay matter what ye do to me.”
“And why is that?” George asked, taking the bait.
She smiled to herself. “Because if there’s one thing that Murdoch can trust in, it’s me stubbornness. He kens I wouldnae give up, just as he kens I am nae cowardly enough to simply leave. If Ididwant to get away from the castle, I’d tell him first. I’d tell him all the reasons I’m leavin’ and never comin’ back, and I’d make sure he kenned it was his fault.”
George shifted uncomfortably on the crate he was using as a chair, staring into the fire as if he might find answers in the flames. Cecilia could practically hear the concerns ticking around in his mind, moving toward the clang of truthful revelation.
