Page 8 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
Murdoch folded his powerful arms—so thick and muscular that she imagined if she sat on the palm of his hand, he would lift her with ease—across his equally powerful chest. “So, it’s nae a marriage that ye’re seekin’ to gain with this deceit?”
Taking a steadying breath to keep some control over her patience, Cecilia shook her head. “Nay, that’s very much what I dinnae want. To me, there’s little difference between takin’ forced marriage vows and taking forced convent vows.” She paused. “I just want me freedom, but nae at the cost of bein’ thrown out with nowhere to go and never bein’ able to see me aunt again. She’s the only family I have left.”
“I’m sure there’s a sad story in there somewhere. Pity I dinnae care.” Murdoch nodded his head in the direction of the doors. “Ye’ll explain to yer aunt that ye lied, and then I never want to see ye again.”
But repeating what she stood to lose ignited something inside Cecilia, dragging all of her fears back to the surface and striking fresh panic into her heart. If she left the convent in less disgrace, she was certain that her aunt would allow her entry again—to visit, at the very least. If she left the convent as an ungodly thing who had caused nothing but trouble, lying about being impure as a trick, that door would forever be closed in her face. To Mairie, it would be the very last straw in an entire bale of them.
“I ken ye have nay reason to do me any favors, M’Laird,” Cecilia said, softening her voice. “But I ken ye’re fond of me dearest friend, Paisley. She’d be heartbroken if she heard that ye refused to help me in me hour of need.”
Murdoch sneered. “Threats now?”
“Nae threats, just pleas,” Cecilia insisted. “I dinnae want marriage, and I ken ye dinnae either. That’s nae what I’m askin’ ye for, but if ye would consider… a betrothal to buy me some time so I could figure out what to do with meself, then I’d be indebted to ye.”
“Ye might nae understand, seein’ as ye’ve come from a convent, but betrothalleadsto marriage,” Murdoch pointed out drily.
Cecilia nodded. “Aye, but this one wouldnae. It’d be a ruse, a pretense, and as ye can see, I’m plenty good at those—well, I usually am. Admittedly, this has gone hideously awry. But as soon as enough time has passed, we’ll sever the betrothal and part ways without a word.” She held his gaze, clasping her hands together. “Please, M’Laird, I’m beggin’ ye. I’ll give ye anythin’ in return.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. It was foolish to promise ‘anything’ in return, especially to a man with such a particular reputation. At that very moment, he had red speckles across his léine and one or two dried red spots on his mask. Unmistakably blood.
One of Mairie’s most condemning speeches came back to haunt her in that instant, sending a chill from the tips of her toes to the top of her head:“If ye dinnae guard yerself with the power of Heaven and protect yer soul with piety and faith, ye willbe tempted by a devil one day, and ye’ll barter that soul of yers for a measly price. Dinnae damn yerself, Cecilia. Please.”
Murdoch’s eyes glinted, his lip curling in a half-sneer. “Careful, lass,” he said, his growling voice thrumming with threat. “Ye shouldnae make such promises totheBeast.”
CHAPTER 4
“There must be somethin’I could offer in return,” Cecilia pressed, trying to rephrase her side of the bargain. “Please, Laird Moore. I am one-and-twenty, and though I’ve enjoyed me years at the convent, of late I’ve felt like I’m wastin’ me life away. I dinnae want to waste any more of it.”
Murdoch had not stepped back, still far too close for her comfort, but if he thought he could intimidate her with his proximity, he had underestimated her. Even if hedidscare her just a bit, she would never show it.
“I love me aunt,” she continued. “I do love her with all me heart, but I just dinnae believe that the life of a nun is the life for me. Have ye never felt… trapped, M’Laird?”
He licked his thumb and rubbed at one of the red specks on his léine, pulling a face. “Aye, by a wee nun—or almost-nun—that said I ruined her.” He tucked his hand back into his foldedarms. “Ye dinnae get to ask favors when ye burst in here, makin’ accusations. I told ye, I dinnae care what yer story is.”
“Nay,” she replied solemnly, “why would ye? Ye dinnae ken me. I’m a stranger to ye, and ye’re right to be furious. Och, I’d be livid if I was in yer place.”
He watched her with those emotionless eyes until she decided to give him what he wanted.
She lowered her gaze and dropped her chin to her chest, murmuring reluctantly, “I’ll explain to me aunt, and we’ll leave at once. I’ve troubled ye enough.”
She awaited the scathing remark that would likely be the last thing he ever said to her, but it did not come. Instead, searching fingertips slipped between her chin and her chest, rough knuckles grazing the coarse fabric of her habit—far too intimate a touch for a novitiate to receive from any man.
“Dinnae lower yer eyes,” he snapped. “It’s deceitful, and I’d say there’s been enough of that for one day. I dinnae believe ye’re someone who ever backs away from conflict, whether ye caused it or someone else did.”
She blinked at him in astonishment, recalling the look he had given her at the wedding—how it had burned right through her. Had he somehow seen her true nature that night, or was he seeing it now, beneath the façade of a novitiate? She had thought she was better at hiding her real self than that, but perhaps she was not.
“Ye might have decided how ye’d enter me castle,” he continued, “but ye dinnae get to decide how ye’ll leave.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, aware of his fingers still touching the underside of her chin. “So, ye’re nae hoofin’ me and me aunt out?”
“Ye disrupted me peace, ye behaved poorly, and ye’re clearly troublesome, but I understand yer resolution,” he said, surprising her.
“Ye do?”
He shifted his hand, holding her more roughly by the chin. “It was the first thing ye said that was honest.”
She stared at him in confusion, trying to make sense of the half-masked man with cold eyes and grim temperament. He had gone from insisting that she get out of his sight to telling her that she could only leave at his say-so, leaving her mind reeling from the unexpected back and forth.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the sharp screech of the door hinges and the howl of the wind that blasted into the entrance hall halted her words. Footsteps hurried across the flagstones, and Cecilia braced herself for the scolding she was about to receive for “tomfoolery,” though she could not turn to look at her aunt with Murdoch’s hand still holding her by the chin.
