Page 9 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
“This isnae the time,” Murdoch grunted over Cecilia’s head.
A feminine voice that did not belong to Mairie asked, “What do ye mean? Would ye have me wait out in the cold instead of hurryin’ in to meet me new daughter-in-law?”
“What?” Murdoch’s eyes darkened.
“Och, ye cannae imagine me surprise when I arrived and heard that ye’re betrothed, at last!” the woman gushed, stepping into Cecilia’s field of vision. “That sweet nun outside just told me the good news! I couldnae believe me ears. I’d say it was fate that I returned early, but I ken how ye feel about such things, Murdoch.”
The woman was perhaps in her fifties, but she still carried a youthfulness about her, with barely any gray in her chestnut-brown hair and sharp eyes that gleamed with mirth.
Upon seeing her, a lump formed in Cecilia’s throat, for though they did not look alike, the woman’s mannerisms were very much like her grandmother’s.
I’d wager ye wouldnae be intimidated by this man, Nan.
“Maither, ye’re mistaken,” Murdoch said flatly. “This isnae me bride. Whatever that nun out there told ye, it’s nae true.”
His mother frowned. “But she wasverycertain.”
“Aye, because there was a grave misunderstandin’,” Murdoch insisted, shooting Cecilia a hard look as if to say,Do ye see what ye’ve done?
But Cecilia was too surprised by his behavior toward his mother to pay his look much mind initially. This powerful giant of a man could probably crush a skull with his enormous hands—and probably wished to do that to Cecilia, at that moment—and had such a violent reputation, yet he spoke to his mother with great respect in his tone. Firm and blunt and masterful, yes, but his voice was less harsh, his eyes absent his customary glare, as if he wished to shield her from unpleasantness. In himself and the situation around him.
“It’s true, M’Lady,” Cecilia chimed in. “It wasmemisunderstandin’. A dear friend of mine suggested that yer son might be in need of a wife, so I came here to volunteer meself. Ye see, that was me aunt out there who ye spoke to, and it’s her wish to see me safely positioned in the world, so I suppose she thought the arrangement was as good as made. But, havin’ spoken with yer son, I can see that me friend was wrong. He is neither in need nor want of a wife.”
Murdoch gave her a look so chilling that she wondered how she was able to face it and smile. Despite recent events, she did not like to lie if she could help it, but there was no way she was going to reveal her embarrassment to his mother.
Dinnae fret, Murdoch Blaine, it’ll yield the same outcome.
After all, this was his mother.She was probably well aware of his aversion to the idea of marriage. It was not as if she had received any new information.
The older woman’s face crumpled with disappointment. “And what is yer name, dearie?” She brushed past her son and took Cecilia’s hands. “Och, ye’re cold as ice! Has me son nae even had the decency to offer ye a seat in front of the fire and a hot cup of tea?”
“He hasnae,” Cecilia replied, feeling Murdoch’s glare burn into her once more as she focused her attention on his mother. “In truth, I dinnae much feel the cold. I’m well accustomed to it.”
“Aye, that may be so, but there’s such a thing as guest rights to be upheld!” The older woman clicked her tongue at Murdoch. “What did ye say yer name was again?”
“Apologies, M’Lady, I didnae.” Cecilia was already warming up to the older woman, who reminded her even more of her grandmother. “Me name is Cecilia Adair. It’s a pleasure to make yer acquaintance.”
Murdoch’s mother gripped Cecilia’s hands tighter, lifting them to her mouth to blow warm air on them. “Well, Cecilia, I am Aileen Blaine, and I assure ye that the pleasure is all mine.” She flashed her son a smile. “Is she nae a bonny thing, Murdoch? Come now, I ken ye wear a mask, but ye cannae be blind to beauty when it walks through yer door.”
“Her beauty is of little interest to me,” Murdoch replied, his thunderous voice reverberating through Cecilia’s veins, making them tremble with nerves.
She had crossed him twice already, and she doubted he would take kindly to that.
Aileen tutted, returning her attention to Cecilia. “Aye, well, we cannae have yer visit be in vain, Cecilia.” She nodded toward the doors. “Let us fetch yer aunt from the cold and have us somethin’ hot to eat and drink. I’ll have chambers prepared for the two of ye, and certainly a bath to soothe yer chilled bones.”
“They were just leavin’,” Murdoch snarled, his eyes blazing with anger.
Cecilia half expected him to wrench his mother’s hands away from her, throw her over his broad shoulder, and carry her out whether she liked it or not. And though she would have liked to be thrown over his shoulder, tofeelthat power firsthand, she was not exactly thrilled by the idea of making the return journey to the convent.
“Nonsense,” Aileen said with finality. “It has just started to snow, and it isnae likely to stop anytime soon. That is why I returned from the village early—so I wouldnae be stuck on the road. I willnae have me guests travelin’ in such awful weather if I wouldnae do it meself.”
Cecilia watched Murdoch warring silently with himself, his teeth scraping his lower lip, his eyes burning, his nostrils flaring. Buthe was still a laird. If there was one thing that lairds upheld, above all else, it was guest rights—if they did not want to be unlucky and plagued with misfortune, at least.
Although the old gods and old ways had faded with the centuries, some traditions persisted.
“I trust that is acceptable to ye?” Aileen asked as if remembering that Murdoch was Laird Moore as well as her son.
Holding Cecilia’s gaze, drawing in a deep breath that puffed out his broad chest, he grumbled, “One week. If the snow hasnae cleared by then, I’ll take ye back to where ye came from meself.”
