Page 24 of A Wife for the Highland Wolf
Murdoch stroked a gentle finger over the wee lad’s face, just as Lydia reached out to tuck the edge of the blanket closer around Finn’s shoulders. Their hands touched, and Lydia pulled back in surprise.
Murdoch stared at her for a moment, then bent and lifted Finn into his arms. Lydia watched as he went to the door and called for a maid to take the sleeping bairn. Once the child had gone back to his nursery, Murdoch turned to face her. “Was past time for him to be put to bed. He’ll be fussy if he gets woken now.”
It was such a simple action, so domestic, that Lydia couldn’t help blinking in surprise. Murdoch gave her a slightly irritated look. “If ye’ve a question, ask it.”
Lydia shook her head. “Tis naythin'. I just never expected ye to be the sort to take an active hand in caring for a bairn, even if he is yer son. Tis strange to see how gentle ye are with him.”
“He’s me son, and that’s nae a question. And nae the one ye really want to ask.” Murdoch folded his arms. “Ye might as well say whatever it is ye’re thinking.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why she should bother, when he’d so steadfastly refused to answer any of her other questions. In the end, however, curiosity overruled her stubbornness, and she asked the question that had been uppermost in her mind ever since she and Isobel had first spoken about him.
“Did ye really murder yer wife?”
The effect was immediate. Murdoch stiffened, every trace of relaxation and softness leaving him as he stalked towards her. “Ye daenae ken what ye’re speaking of, or ye wouldnae ask such a question.”
He appeared terrifying, but she refused to back down. “Then tell me. Did ye?”
Murdoch’s hands seized her upper arms. “Ye will apologize for the insult of asking me such a question!”
“Nay I willnae. As yer betrothed, I’ve a right to ken the truth or falsehood of the rumors surrounding ye. So I’ll nae be apologizing until I hear the answer from ye.” She met his furious glare with an unwavering stare of her own.
Silence fell between them, leaden and heavy, neither one of them willing to yield. Finally, Murdoch released her and looked away. “Nay.”
“Nay, ye willnae answer, or nay, ye dinnae do it?” Lydia scowled. She was tired of these one-word answers.
“Nay, I dinnae.”
She wanted to believe him, but why was he so defensive and angry if he’d had nothing to do with his wife’s death? And why wouldn’t he elaborate, and offer a stronger defense of himself? “I daenae ken if I believe ye, nae unless ye tell me what happened.”
Murdoch’s face went stone-hard, eyes glittering with fury and something much deeper, something that made her stomach clench. “Ye demanded an answer, nae an explanation. And if ye willnae accept what I tell ye, then there’s naythin' more to say!”
Lydia stepped forward, intending to press the matter, but Murdoch clapped a hand over her mouth. “Daenae even think it. If ye willnae trust me words, then there’s nae point to speakingfurther. Go lock yerself in yer chambers and leave me be, if ye’re so determined to think me a monster.”
Before she could properly sort out her thoughts, Lydia found herself standing in the corridor, plate and cup in hand, as the door shut firmly in her face. She scowled at the heavy oak panel for a moment, then sighed.
It was partially her fault, she knew. She’d pressed too hard and too fast, and it had been foolish to admit she was struggling to believe him.
The truth was she didn’t know what to make of Murdoch Nairn. One moment he could be gentle and soothing, almost kind. The next he would be cold and forbidding, his anger wrapping like a storm cloud around him, making her feel as if lightning would strike her for a single misspoken word.
Perhaps it would be best for her to sort out her own thoughts and feelings before she approached him again.
The only thing she was sure of at this point was that Murdoch Nairn was a fascinating, complicated man, whom she desperately wanted to know. Whatever else he was, the pain she’d glimpsed in his eyes when he spoke of being thought a monster was all too raw and real.
Monsters, as she well knew from her cousin Geoffrey, didn’t care what other people thought of them, which meant Murdoch wasn’t a monster at all.
Nae a monster, but I cannae say for certain whether ye’re truly innocent of all ye’ve been accused of doing either. But tis early days yet, Murdoch Nairn, and I promise I’ll nae be giving up on unearthing what sort of man ye truly are.
13
Remaining in his study with Lydia’s words still ringing in his ears wasn’t an option. Neither was going to the quarters he’d temporarily claimed as his own. They were still full of his late wife’s possessions, and the idea of trying to achieve any sort of rest or peace of mind there after once again being accused of her murder was ludicrous.
Murdoch snarled an oath into the air, then whirled to collect his belt, sword and cloak. He felt full of restless energy, anger, hurt and frustration seeping from his core and roiling through his gut. He didn’t dare seek out a sparring partner in this mood, but a ride to patrol the surrounding area might soothe his mind.
No one stopped him as he stalked through the halls of the castle. No one said a word to him as he stormed across the courtyard to the stables and saddled his favorite horse. His people had learned to be wary of him in this mood, and made themselves scarce.
In some ways it was a relief. In others, it was a twisting of a knife in his gut. He’d been as good a laird as he knew how to be, and yet his people feared him. A single rumor had nearly made him as isolated as a hermit.
Murdoch shoved his morbid thoughts aside as he rode through the castle gates and out onto the moors. The evening breeze was cool and it felt good against his heated skin. He kicked the horse into a gallop and leaned over its back to embrace the exhilaration of speed as the stallion thundered over the landscape.
