Page 36 of A Wife for the Highland Wolf
Lydia felt her heart sink.
How could they build a future on understanding if they hid away the scars of the past? Did Murdoch not realize that, unless such things were spoken of and shared between two people, they’d forever remain ghosts to haunt and choke their relationship until it withered?
Lydia couldn’t find the words that would make him see the light, not when he so adamantly refused to see what she meant. Instead, she tried a different approach. “And what of our rules?”
Murdoch bent his head and she felt his warm breath brush across her cheek as his deep voice whispered in her ear “What rules?”
Before she could react, he pulled her close to his body so she could feel his growing arousal. His lips claimed hers in a demanding, hungry kiss as his hands went to her waist, lifted her up and set her on the edge of the table.
She could feel the heat of his passion and longed to match it with her own. And yet…
Lydia brought her hands up between them and pushed. Taken off guard, Murdoch stumbled back and fell into his recentlyvacated seat. Lydia hopped down from the table and smoothed her skirt before looking him.
The hurt and frustration on his face was nearly enough to make her relent, but she knew if she did she would forfeit a portion of his respect. He’d always be thinking that a kiss and a bit of pleasure could sway her.
Worse, she’d lose respect for herself. She might fantasize about his touch and his kisses and she might long to experience more of both, but she wasn’t going to sacrifice her dignity and independence for that. Not for Murdoch or any other man.
“Lydia…” He reached for her again, but she retreated from his hand.
“Nay, me Laird Lochlann. Ye cannae change me mind or make me forego me decisions with pretty words and seduction. Ye ken what I desire, and why.”
She lifted her chin, ignoring the ache in her chest that begged her not to press him so. “If ye’re nae willin’ to even try and talk to me about the things I feel I should ken, then ye daenae have a right to try and seduce me to surrender me virtue. I’ll nae press ye if ye’re unwillin’ to speak, but neither will I give meself over to ye.”
His jaw clenched. “There’s nay need to talk about the past.”
“If ye feel so, then we must agree to disagree. But me decision stands. When ye wish to talk to me, truly talk, then I will be more than willing to listen. Until then, I’ll not be seduced into yielding.”
It was difficult to watch as his face smoothed over, expressions vanishing behind a stone mask of indifference and distance. “Then it appears the evenin’ is over.”
“Aye. It is. I bid you a good evenin’ and a fair night’s sleep, me Laird.” With that, she turned and walked away.
She half-hoped he would call her back or follow after her, but only the sound of her own footsteps accompanied her to her rooms.
20
Murdoch silently lamented as he nursed his glass of whiskey. It was early enough that Wilma and Gordon were both giving him strange looks for drinking but he didn’t care.
After Lydia’s departure he’d had a sleepless night, full of restless dreams and uncomfortable thoughts. By the time dawn had started to show through his window he’d developed a headache that felt like a band of iron around his temples and his eyes burned with weariness. A drink could hardly make him feel any worse.
A slender, petite figure entered the Great Hall and strode toward the head table. Murdoch stifled a groan and a scowl as Lydia sat beside him with a polite but distant “Good morning, me Laird.”
Murdoch grunted in response. He didn’t dare say or do anything else, not with how their last encounter had ended. He’d spentthe entire night wondering how it could have gone so wrong and how he could repair the situation.
Of course, there was the obvious solution, but he shied away from it. He’d meant what he said about not discussing the past. He hated even thinking about it. There was no point in telling his side of the tragic event when he didn’t trust that anyone would listen, or believe him.
Wilma abandoned her disapproving stare at Murdoch and turned to greet Lydia. “Good morn, Lydia! Have ye decided what ye’re wearing to the village festival?”
Lydia blinked, and Murdoch smothered an annoyed oath. He’d completely forgotten to tell her that the village was holding a festival. It had been planned before he’d gone to secure her as his betrothed, and the festivities had been expanded to celebrate the betrothal after he’d announced it. He’d also forgotten it would be held today.
“Festival?” Lydia asked his cousin.
Wilma smiled. “Did Murdoch nae get a chance to tell ye? There’s a festival today in the village. We’ll have a variety of merchants and food stalls and the like, and later there will be dancin’ and music in the square.”
“It sounds grand. But I dinnae sleep well last night. I was thinking of having a quiet day in me rooms or in the garden.” Lydia’s answering smile was strained, and Murdoch could see the shadows under her eyes.
Evidently her night was no better than mine.The thought made him feel oddly disquieted.
Wilma pouted. “Are ye sure? Murdoch said ye liked to read, and there’s supposed to be at least one bookseller present today. I’ve been saving me coins in case he has anything of interest.”
