Page 12 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
“Yer aunt was already a nun?”
“Aye, but she’s Maither Superior now. She wasnae back then.”
“Family?” he asked simply.
Cecilia hesitated, the good humor fading from her face. She turned her gaze toward the window, where fat flakes of snow were falling silently, sticking to the panes.
A sign of deceit?Murdoch silently wondered, for those who were about to lie or were in the middle of a lie usually could not look the other person in the eye.
“None but me aunt,” she said thickly, after a stilted pause.
“If ye lie to me, lass, I’ll?—”
“It’s nae a lie,” she shot back, her head snapping toward him. “I have nay family in this world but me aunt. Ihadfamily, but nae anymore. I trust ye’re capable of figurin’ out what that means.”
Ordinarily, Murdoch would not tolerate someone interrupting him, but he let her off. Clearly, he had struck a raw nerve… or she was a particularly gifted thespian, able to conjure the sound of true pain on a whim. He chose—rather generously, he thought—to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Is that why ye ended up at yer aunt’s convent?” he continued.
Cecilia shrugged. “Aye and nay. I was sent there for me own protection. Since then, I havenae seen me family again.”
“Protection?” Murdoch narrowed his eyes at her. “From what?”
She hesitated again. “There was… a general threat against the people of me clan. A lot of people were sent away, or fled, durin’ that initial upheaval.”
“Which clan?”
Her throat bobbed, her discomfort obvious in the way she shifted in her seat. The conversation had veered into a territorythat left her uneasy, he could tell that much. But he did not yet know why.
“Clan MacDunn,” she muttered.
Murdoch barely managed to stifle the gasp that longed to escape his throat, his steely eyes suddenly seeing the woman before him in a different light.
Ever since the beginning of MacDunn’s rampage across the Highlands, Murdoch had been looking for an advantage against the wretch. But captives rarely talked, those who had fled the razed villages could not say much about the villain, and going into his territory was out of the question—many had tried, but all were dead, killed by the clan-folk who, inexplicably, remained loyal to MacDunn.
“Yer family were enemies or allies of Laird MacDunn?” Murdoch asked calmly, stifling his twisted delight.
Cecilia frowned. “Me faither was his second-in-command.”
Och, and ye walked right up to me doors.
Murdoch could hardly believe his luck, but he needed to proceed with caution. There was no way of knowing if Cecilia herself was allied to MacDunn. Who would suspect a nun, after all?
“I’m still waitin’ to hear what ye have to offer me.” He leveled her with a cool gaze.
She stared right back, brazen as anything. “The deal would be a fake betrothal until I can figure out what to do with meself. Since it’s obvious that ye have nay intention of givin’ me that, and this entire charade is just to toy with me, I dinnae have anythin’ else to offer.”
“Ye’d give up so easily?” he challenged, certain that surrender was not in her nature.
A woman did not traipse to a secluded castle in the dead of winter, knowing her story was a lie, if she had a propensity toward giving up.
“Nay, I just ken when I met me match,” she replied, resting her elbow on the armrest, her cheek on her palm. “Honestly, I should’ve picked a different laird.”
Murdoch shot to his feet, stalking around the desk to stand behind her chair. Leaning over it, his hands braced on both armrests, he whispered softly, “Too bad ye didnae. Now, ye’re at me mercy. For a week, at least.” He bent further, seeing her shiver as his breath tickled the curve of her neck. “And ye’ve just offered up exactly what I want.”
Cecilia sat rigid in the chair, her heart thundering wildly, her breaths traitorously shallow. She did not doubt that Murdoch had deliberately put himself between her and the door, hoping to intimidate her. And he was succeeding, for the most part.
However, there was a small, inexplicable part of her that shivered differently—not with fear, but with a strange anticipation, daring him to make his request.
