Page 13 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
If he bent his head a little more, his lips would touch me skin…
The caress of his warm breath tingled down into her bosom, and she closed her eyes briefly to savor the moment.
“And what might that be?” she managed to say. “I wasnae aware I’d offered anythin’. Indeed, I think I just said I dinnae have anythin’ else to offer ye.”
“Accordin’ to yer wee story, ye already gave yerself to me,” he murmured.
That’s what ye want? Och, I’m in enough trouble as it is.
“So, it wouldnae be of any benefit for me to ask for somethin’ I’ve apparently already had,” he continued, to her relief. “Nae that I’d request such base things, anyway.”
She put up a finger. “Just to be clear, it was a kiss I made up. And, as ye said, ye cannae have what ye’ve already had.” A shaky exhale left her lips. “So, if it’s nae anythin’ of that ilk, what is it ye want from me in return for a fake betrothal? What did I say that suddenly inspired ye?”
She could not figure it out, flustered as a thousand possibilities swamped her head. Regardless of her past fantasies, she did notwant to have to give any part of herself to this man, with his rude tongue, his vicious eyes, and his obvious disdain for her.
Yes, she had some wilder notions, wondering what it would be like to be embraced by those powerful arms, imagining whether or not he would be as rough with his kisses and caresses as he was with his words, or if there was a gentler, more sensual side behind that mask. But those were harmless fantasies. The threat of himtakingwhat he desired was a very realreality.
“In exchange for me help, ye’ll give me all the information ye have on Laird MacDunn and the clan,” he said, his voice a rumble that sent a half-pleasant shiver down her spine.
She blinked in surprise. “But… I left me clan when I was ten years old. I never so much as met the man. I wouldnae ken anythin’ about?—”
“We’ll go through yer memories,” he insisted sternly. “Ye’d be surprised what a bairn’s mind can absorb without realizin’ its importance.”
Considering what she had actually expected him to request, she reasoned that searching her memories for information was a small price to pay. At some point, she had some letters from her parents, but they had burned in the convent fire. Still, with some time, she was certain she would be able to recall what they had said in enough detail to appease Murdoch.
Nae that they’ll help ye at all.
But that was none of her concern.
“And in return, ye’ll pretend to be me betrothed?” she asked, to confirm.
Murdoch took her hands and held them down against the armrests of her chair, his own strong, calloused hands forming manacles around her wrists as he pinned her there for a moment.
“In return,” he muttered, “I willnae throw ye in the dungeon for yer offenses.”
He released one wrist and pulled her up by the other, apparently forgetting the strength of his earlier grip. She rose without hesitation and allowed him to usher her out of the warm study and back into the cold hallway beyond.
“Go to me maither. Ye’re in dire need of that bath she promised,” he said gruffly, not following her out. “And remember, ye only have a week to make yer end of the bargain worth me while.”
He slammed the door shut, and she jumped at the sound, feeling like it was not just the physical door that had been closed in her face.
CHAPTER 6
Murdoch lumbered wearilyup the staircase to the tower, his mood so sour it could have curdled milk. If anyone bothered him again, he could not promise he would not lose his temper entirely.
It’s just a week,he told himself, pushing through the door at the top of the stairs.And think about what I might gain. If there’s one morsel of useful information in that head of hers, it could be just what I’ve been lookin’ for.
The top of the tower was bathed in soft lantern light, the dramatic, almost rusty glow of the snowstorm sky filtering through the slitted windows. It was a sparse room, with just a basin of water, an old, stained table with a thin board on top, and a tall stool. That was all he needed, plus the peace and tranquility that no one usually disturbed.
There were shapes draped in graying cloth all around the room and a wooden barrel in the far corner. It was to the latter thatMurdoch went. He lifted the lid and reached inside, scooping out a large chunk of clay.
Settling himself on the stool, he slapped the clay down on the board and stared at it for a moment, searching for inspiration. But that was not the way he usually approached his sculpting; it was better if he did not think at all.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, resting his hands on the cold clay, feeling what it might become rather than imagining it. Exhaling, he began to work without thinking, letting his sense of touch take over. His hands moved slowly, shaping the clay, the familiar motions soothing away the tension of the day.
Even as his attention turned briefly toward the snow falling outside, his hands continued to move, smoothing and shaping, forming something out of nothing.
What on earth?
