Page 3 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
Her mead-addled mind wandered, sending a pleasant, little shiver through her.
“Aye, that settles it,” Camden declared. “A lass like ye shouldnae be curious about an ogre like him. Ye’d drive yerself to madness tryin’ to get a laugh out of him. The only person I’ve ever seen make him smile is me wife, a few hours ago at our weddin’, and even then I’m nae certain it wasnae just the wind tuggin’ his grimace in a different direction.”
Cecilia looked back at Camden. “Fear nae, M’Laird, me curiosity has already waned. While I relish a challenge, I have to ken I have a hope of winnin’, and that man over there doesnae seem to have a speck of fun in his giant figure.”
“Nay, I dinnae think that’s fair,” Paisley protested quietly. “Please, be nice to him—that goes for ye too, Camden. I dinnae think he looks like he’s nay fun. I think he looks like someone who has been through… a great deal. Ye dinnae end up that way if ye’ve had a happy life, ye ken?”
Camden feigned a pout. “Should I be jealous, love?”
“Of course nae,” Paisley replied, pretending to roll her eyes. “I just… think he might nae be so grim if he kenned more kindness.And with the three of ye other Lairds married, me love, it’s goin’ to be harder for him now. He doesnae have anyone, doesnae want anyone, and… maybe he feels that loneliness more keenly than ye’d think. I doubt it helps that everyone calls him ‘The Beast.’”
Camden nuzzled her neck, murmuring, “Ye’re too sweet for yer own good, love. He’s made his lonely bed—he can lie alone in it, just as he wants, grumpin’ and grumblin’ at his leisure.”
“He doesnae have a wife?” Cecilia asked, perhaps more curious than she had suggested.
Camden snorted. “He bursts into flames at the mere mention of havin’ one. If we hear of him gettin’ wed, there’ll be an omen first—snow fallin’ in Hell, the seas dryin’ up, birds fallin’ from the sky, me wife bein’ kissed in public without blushin’.”
“Och well, maybe Murdoch and I have one thing in common, after all,” Cecilia said, clasping her hands together as if to pray, adopting her most pious expression, though she did not have her novice nun’s wimple and habit to complete the picture. “Even if I wasnae a novitiate, ye’d have to bind me by me arms and legs and haul me down the aisle.”
They all laughed at that, the sound and the merriment worth every jot of punishment that Cecilia might receive for sneaking out. She had forgotten how nice it could be, to be around those whose lives did not revolve around the hours of this prayer or that prayer; to be around people who knew how to enjoythemselves, who lived for the sake of living, milking every drop of joy and experience from life.
But while ye all get to continue in this world, I’ll have to return to me own…
The vocation of being a nun had never called to her, despite her aunt’s best efforts. And Cecilia knew why. Although it was impossible, in the back of her mind, she had always assumed that she would one day go home, as her father had once promised.
“Ye might only be there for a few months, and even if it turns into years, they’ll pass by in nay time at all. Then, ye’ll come back here, and it’ll be as if ye were never away.”
She had never forgotten those words, clinging to them long after they were made hollow, turning them into rebellion.
Struck with sudden sadness, Cecilia turned her head toward the windows, not wanting Paisley to see her anything but joyful. But instead of the dark world beyond the panes, her eyes met the steely, glinting glare of Murdoch.
Her heart jumped in fright, his fierce gaze not just meeting hers but piercing right through it, right throughher, giving a whole new meaning to the phrase, ‘shooting daggers.’ Maybe that man in Camden’s story reallyhadgiven up his will to live, being on the receiving end of a look like that. So cold and withering.
Though it went against her very nature, she dropped her gaze first, not wanting himto see the sheen of tears in her eyes either. But even as she pretended to observe the dancers, whirling around in a near-violent reel, she still felt the burn of his gaze. A singeing, prickling feeling up the back of her neck, like a lit taper brought too close.
Aye, that is a warnin’ and nay mistake.
As if the heavens themselves had unleashed a devil as a last resort to make her see, at long last, that the only place for her was in the convent, near no man at all.
CHAPTER 2
Present Day
“This willnae do!”
That exasperated bark preceded the dull thud of a shoulder hitting Cecilia’s chamber door, shattering the makeshift lock that she had put on the inside to keep out unwanted visitors.
Cecilia sat bolt upright at the intrusion, pulling her blankets up to her chin as her aunt barreled in. The older woman had the look of someone who was at the frayed end of her tether, her blue eyes bright with anger, her cheeks flushed a patchy purple.
“Ye were supposed to be in the herb garden an hour ago!” her aunt, Mairie, shouted. “Do ye have any notion of how it makes me look when me own niece doesnae obey me orders?”
As Mother Superior, she had little choice but to run the convent with a firm but fair hand. Most of the novitiates were terrified ofher, and no small amount of the nuns too, but to Cecilia, she was just her aunt. For eleven years, she had gotten away with things that no other nun or novitiate could dream of doing, driving Mairie to frequent distraction.
“I did me work earlier,” Cecilia protested feebly. “Ye can ask Arla. She was with me. Then, I didnae feel so well, so I came back here to rest before I go and milk the goats.”
It was the one thing that her aunt could never chastise her for, for shealwaysdid all of the work and chores that she was required to do. It was the rest of convent life that Cecilia did not much care for, even during spells where she was trying to be on her best behavior.
Mairie puffed out an exasperated breath. “Ye cannae just… do as ye please, lass! This has gone on for far too long.” She shook her head slowly, taking deep breaths. “I ken I’m partially to blame for enablin’ yer mischief and yer disobedience, but now that we’re back in the convent, I simply cannae allow it anymore. Ye’re one-and-twenty, Cecilia! Ye’re a grown lass actin’ like a fool and makin’ me look like a fool along with ye.”
