Page 30 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
Before she departed, she turned and addressed the table one last time, hoping she was not being too bold.
“Far be it from me to tell ye how to do yer duties,” she said, looking at the councilmen, “but ye might find it better to talk one at a time and raise yer hands when ye wish to speak. Ye might consider havin’ a mediator—a leader if ye like—when the Laird isnae with ye, to keep the order. That way, everyone gets a chance to speak, and ye might find that ye can get more done. It’ll certainly be easier for yer scribe to follow.”
She knew it was not her place to say such things, but she keenly remembered her father saying that was the only way to have a successful council. And she would have been remiss if she had not passed on her father’s wisdom, whether they took it or not.
With a smile, she hurried out of the East Hall, careful not to slam the door, and made her way back to her guest chambers.
There, she set the puppy loose again, chuckling as he ambled over to the woodpile beside the fireplace. Dipper took a smallstick and settled down, chewing contentedly on the end of it, his black-tipped tail wagging.
Certain that would keep him busy for a while, Cecilia went to her writing desk and sat down, drawing out a freshly cut piece of paper and a quill. There was no time like the present for her to begin writing what she could remember about Clan MacDunn, keeping up her end of a bargain that had never truly been struck.
“I dinnae remember anythin’,” she mumbled, the nib of her quill poised over the paper. “I ken where the castle was, but I assume Murdoch kens that too.”
She closed her eyes and sat back, trying to force memories to the fore. But it was not memories of where she hailed from that flooded her mind. Instead, she was transported back to the hunting cabin, Murdoch’s mighty arm around her, pulling her flush against him. And his husky voice was in her ear, whispering about all the things he wanted to do to her, all of the things that she had tempted him to say.
The juncture between her thighs pulsed as she imagined him easing himself inside her, but the vision lacked detail. All she had to go by were the stories she had heard from the village girls, and they had their own language for that sort of thing, using a vernacular that they understood but was entirely foreign to Cecilia. She could not even picture the thing she had felt, hard and hot, against her backside.
“Concentrate,” she muttered, opening her eyes. “Write anythin’ and everythin’ that ye remember.”
A wicked idea occurred to her, bringing a smile to her lips.
And for every tidbit of information, I’ll have ye answer a question in return… or satisfy a curiosity.
Thatwould be the new bargain, and if she was to leave Castle Moore in a few days, she wanted to know everything there was to know about Murdoch before her time ran out.
CHAPTER 13
“Laird Moore?”
That voice and the accompanying knock on the study door jolted Murdoch out of his exhausted stupor.
He sat bolt upright, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “I didnae summon ye,” he growled, half wondering if, in his fatigue, he had.
“I ken, but I need to speak with ye,” Cecilia’s voice replied, dashing any hopes he might have had of having a peaceful morning with no interruptions.
He had not slept last night either, his mind filled with wretched visions of her entangled on the hunting cabin floor with Lennox. He had chiseled and hammered away at the block of marble in his tower until dawn, so invested in the piece, in getting every curve and contour right, that he had not noticed the time slipping away from him. With the dawn, he had stolen a fewhours of restless slumber in his tower, but they were not nearly enough to maintain him.
“Come in then,” he replied curtly, bracing himself for the sight of her.
He had heard from his mother that Cecilia had not attended luncheon or dinner the previous day, preferring to take a tray in her bedchamber. A headache, apparently, which was another reason he had barely slept, concerned that he might have gotten her to the hunting cabin too late to draw the cold out of her bones.
But she entered with color in her cheeks and vitality in her eyes, not making so much as a sniffle.
Did Lennox put that pink in yer cheeks? Is it because of him that ye have that spark in yer eyes?
An odd sensation, not quite anger but close to it, slithered up from his belly and tightened his chest. He should not have cared at all, but the lack of sleep had clearly addled his sense of reason and logic.
“Be quick about it,” he commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite.
She did not sit, choosing to stand beside the chair instead. “I spent yesterday heedin’ yer instructions.”
“Pardon?” He frowned at her, waiting for the trick.
“Ye said that I should write down everythin’ I could remember about Laird MacDunn and the clan,” she continued, quieter than he was accustomed to. “That is what I’ve done.”
She took a folded square of paper out of the pocket of her dress and held it against her chest, drawing his eye to her bosom. She was not wearing the habit of a novitiate today, but a simple dress of dark red wool that complemented her dark hair. She had braided it into a bun and covered it with a scrap of cloth, but two wavy locks framed her face.
“But I’m nae just givin’ this to ye,” she added, her expression hardening.
