Page 57 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
Yet, she did not falter as she continued to walk toward him, guided by her aunt. Instead, she held her head high, casting cheery smiles at the congregation as she passed, playing the part of a blushing bride to perfection.
But it is just an act. It has to be.
He had given her no reason to look so happy on their wedding day. He had avoided her since his proposal. He had set somewhat harsh terms, and yet she smiled and dazzled as if she really was overjoyed.
All of a sudden, she was standing in front of him and Mairie was putting her hand in his.
“Ye treat her well, Laird Moore, or else ye’ll have the heavens to answer to,” Mairie whispered, shooting him one last glare before she wandered off to take her seat on the front pew.
Cecilia peered up at him with those beautiful blue eyes. “A pity,” she said softly.
“What is?” he asked, struggling to shake off the trance that her entrance had put him in.
“That it didnae snow again,” she replied. “I thought it might. It would’ve been terribly romantic, do ye nae think?”
He blinked. “Pardon?”
“Never mind.” She turned her head and smiled at the priest, who took it as permission to begin the ceremony.
The wedding had passed by in a blur, so strange and disorienting that Murdoch had barely remembered to speak his vows when the priest prompted him to.
In truth, he had spent most of the ceremony gazing into Cecilia’s eyes, utterly bewildered by her vibrant demeanor. How could someone behave so coyly and so confidently at once? How could one woman hold an entire congregation rapt? And how could a woman who had not wanted marriage suddenly glow so brightly, so disarmingly, as a bride?
She must be a sorceress. It’s the only explanation.
He was stillstaring at his bride in a daze, though she had left his side a while ago to mingle with the guests. He noticed that she was only conversing with ladies, speaking with dismissive politeness to any men who dared approach.
“I cannae believe ye didnae kiss her, Murdoch,” a voice purred nearby, drawing his attention away from his wife. “I was certain ye’d give us all what we wanted and show us some of yer prowess.”
Murdoch raised his glass of whiskey and took a sip. “It wouldnae have been seemly, Fiona.”
“Nay, I suppose ye’re right.” Fiona slid into the chair beside him and reached toward the nearest dish to grab a plump blackberry. “I forget how proper ye are, sometimes.”
He watched her pop the blackberry into her mouth, some of the dark juice beading on her red lips. She wiped it away with her fingertip, gazing at him with sultry brown eyes.
He waited to feel something, to feel any sort of attraction toward the woman who had not so long ago been his paramour—or, rather, his distraction when sculpting was not enough.
He did not even feel a twinge of desire for her, though he was beginning to wonder if there had ever been. His body, mind, and soul had neverburnedfor Fiona, but just one look at Cecilia ignited an inferno within him.
Fiona smiled. “I can see why ye sent me away that night, M’Laird.” She stole another blackberry. “And I can see why ye havenae sent for me since.”
“It was nothin’ personal,” Murdoch replied stiffly.
Fiona giggled. “I didnae say it was, M’Laird. I just had to see it with me own eyes, for me own sake.” She paused, glancing at Cecilia with a soft sigh. “Now that I have, I can be content. Ye’ve found her, Murdoch.”
“Found who?” Murdoch coughed slightly, his whiskey going down the wrong pipe.
“Yer match,” Fiona replied, her expression warm. “A lass who’s probably too good for ye, in truth. But a woman’s heart is a funny thing. So, dinnae make a mess of it, eh?”
Murdoch had chosen Fiona because she was discreet and sensible, and because she was not the sort of woman who developed attachments. She did not put much credence in things like love and romance, so it surprised him to hear her speak so… sweetly about Cecilia. And because it was unusual, it struck him like a blow to the stomach.
“She will be taken care of,” he said, not quite understanding what she meant.
Fiona laughed. “Och, Murdoch, ye’ll have to do more than that. Ye cannae give a rare bird like that mere scraps, or she’ll starve. I couldnae imagine anythin’ worse than seein’ a lass like her become a husk of her former self, all of her light dimmed.” Her expression turned serious for a moment. “So, make sure that ye help her shine even brighter, eh?”
“What I do is none of yer concern,” he replied, not unkindly.
Fiona shrugged and got up. “Dinnae say ye werenae warned, Murdoch.” She smiled down at him. “Maybe try and be happy for once, do ye hear? Ye never ken—ye might like it.”
