Page 67 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
She smiled. “Good day to ye.”
Many more of the villagers welcomed her in the same fashion, offering nods and greetings and smiles, though none of them referred to her as “M’Lady.” Nor did she want them to. If they did not know who she was, then that suited her perfectly. Indeed, she was quite looking forward to just being “Cecilia” for a few hours, able to walk and browse and engage with the clansfolk without the pageantry of hierarchy.
Eventually, she found herself in the middle of a lively market, with stalls selling everything a person could possibly want—sweet treats, fresh fruit, roast meats, delicious cheeses, freshly baked bread, and countless trinkets and carvings and clothing to feast her eyes on once she had sated her hunger.
“Is that a donkey?” she asked a wood-carver, pointing to a hilariously monstrous figure that had been whittled from a pine tree and badly painted.
The carver shrugged. “Aye, somethin’ like that.”
“I’ll take it.”
Cecilia chuckled to herself; it was the perfect present to give to Mairie before she departed for the convent in a couple of days. Something fantastically awful to remember her niece by.
She handed the carver a coin, and he wrapped the glorious, hideous object in a square of burlap, cut straight from a sack. He passed it to her, and as she walked away with her precious gains, she felt yet more weight lift from her shoulders.
I dinnae have to rely on others for happiness.I can create it meself. I can find it meself, all around.
A thought occurred to her, prompting her to wander back to the wood carver. There was a very ugly carving of a toad sitting at the front of the stall, with a face so wonderfully grumpy that she could not resist it. Perhaps Murdoch needed a reminder too—an object he could carry with him and look at whenever he forgot that he was a husband now, in a marriage that could no longer be considered “white”.
“This one, please,” she said, handing over another coin.
The carver seemed delighted, mustering a smile as he took the coin and wrapped the toad in another square of burlap.
She held her presents in the crook of her arm as she wandered through the rest of the market, wishing she had brought a basket with her. There were so many things she wanted to buy, but unless she risked dropping half of her haul on the walk back to the castle, it would have to wait until her next visit.
“Och, that is delicious!” she cried, having paused at a stall selling baked goods. She had chosen a raspberry tart, the filling so sweet and sour that it made her mouth water in delight.
The baker blushed. “Ye must tell all yer friends and family, Miss. I make ‘em every week.”
“I certainly will!” Cecilia promised, pleased that she had decided to venture to the village alone. She doubted she would have had the same experience with an escort around her.
“Here, try the blackberry tart too,” the baker urged.
Cecilia hesitated. “I dinnae have enough coin for another.”
“Ye can have it for free, so long as ye come back and buy more the next time ye’re here,” the baker urged, passing her the blackberry tart.
It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, so buttery and sweet and sour that she immediately wished she could share it with Murdoch. Perhapsthatwould bring a smile to his face.
“Lady Moore,” a voice said suddenly, making her freeze with half of the blackberry tart in her mouth.
The baker frowned, then gasped, her eyes widening. “Lady Moore? Goodness, I had nay idea. I would never have let ye pay for the first one if I had kenned!”
“I wanted to pay for it,” Cecilia assured her, shooting the approaching figure an irritated look. “Ye deserve to be paid for yer hard work, Madam, and I swear I will buy more for the entire castle when I come here again. Please, dinnae worry.”
“B-But Laird Moore willnae like that ye paid,” the baker stammered.
Cecilia offered the woman her brightest smile. “Iam nae Laird Moore. I’mLadyMoore, and I wish I had far more coin to give ye for these delicacies. Truly, I’m pleased to be among ye and to see all of yer efforts. This village is a credit to the clan.”
The baker bowed her head, blushing. “Thank ye, M’Lady.”
“Nay, Madam. Thankyefor makin’ me stomach happy today.”
Cecilia stepped away from the stall, turning a stiffer smile toward the man who had revealed her identity.
George pulled an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, M’Lady. I believe I’ve just made a mistake by addressin’ ye.”
“A small one, but ye didnae ken,” Cecilia replied, softening her voice. “I was enjoyin’ me anonymity.”
