Page 12 of Highlander's Caged Rose
As she walked towards her chamber, she thought of Niall’s face. His brows were the shape of birds’ wings shadowing his green eyes, his high cheekbones and square jaw, and lastly his full, well-shaped lips. Despite herself, she wanted to know how it would feel to kiss him, then she reprimanded herself. Was she mad? He was probably a tyrant.
Niall McPhee was so muscular and powerfully built that if he wanted to, he could snap her in two with his bare hands; she would not stand a chance against him. So what if his face was sohandsome that she could hardly stop thinking about him? That would do her no good if he used his fists against her, he was ten times stronger than she was. His very body was a lethal weapon.
Yet, strangely enough, Moira could imagine herself falling in love with him. At first, it would be because of his looks and his deep, rumbling voice, which sent shivers down her spine. She was attracted to him to a degree that she had never felt before; no man had ever done this to her senses, and it was almost unbearably delicious.
He would have to charm her too, of course, and although Moira had never seen that side of him, she was sure it existed. Granted, her experience with men had never been good, but she was sure there was a lot of goodness in Niall somewhere. Everyone else seemed to think so.
She sighed, irritated. Was she just becoming carried away by a pretty face? The last few moments with Niall McPhee had been deeply unpleasant. No. Moira had had enough of that.
Moira stopped and looked out of the window again, which was coincidentally the same one out of which she had seen Niall practising. It was twilight, and there were only a few guards there, most of whom were not really doing much except for quaffing ale and chatting amongst themselves. How she envied them!
It must be wonderful, she thought, to have friends around, people with whom she could tell jokes, gossip, and do all the things that other young women did. She would have loved to make friends with Glennie, but she doubted that her offer of staying as a companion was serious. Why would the mistress of a castle want to make friends with a nobody like her?
Moira’s mind returned to her host—indeed, he was rarely out of it! Every time she thought of him, her body reacted in a way it had never done while she was thinking of any other man.
What was he doing to her? She wondered if she was supposed to feel this way. Was it natural, or was she experiencing something strange, weird, unique to herself? If she described her feelings to someone else, would they pity her? Laugh at her? Run away in fear?
Moira sighed; she had the beginnings of a painful headache, brought on by the strain of worry and the argument she had just had at the dining room table.
Then she had another thought; what would it be like to be the mistress of all this? She had met several Lairds’ wives before, all of them polished and elegant, seemingly happy, but she had always wondered what went on in their marriages behind closed doors. Were they like hers, or was she merely unlucky? Surely, some of the couples she had met had married for love?
Neither her father nor Roy McDonnell were poor men, but Moira had never owned fancy dresses. She had been obliged to learn to dance by watching others, since she had never had a mother to teach her these womanly skills. There was Jean, of course, but she was an ordinary working woman who did not possess these skills.
Moira felt anger rising up in her as she visualised Niall’s face yet again.
I must get out of this place before I go mad!she thought viciously.I should run away from this man before he uncovers the truth.
She sighed irritably, tired of going over the same train of thought over and over again. Just then, Moira felt a familiar trickle at the back of her neck, alerting her to the presence of someone behind her. She whipped around and almost fell down with relief when she saw counsillor Gerald McNicholl.
He came forward, gazing at her in a concerned manner, when he saw how his sudden appearance had scared her. “I apologize for startling ye, lass,” he exclaimed. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” she replied, avoiding his eyes, but she could not help the tear that leaked from her eye as she tried to turn away from him.
“No, you are not,” Gerald said firmly. “Somehow I feel there is more troubling you.”
When Moira did not reply to him, he continued, “Whenever I was troubled I used to visit the wee loch at the bottom of the hill. It’s called Loch Begg, and it’s not too far away. I always found it very peaceful there, and it helped me to think through my problems and ease my mind. It’s strange how nature does that for you.”
He gave her a warm smile.
“I liked it when I was a wee boy and my summer days seemed to go on forever, but then everything seems better when you look back. Happy days!”
He laughed, but Moira thought how very few happy days her own childhood had contained. She could count them on the fingers of one hand. She pasted on a smile for him.
“Indeed they were,” she agreed. “I was very fortunate.”
After the fractious conversation he, Moira and Glennie had shared over the dinner table, Niall was restless and irritable, and thought that a ride might help him let off some steam. Since it was cold, he fetched his cloak from his chamber and went downstairs to the stables.
He knew that Logie would be eager for a gallop since he always had so much energy to spare, and he smiled at the thought. He had always thought that the stallion was just like an equine version of himself.
With that thought in mind, he moved to the entrance of the stables, then strode in but did not expect to find the object of his thoughts there. He stopped a few yards away from her, his body having a mind of its own. Hearing his footsteps, Moira turned, then her face darkened with anger as she saw him.
Niall chuckled as he watched her expression change. “Where are you going, Moira?” he asked.
“Out for a ride,” she replied, her tone hostile. “I take it that is allowed? After all, I am a guest, not a prisoner—or am I mistaken?” Her frown became deeper.
“I merely wanted to know where you were going,” he repeated. “In case you get into any trouble. It has happened to you before—or have you forgotten?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, which infuriated Moira even more.
She stayed silent, although she looked terrified by his closeness. He was so much taller and stronger than she was, and he was looking down at her with fiercely lowered brows.
