Page 32 of A Wife for the Highland Wolf
Murdoch felt himself tense slightly. “Tell ye what?”
“Tell me about yer past. About the things that make ye who ye are. If we’re to be wed, should we nae ken more about each other?” She looked at him hopefully.
Murdoch grew cold inside. He didn’t want to think about the past, especially not the events to which he now knew she was referring. He took a deep breath. “And what of ye? What’s so important about this library ye mentioned? Why not tell me why ye were so interested in seein’ if we had one at Lochlann Castle?”
It was the wrong thing to say; he knew that the instant his words escaped him. Lydia’s previously content expression faded and she sat up. With a few deft movements she pulled her clothing back into place and rose to her feet.
Murdoch caught her hand as she turned away from him, confused by her apparent eagerness to leave. “Where are ye going?”
“Back to the castle. I daenae wish to be out here after dark, especially without Hector.”
Murdoch blinked, taken aback by her cool demeanor and how quickly the evening’s mood had disintegrated. “What? I daenae understand.”
“Nor do I. It appears I mistook the meanin' of yer seduction of me for something else. Ye’ll have to excuse me for the misunderstandin’, me Laird.” Her voice was tight with a myriad of emotions, but among them he could identify hurt, and a sense of frustration.
Murdoch released her to roll to his feet and caught her arm. One part of him told him to just let her go. But a larger part of him, the part that felt alive when Lydia was near, whispered not to release her. “Wait.”
Lydia pulled her arm free of his grasp, but she didn’t turn away from him, despite the look in her eyes. “Why should I? Ye’re clearly nae willin’ to tell me anything about yerself.”
Murdoch swallowed hard. It was true, he didn’t want to talk about the past. But he also didn’t want to let her walk away from him, not now. “Ye daenae understand. I daenae like talkin’ about me past. Besides, I’ve already told ye the truth. Ye daenae believe me, so what more should I be sayin’?”
His stomach was in knots as he waited for her response. Lydia’s eyes searched his face for a long moment, and her gaze softened a little. “Alright. I believe ye. Ye dinnae kill yer wife. But if that’s the case, why let everyone say ye did? What really happened to her?”
How could he tell her? How could he make her appreciate how long he’d tried to get someone, anyone, to believe that he hadn’t killed his first wife, before he’d realized his efforts were futile? He’d tried explaining to Mary’s parents and brothers. He’d tried to tell the truth to his own clansmen.
Whomsoever he’d tried to tell, he’d been met with scornful, unbelieving and suspicious glares. Only his closest kin had seemed willing to believe him, although he suspected his uncle Arthur did not truly believe him.
Why would they? What evidence could he have shown them all to provide his innocence? The bodies of the attackers had disappeared by the time he’d sent his men to retrieve them.
What point was there in trying to explain it all again? “I daenae wish to talk about the past. I daenae care to keep relivin’ those events, not when it cannae undo what happened. Leave the past in the past; what’s the point of relivin' it?”
“The point?” Lydia’s gaze was distant and withdrawn once more as she looked at him. “Perhaps to show some sort of trust in me, as I trusted ye by comin’ here, away from the safety of me kinfolk. Or mayhap, ye could tell me things, so when I walk to the altar on our weddin’ day, I’d ken I was walkin’ to a man I ken and care for, rather than weddin’ a stranger.”
The words hurt, but he couldn’t say they were unwarranted or unfair. “Wait. I…I could…”
A sudden peal of thunder startled them both. Murdoch looked up as the first drops of rain splattered down and quickly became a downpour. Within seconds, the two of them were drenched to the bone and shivering.
By the time Murdoch managed to gather his thoughts and turn back to Lydia she was already hurrying back toward Lochlann Castle.
Lydia reached the doors of Lochlann Castle nearly frozen and thoroughly soaked. She was glad that Wilma and Murdoch had made certain the guards were acquainted with her name and appearance, otherwise she might have been forced to wait for Murdoch’s arrival.
She thought she might understand Murdoch’s position. The sordid events she wanted to know about were painful for him to recollect. Nonetheless, it hurt that he’d tried to avoid her questions in the way he had.
She could accept that he didn’t want to talk about it. What stung was his constant attempts to avoid it, not by honestly admitting his feelings, but by trying to manipulate her through silence, anger, threats, seduction, and redirection.
A maid met Lydia at the door of the castle, just as Murdoch appeared at the gate of the courtyard. Lydia turned away from Murdoch before he could catch her gaze, not wishing to recall their dismal discussion or the events that had occurred before it.
“Me Lady? Can I do somethin’ for ye?” Lydia focused on the maid. A chill wind blew across her shoulders, and she shivered at the reminder that she was currently soaked to the bone.
“Aye. A hot bath, and some mulled wine, if ye’ve any. If nae, hot tea will be fine. I just need to chase the chill from me bones.”
“Aye.” The maid nodded sympathetically. “These spring storms can be frigid ones, and I’m sorry ye were caught in it.”
A quick trip to the kitchens secured her a warm brick wrapped in a thick towel. She was then escorted to her rooms, wrapped in a warm blanket and settled with a steaming cup of tea and the promise of an upcoming bath.
The warmth of the tea and the fire in her rooms eased her shivering but did nothing for the cold that filled her core.
She hadn’t expected to start caring for Murdoch. Hadn’t thought it would be so difficult to resist him. Still, she knew that if he’d suggested going further than they had, she might have given in. For all of his brooding, temperamental behavior, Murdoch could be surprisingly charming and seductive when the mood struck him.
