The Highlander's Wicked Ways, page 9
“Munro!”
Murieall’s voice cut through my anger. I turned to find her standing now, her face flushed with embarrassment, her dark eyes wide with horror. “Please release him. James has nae done anything wrong.”
The mixture of mortification and pleading in her expression made me loosen my grip, though reluctantly. James straightened his clothing with pointed deliberateness as he stepped back from me.
“I… I was lost in my own thoughts,” she explained, her words tumbling out in a rush. “His hand upon my shoulder startled me. I did nae mean to cause such alarm.”
I studied her face, searching for any sign of fear or pain that might betray a different truth. But I saw only embarrassment and a desperate desire to escape the situation she now found herself in. My anger ebbed, leaving confusion in its wake. What had driven me to react with such violence at the thought of James harming her?
“I should go check on the lasses,” she said, already backing away. “They’ll be awake by now and wondering where I am.”
Before I could respond, she turned and fled, her skirts swishing around her ankles as she hurried toward the great hall doors. As she reached them, they swung open to reveal my uncle and aunt, who stepped aside with raised eyebrows as she rushed past them without so much as a word of greeting.
I turned back to James, who was watching me with an expression that was part caution, part curiosity, and part satisfaction that made my jaw clench anew.
“That was quite a display,” he said.
“Aye,” my uncle said, coming up beside me along with my aunt, “it was.” I clenched my teeth on the curse I wanted to mutter. I was bad enough that James had witnessed my loss of control over Murieall, but for my aunt and uncle to have seen it as well was more than I wanted to face this morning.
“I’ve nae seen ye move that quickly to protect a woman since Isabella,” Uncle Gordon said, as my aunt nodded her agreement.
The words were like a blow to my gut, because I knew them to be true, and it felt like a betrayal of Isabella’s memory. Heat crept up my neck as unbidden memories surfaced—not of Isabella, but of this morning’s dream of Murieall, her copper hair fanned across my pillows, her silken skin bare beneath my hands that roamed over the generous swell of her breasts to circle my fingers around her hard nipples. Her moans of ecstasy from my dreams rang once again in my ears. I felt my nostrils flare as I fought the memory, but it was a relentless foe.
I saw my hands exploring the curve of her hips, her slender thighs, and then me gently gripping her knees to spread them—God’s blood. And I’d awoken feeling better rested than I had in ages.
“Ye’re mistaken,” I finally managed to utter. “I merely responded as any laird would when someone under his protection appeared to be in distress.”
James raised an eyebrow at my lie but wisely kept his mouth shut. My uncle, however, was not so easily deterred.
“As ye say, nephew,” he replied, though his tone made it clear he believed otherwise. “Still, ’tis striking how quickly ye’ve taken an interest in this lass’s welfare.”
“I’ve nae taken any interest beyond what our arrangement demands,” I snapped, though the words felt hollow even to my own ears. The truth was that something about Murieall had begun to penetrate the walls I’d built around myself. Her gentle way with my daughters, the quiet dignity with which she carried herself, the mystery in her dark eyes that suggested depths I had not yet fathomed. All of it pulled at me in ways I didn’t welcome.
I thought of how she’d felt in my arms when I’d carried her to my chamber last night, the weight of her slight form against my chest, the scent of heather that clung to her hair, and the flash of compassion I’d glimpsed in her eyes when she looked at me.
It was dangerous, this yearning she awakened. I’d spent two years carefully numbing myself against such feelings, and I had no intention of surrendering that hard-won numbness now. Bedding the lass was not a good idea. Decision made, I turned to James. “Tonight, after supper, I want ye to see Murieall to the bedchamber she’s been assigned and convey to her she need nae come to mine.”
“’Tis for the best,” my aunt interjected. “I do nae think it good for the lasses or the clan for such a woman to be here.”
“I do nae recall asking ye,” I snapped, irritated at her implications that Murieall was somehow wicked since she’d taken my bargain.
“Desperation does nae equate to wickedness,” James growled at my aunt, his words mirroring what I felt inside. He stared at me for a long moment before speaking once more. “That’s quite a change of heart regarding the lass, considering the terms ye set.”
I shrugged, attempting nonchalance I didn’t feel.
“Ah,” James said, studying my face with that penetrating gaze that had always seen too much. “So ye’re releasing her from the bargain?”
I stood there silent, considering.
“That might hurt her feelings,” James said, his expression innocent though his eyes gleamed with mischief. “Women can be quite fragile about such things. To think ye find her so unappealing that ye’ve no wish to bed her.”
“I did nae say—” I began, then stopped abruptly. James had neatly trapped me. I scowled at him, annoyed at how easily he’d maneuvered me.
“Who cares for the feelings of a beggar lass?” Uncle Gordon interrupted, his voice harsh.
“Aye,” Aunt Magdalene added. “She should be grateful for the roof over her head and Munro’s, regardless of whether he warms her bed or nae.”
Their dismissive tone grated on me. I thought of Murieall’s face when she’d stood beside my daughters at the high table, of the quiet dignity she possessed. She did not deserve to be spoken of with such contempt, regardless of her circumstances.
“She’s a lady of clan Buchannan,” I said, my tone sharp. “Nae a beggar. And while she’s under my protection, she’ll be treated with respect.” I eyed my aunt and uncle.
My uncle’s face darkened, but I held his gaze steadily until he looked away, muttering something under his breath that I chose not to hear.
“As ye wish, nephew,” my aunt responded. “Ye are laird, after all.”
“That I am,” I replied, dismissing her and her churlish behavior toward Murieall. I wasn’t completely surprised. Aunt Magdalen had always been slow to warm to outsiders. Given the bargain between Murieall and me, I understood it made my aunt even more skeptical of Murieall’s character, whether or not it was fair.
I considered James’s words about Murieall’s feelings and my predicament, and then a solution hit me in a flash of brilliance. I’d simply retire to my bedchamber well after she’d likely be asleep. And if she happened to be awake, I’d make some excuse about sitting up with wine or sleeping by the fire.
“If ye’ll excuse me,” I said to them, pleased with my decision and eager to end the discussion of the lass. I turned and strode away before anyone could say more. But as I left the great hall, the dream of her returned to me. Her warm skin against my hands, her lips parting on a sigh, her body arching into mine.
I pushed the image away with all the discipline I could muster. I would honor our arrangement but maintain my distance. Yet even as I thought this, a yearning to go to the nursery, to check to see if she was well, filled me. I purposely turned in the opposite direction and strode out the door to train with the men. I would drive her from my mind through training rather than wine. It occurred to me as I made my way down to the men that Murieall’s presence was part of the reason I was not imbibing this morning, and a growl of irritation erupted from me.
Chapter Ten – Murieall
The children’s laughter rang through the castle garden, momentarily drowning out the distant clang of swords from the training yard. I leaned back against the rough stone bench, tilting my face toward the late afternoon sun. Its warmth seeped into my skin, a pleasant contrast to the cool breeze that carried the scent of freshly turned earth. Before me, Bess and Guinn took turns jumping over a length of rope held by two other castle children, their small faces alight with joy, their bodies moving with the unthinking grace of the young.
“Jump, jump, turn around, jump again before ye touch the ground!” they chanted, their voices rising and falling in that peculiar cadence that seemed universal to children’s games.
Guinn’s locks caught the sunlight as she leapt over the swinging rope, her small feet barely touching the cobblestones before rising again. Beside her, Bess waited impatiently for her turn, her fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt, her body already beginning the movements she would make when her moment came.
“Watch me, Murieall!” Bess called, seeking my approval.
“I’m watching, lass,” I called back, offering her an encouraging smile.
When her turn came, she jumped with less grace than her sister but more determination, her fair hair bouncing with each hop, her small face fierce with concentration. The sight of her brought an unexpected warmth to my chest, a tenderness I had not anticipated feeling for these children who were not my own, who I had known for such a short time.
Tell him there are liars amongst him.
The whisper slid into my mind like a knife between ribs, sudden and unwelcome. I stiffened, my hands clenching in my lap as I fought to keep my expression neutral, not to alert the children to my distress. It was the same voice from this morning, the same message, delivered with the same urgent intensity that had overwhelmed me in the great hall.
Tell him! Tell him now before it is too late!
My jaw clenched so tightly that pain radiated up into my temples. “Nae now,” I whispered fiercely, so quietly that only the dead could hear. “I’ll nae listen.”
I fixed my gaze on the children, forcing myself to focus on their movements, the way their small hands clutched the rope, the sound of their feet hitting the cobblestones—anything to drown out the persistent whisper that threatened to shatter my composure once more.
To further distract myself, I began to compose a letter in my mind to Liam, imagining how the ink would flow across parchment, how the words would bring him comfort and restore his faith in our future together.
My dearest Liam, I began silently, picturing his eyes shining with the steady dependability that had drawn me to him in the first place. By the time this reaches ye, I’ll be free of the curse that has kept us apart. I’ve traveled far and faced much to return to ye, to the life we planned together.
I paused in my mental composition, catching sight of Guinn executing a particularly complicated jump, spinning in the air before landing lightly on her toes. The other children clapped, and she curtseyed dramatically, her face flushed with pride. A smile tugged at my lips despite my inner turmoil.
Soon I will prove to yer parents, and everyone, that I’m nae mad, I continued in my imaginary letter. That the whispers that have plagued me are gone. We can build the life we planned—the comfortable home, the children, the peaceful days uninterrupted by uncertainty or fear.
The voice returned, louder now, drowning out my carefully constructed words to Liam.
Tell him! Ye must tell him!
My fingers dug into the fabric of my skirts as I fought to maintain control, and an ache started in my stomach. I would not surrender to this. I would not allow the dead to rule my life, to determine my future.
Ye will come to understand that what happened was necessary, I insisted to myself, returning to my letter, forcing the words through the clamor in my mind. When I return to ye, I will be the steady, reliable woman ye always believed me to be, and I will be untroubled by phantoms or fears.
But even as I formed the words, doubts crept in. Would Liam truly welcome me back? Would he believe that my curse was lifted, or would he always watch me with wary eyes, waiting for me to slip back into madness? And what of his parents, who had been so quick to demand the breaking of our betrothal? Would they ever truly accept me as a daughter-by-marriage?
I pushed these uncertainties aside. There was no room for doubt in my plan. I would succeed. I would make Munro feel again. I would break my curse. I would return to Liam and the future I had so carefully mapped out for myself.
The dead woman’s voice receded gradually, and I exhaled slowly, unclenching my hands, stretching my fingers to ease the ache from holding them so tight.
“Murieall! Will ye jump with us?” Bess called, breaking through my thoughts.
I looked up to find both girls watching me expectantly, the rope held between them now, the other children having moved on to some new game.
“I do nae think—” I began, but Guinn cut me off.
“Please? Just once?”
The hope and vulnerability in her eyes made it impossible to refuse. I rose from the bench, smoothing my skirts, and moved toward them. They beamed in unison, their faces so alight with simple joy that for a moment, I forgot about curses and voices and carefully laid plans.
“Verra well,” I said, gathering my skirts slightly. “But I warn ye, I’ve nae done this since I was a wee lass myself.”
As they began to swing the rope, I found myself smiling genuinely for what felt like the first time in ages. Perhaps this moment of respite, this brief interlude of childish play, was exactly what I needed to fortify myself against the whispers that sought to pull me from my chosen path.
But even as I prepared to jump, the dead woman’s voice whispered once more, so faintly I could almost pretend I hadn’t heard.
He must know the truth before it is too late.
I ignored it, focusing instead on the rhythm of the rope, the expectant faces of the girls, the solid feeling of the cobblestones beneath my feet. I was in control. I would succeed. No voice, living or dead, would turn me from my purpose.
I jumped again when movement at the garden gate caught my attention. James stood there, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the cobblestones. His expression was as dark as the shadow he cast, brows drawn together, mouth set in a grim line that boded ill for someone, and I had the distinct feeling that someone was me. He strode across the garden, his steps purposeful, and I stepped out of the swinging rope to face him.
“Off with ye now, lasses,” he called to Guinn and Bess, his voice gentler than his expression. “Cook’s making sweet cakes, and she’s asked for strong helpers to aid her.”
The girls’ faces brightened instantly, all thoughts of jump rope forgotten. They dashed past James with barely a backward glance, their small feet pattering against the stone. I watched them go with a strange mixture of relief and apprehension. I was glad they’d be spared whatever confrontation was coming, and I heartily wished I could be spared as well.
James waited until their voices had faded before he turned his full attention to me. His eyes were as hard as flint as they fixed on mine.
“What happened in the Great Hall?” he demanded, dispensing with pleasantries entirely. “And do nae tell me ye were merely startled. Ye were nae speaking to me when ye cried out.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. The afternoon sun felt too hot against my skin now, and I fought the urge to back away from him. “I do nae ken what ye mean,” I lied.
“Ye do,” he insisted, taking another step toward me. “Munro is my best friend, and I’d do anything to aid him.” His voice dropped lower, but the intensity only grew. “I thought ye’d be good for him, but if ye’re mad, then I’ll see ye kicked out of this castle before ye can hurt him or the lasses.”
The threat hung in the air between us, clear and unmistakable. My hands began to tremble, and I clasped them tightly before me to hide their shaking.
“I’m nae mad,” I said.
“Then explain.” He stared at me expectantly as I tried to think what to say. He gave a huff and said, “Ye ken verra well ye were nae talking to me in the great hall when ye yelled stop.”
I looked away, my gaze traveling across the garden, seeking an escape that didn’t exist. I could continue to lie, but to what end? James was clearly no fool, and he had witnessed my strange behavior twice now. If he truly believed me mad, he would make good on his threat to have me removed, and then what would become of my chance to break the curse?
With a deep breath, I made my decision. “I hear them,” I said softly, forcing myself to meet his gaze once more.
“Who?” he asked, frowning.
“The dead.” The words fell from my lips like stones, heavy and final. “I’m cursed to hear the voices of the dead. That’s what happened in the great hall. That’s what happened last night at the high table when I fainted. It wasn’t exhaustion. It was a dead woman’s voice screaming in my head.”
James’s expression didn’t change, but he didn’t immediately dismiss me as mad, which I took as an encouraging sign. “The dead,” he repeated flatly. “And what do these dead tell ye?”
“Many things,” I said, gaining confidence now that the secret was out. “Some beg me to pass messages to their loved ones. Others want justice for wrongs done to them. This voice keeps insisting that I tell someone that there are ‘liars amongst him’.”
A flicker of something, interest, perhaps, or concern, passed across James’s face. “Munro,” he muttered.
I hadn’t thought about who the woman had been trying to get me to tell, but it made sense when James said it. Her voice got louder when Munro was near, or I thought of him. “I think mayhap,” I offered.
Strangely, James didn’t look surprised. “What do ye believe? Do ye believe liars surround Munro?”
“I do nae think ye a liar,” I said.
James laughed at that. “I thank ye, but I was nae referring to myself.”
“I do nae ken,” I said. “I try nae to listen to the whispers if I can help it. The voices have brought me only trouble and pain. They cost me my betrothal, my future, my peace of mind. I wish only to be free of them.”
“Which brings me to another question,” James said, his tone slightly less harsh now. “Why are ye here at Ross Stronghold? What brought ye to Munro specifically?”
