Chapter 13

13

R emaining in his study with Lydia's words still ringing in his ears wasn't an option. Neither was going to the quarters he'd temporarily claimed as his own. They were still full of his late wife's possessions, and the idea of trying to achieve any sort of rest or peace of mind there after once again being accused of her murder was ludicrous.

Murdoch snarled an oath into the air, then whirled to collect his belt, sword and cloak. He felt full of restless energy, anger, hurt and frustration seeping from his core and roiling through his gut. He didn't dare seek out a sparring partner in this mood, but a ride to patrol the surrounding area might soothe his mind.

No one stopped him as he stalked through the halls of the castle. No one said a word to him as he stormed across the courtyard to the stables and saddled his favorite horse. His people had learned to be wary of him in this mood, and made themselves scarce.

In some ways it was a relief. In others, it was a twisting of a knife in his gut. He'd been as good a laird as he knew how to be, and yet his people feared him. A single rumor had nearly made him as isolated as a hermit.

Murdoch shoved his morbid thoughts aside as he rode through the castle gates and out onto the moors. The evening breeze was cool and it felt good against his heated skin. He kicked the horse into a gallop and leaned over its back to embrace the exhilaration of speed as the stallion thundered over the landscape.

Murdoch rode until the castle was little more than a pinprick in the dusk. Both he and the horse were streaked with sweat and a pleasant weariness filled his limbs. He guided the horse to a stop beside a small, clear rill in the rocks and dismounted. Man and beast drank their fill, before Murdoch leaned back against the cooling stones with a sigh.

He'd thought Lydia's boldness meant she wasn't afraid of him. Perhaps he'd been wrong, and she was simply better at concealing her fear than many of his own people.

The idea that she might be afraid of him made his heart ache, and yet, her distrust might also be a shield of sorts against his enemies. He knew he had them, and he never had been convinced they weren't involved in the death of Finn's mother.

He still did not know who had attacked him and his first wife on the road that fateful day. Lydia's fear might keep her as safe as his first wife's anger and resentment had apparently done until Finn's birth.

Even if that attack had been a random occurrence, a bandit attack perhaps, Murdoch knew he had enemies aplenty, both inside the clan and out. It might be best for both of them if Lydia kept her distance and maintained a sense of wariness while around him.

He didn't like it, but what else could he do? Murdoch grimaced into the deepening gloom. He'd spent the past year living under a heavy cloud of suspicion. He would have thought he'd become impervious to the sting of judgment by now.

Murdoch took a deep breath and let it out slowly and evenly. Such thoughts would only undo all the good his ride had done him. He would have to try to take things as they happened and hope for the best.

He climbed to his feet and remounted, then turned his horse back toward Lochlann Castle. The ride back was slower, allowing him to relax and feel the wind in his hair and appreciate the smooth gait of the animal underneath him. By the time he rode through the gates of the castle and into the courtyard he felt calmer and more resigned than angry or hurt.

He stabled the horse and was walking across the gardens toward the main part of the castle when he spotted a slender figure stealing out of a side door. His first thought was that Wilma was up to some of her usual antics, which could and had included trying to sneak out to hold midnight dances on the moors to attract fairies, but her build was different from this being.

Murdoch suddenly realized it was none other than the woman who had occupied his thoughts for the past few hours. Lydia. Intrigued by her appearance, and curious about her intent, he silently slipped closer.

Lydia scowled at the shadows around her as she searched for her wayward dog. Hector was supposed to be her guard, and yet he seemed determined to abandon her at every turn.

First, he'd gone running to play with Wilma and Finn. Then he'd disappeared during dinner, only to reappear after her argument with Murdoch. And just now, he'd escaped her rooms through the terrace door, and she'd no idea where he'd gone or why.

She didn't want to draw too much attention to herself, which was why she'd gone sneaking out the side door Murdoch had indicated to her earlier that day. But despite her best efforts, she'd yet to locate the dog, and her nerves were fraying.

"Hector! Come here, bonnie lad. Hector!" There was no sign of the dog, and Lydia huffed in irritation. "Some guard ye are, always running off!"

"He's only exploring and getting to ken a new territory. Let him, and he'll come back soon enough." A low voice from the shadows made Lydia jump with a startled squeak.

She whirled around, to find Murdoch standing only a few feet away. His face was as impassive as ever, but Lydia was sure that he was laughing at her somehow. She glared at him. "Ye daenae have to startle me so."

"I cannae say it wasnae amusing. Even so, ye ken I'm right about the dog. A proper guard kens the lands and the possible threats about him,- whether he be man or dog."

"That's as may be, but he was supposed to stay beside me, nae leave me alone at the drop of a leaf."

Murdoch actually snorted, a sound that might have been a laugh or a sound of exasperation. "First Wilma, then Finn, then the dog, and even me…what is it with ye lass, to always be seeking company? Ye act as if ye're so desperate for it that ye'd welcome anyone by yer side, be it friend, foe or…" His voice tightened on the last word. "...killer."

Lydia folded her arms and glared at him. Maybe he'd meant his words to be a rebuke and maybe he hadn't, but it wasn't his place to judge her. Nor was she about to explain that she'd spent her whole life in the presence of friends and family, never without someone to watch over her and keep loneliness at bay. On those occasions when everyone was busy, she'd had the library of Clyde Castle or her sister's homes to keep her occupied and amused.

She missed her sisters. She also missed her library, the smell of leather and parchment, the silence rich with the promise of stories, and a thousand different friends to sweep her into their worlds.

"I seem to have touched a sore spot." Murdoch raised an eyebrow.

"And ye thought ye wouldnae, when ye took me from the place where I wouldnae feel alone, and had me brought here, to a place where the one who should be offerin' me the most comfort spends most of his time doing other things instead?"

Murdoch cringed at Lydia's accusation, his expression transforming with his contrition. "Ye make a fair point." He took a deep breath. "I suppose it wasnae kind of me to sweep into yer life and drag ye away from kith and kin. And less kind of me to nae see that ye had someone to give ye company and support, when I cannae do it meself. I kent Wilma was looking forward to yer presence, but I dinnae think what ye might need, or do, when she was attending to her own duties."

He stepped closer. "Ye've a right to be vexed with me, but ye should ken that I'll do me best to see that ye daene regret the bargain. Ye will have as much freedom as I can offer ye, and ye've me promise that I willnae demand anythin' more from ye than I have already, nae even a husband's rights after the wedding."

A pang of disappointment shot through her. She was still wary of him, but she couldn't deny there was part of her that had hoped he'd meant those teasing words of seduction he'd spoken at their first meeting.

He was a handsome man, and he intrigued her despite his uncertain past and his obvious troubles controlling his temper. She'd seen his gentleness towards Finn, and his bemused but patient responses to Wilma. She wanted to see more of that gentle side of him and see what lay beyond the cloak of rumors that shrouded him.

She wanted a marriage that was of the same partnership her sisters had with their spouses, not a life where she was married only in name and was as isolated as a convent nun.

Still, those were also things she wasn't willing to say, not right now. Instead, she tipped her chin up and met his eyes. "Tis a wee bit early to be talking of after the weddin', when we've nae even kent each other for a fortnight. But until then, there's two things ye'd best be understanding, Murdoch Nairn."

She stepped closer to him. "The first is that I'll decide what I want, so daenae begin handing me promises without kenning that. The second is that, whatever ye're thinkin', it best not be that ye will be getting' out of havin' supper with me every night. Ye agreed to it, and I'll be holding ye to that promise as well as the others."

Murdoch blinked, and she saw a rare moment of unguarded surprise in his stern visage. "Ye still want that? I thought ye'd changed yer mind after our argument."

Lydia raised an eyebrow at the odd tone to his voice. "Thought I'd changed me mind, or hoped I would?"

Before Murdoch could answer, a large furry shape barreled between them, huffing softly. Lydia laughed as Hector buried his nose against her stomach, woofing gently and wagging his tail madly. "Hector. There ye are."

She looked up at Murdoch to find him watching her and the dog with an expression she couldn't decipher. Something like sadness, resignation and perhaps a bit of…longing?

She had no time to ask about it or to say anything at all before his expression smoothed back into the mask she was beginning to despise seeing on his face. Murdoch offered her a tip of his head. "Go to bed, Lydia. Tis late."

Before she could say anything in response, even just a simple ‘good night', he had turned and melted into the shadows, leaving her alone once more.

His mask is nae who he is. Underneath lies an enigma shrouded in mystery. Beneath hides the true man, the one I will unearth.