Chapter 18

18

M urdoch smiled as Lydia began to stir beside him. It hadn't taken much to find his own release in the aftermath of hers, and he'd dipped a portion of his cloak in the water to clean them both up. That was all he'd had energy or desire to do before sinking onto the soft grass beside her, more relaxed and content than he could remember ever being, except when he held his son.

Now Lydia was stirring beside him, a soft smile playing on her lips as her emerald green eyes opened. "That was certainly an interesting demonstration, me Laird."

"Aye." He leaned on his elbow beside her.

Silence fell between them for a long moment, then Lydia spoke. "Will ye tell me?"

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.

Nevertheless, she couldn't let herself be swayed by his teasing words and kisses, however intoxicating.

"Me Lady?" The maid's voice brought her back to the present. "The bath is ready for ye."

"Thank ye." Lydia rose and went to the other room to grab her favorite soap. After a moment, she also picked up the book she'd been reading. It was a romance, one of her favorites, and she thought it might soothe her unsettled mood. At the very least, it would give her something else to think about.

She settled into the water, careful to keep the book well away from it, and flicked it open to the last place she'd stopped. The heroine had just escaped from a pack of ravening wolves, rescued by the hero, and they were huddled together in a cave, a feeble fire all that stood between them and the encroaching chill of evening.

‘Are ye cold?' She looked up into his dark eyes, shivering slightly as another gust of wind sent frozen drafts of air through their meager shelter.

‘And if I said I was?' There was a heat in his eyes that rivaled the flickering flames of their fire; a heat she feared would burn her if she got too close.

‘Then I'd say I know a way to keep ye warm.' His hand, calloused from sword and shield, cupped her face, his thumb caressing her cheek in a tender gesture.

‘Ye cannae be suggesting…'

‘And why nae? Will ye really look me in the eye and tell me that ye daenae want me as much as I want ye? That ye daenae feel the heat and passion between us?'

She stared into Murdoch's eyes, tempted and terrified all at once, drawn toward the promise she saw in them even as she…

Lydia slammed the book shut and tossed it away , her heart pounding and her face hotter than the bath water.

Why? Why had she thought of Murdoch in that scene? She'd even used his name, rather than the hero's! And now all she could think of was how the scene in the story progressed, and what it would be like if it was Murdoch as the hero, and herself as the heroine.

Face burning with embarrassment, Lydia hurried through her ablutions, futilely trying to wash away the memory of those blissful moments by the fairy pool. As the water cooled, she abandoned the tub and retreated to her bed chamber to don the soft, worn, casual dress she'd had the maid lay out for her.

The book still lay on the floor, and it was only her respect for all things literary that made her pick it up and place it gently on top of the bedside table. Just looking at the cover made her face heat.

Murdoch Nairn. He was frustrating and infuriating,. but also handsome, and friendly when he wished to be. Clearly, he was no stranger to the art of seduction. Although it had been fun to dream about such romantic encounters, now that she'd had her first true experience , it felt utterly different.

She wanted him; desired more of what they'd shared. But she'd meant what she'd said about choosing her own time to consummate the marriage. How could she risk such intimacy, when to him it was merely physical?

No matter how much he tempted her, she couldn't give herself to a man who was unwilling to share all of himself with her. That was all there was to the matter. Until he was willing to be open with her, willing to let her into his past, she couldn't afford to indulge in any more games of seduction with him.

Though, she did still want to have meals with him and get to know him better. She just wasn't sure if it would be worth the effort if he only intended to continue with his previous mulish behavior.

She was still trying to decide whether she would seek him out, brave the Great Hall, or ask the maids to bring her up a tray, when there was a knock on her door.