Chapter 20

20

M urdoch silently lamented as he nursed his glass of whiskey. It was early enough that Wilma and Gordon were both giving him strange looks for drinking but he didn't care.

After Lydia's departure he'd had a sleepless night, full of restless dreams and uncomfortable thoughts. By the time dawn had started to show through his window he'd developed a headache that felt like a band of iron around his temples and his eyes burned with weariness. A drink could hardly make him feel any worse.

A slender, petite figure entered the Great Hall and strode toward the head table. Murdoch stifled a groan and a scowl as Lydia sat beside him with a polite but distant "Good morning, me Laird."

Murdoch grunted in response. He didn't dare say or do anything else, not with how their last encounter had ended. He'd spent the entire night wondering how it could have gone so wrong and how he could repair the situation.

Of course, there was the obvious solution, but he shied away from it. He'd meant what he said about not discussing the past. He hated even thinking about it. There was no point in telling his side of the tragic event when he didn't trust that anyone would listen, or believe him.

Wilma abandoned her disapproving stare at Murdoch and turned to greet Lydia. "Good morn, Lydia! Have ye decided what ye're wearing to the village festival?"

Lydia blinked, and Murdoch smothered an annoyed oath. He'd completely forgotten to tell her that the village was holding a festival. It had been planned before he'd gone to secure her as his betrothed, and the festivities had been expanded to celebrate the betrothal after he'd announced it. He'd also forgotten it would be held today.

"Festival?" Lydia asked his cousin.

Wilma smiled. "Did Murdoch nae get a chance to tell ye? There's a festival today in the village. We'll have a variety of merchants and food stalls and the like, and later there will be dancin' and music in the square."

"It sounds grand. But I dinnae sleep well last night. I was thinking of having a quiet day in me rooms or in the garden." Lydia's answering smile was strained, and Murdoch could see the shadows under her eyes.

Evidently her night was no better than mine. The thought made him feel oddly disquieted.

Wilma pouted. "Are ye sure? Murdoch said ye liked to read, and there's supposed to be at least one bookseller present today. I've been saving me coins in case he has anything of interest."

"Anything of interest?"

"Herbals or grimoires or the like." Wilma grinned. "Although he might also have some poetry or romance books ."

Murdoch watched as his betrothed went from weary to wakeful in the blink of an eye. "In that case, I'll finish me breakfast and go get changed into somethin' suitable."

"Ye daenae need to be quite so hasty." Wilma shook her head. "We daenae need to leave before the noon meal. Ye have some time to rest if ye'd like. I can meet ye at the gate after we eat at midday."

"That sounds wonderful. I look forward to it." Lydia smiled, then returned her attention to her breakfast, eating with more appetite and energy than she had been earlier.

Murdoch felt his stomach twist. He knew well what the villagers thought of him. The thought that Lydia would be listening to their whispers and rumors that flitted among the common folk was enough to banish what little appetite he had. "Lydia."

She didn't answer. She simply finished the last bite of her bread and honey, as well as her tea, then rose from her seat. Murdoch reached out and caught her arm as she began to pass his chair. "Will ye nae speak to me, even for a moment?"

Lydia looked at him with quiet impassive eyes. "Why? Did ye not demonstrate very clearly that ye daenae want a bride who wanted to talk to ye?"

Before he could respond, she pulled free and walked away. Murdoch watched her walk away, his heart in his stomach.

Gordon laid a hand on his arm. "Ye ken, ye can always announce that she's nae a suitable bride after all. There are a number of excuses ye can make, including that she's nae the lass ye were promised. Tis a temporary measure, but twill satisfy the council until ye have time to look for a lass of yer choosing."

Murdoch ignored the comment about a lass of his choice. He'd never seen a better candidate than Lydia, and he knew it. Still, he couldn't help giving his cousin a sour look. "I dinnae think ye and Uncle Arthur were after a temporary measure. After all, ye were among the loudest in suggesting a marriage and a wife for me."

Gordon winced and had the grace to look embarrassed. "That was before I saw how unhappy this was all makin' ye, and how difficult yer betrothed is. I may think ye need a wife and a second son for the heirship, but I'm nae so enamored of the idea that I'd wish ye a second loveless marriage."

"Pity nay one else thinks I deserve anything more."

Gordon's expression was sympathetic as he clapped Murdoch on the shoulder. "If I could take the burden from ye, cousin, I would, but I'm nae the laird, and even if I were, I'd be in worse straits."

Murdoch sighed and let his anger go, knowing why his cousin was so determined to avoid becoming the focus of the council's determined matchmaking. As the son of a second son he could choose his own partner, and Murdoch knew enough about his cousin's preferences, and the discreet affair he was currently engaged in with one of the castle staff, to accept that Gordon was probably better off retaining his current position.

He took a final drink from his cup, then rose. "I'm for some sparrin' and then a bath. Will ye join me on the practice field?"

"Aye." Gordon fell into step beside him. "Will ye be goin' to the festival later?"

Murdoch felt his mood sour. "We'll see. I may have other business to attend to."

He wouldn't, and he knew it. Custom dictated the laird make an appearance at the festival. It didn't matter that his presence was more likely to silence the merry making than improve it.

If he didn't go there would be whispers that he was a cold, distant laird who didn't care to mingle with his people. If he did attend, they'd whisper about how shameless it was that the murderer, the wife-killer, could walk among them.

It was a no-win situation, as far as Murdoch was concerned. Much like his current impasse with his betrothed.

Following breakfast Lydia found herself at loose ends. She was no longer tired enough to want to return to her bed, but neither did she feel like doing anything in particular. Eventually she decided to make her way out to the fairy pools Wilma had showed her.

She decided to take her favorite book and Hector with her. She went to the kitchens and procured a flagon of sweet wine, then made her way outside. None of the guards stopped her, which was a relief. The walls of Lochlann Castle had begun to feel stifling. She had no intention of breaking her word, but she did enjoy stepping beyond the walls.

The spring air was refreshingly cool, and when she bent to take a drink of the water in the pool, she found it cold and delicious. She drank her fill, then settled on the blanket she'd brought with her, and began to read.

She'd only read a few pages when a shadow loomed over her. She looked up to see Murdoch with a scowl on his face. "What do ye think ye're doing?"

She sighed. "Readin', of course."

His lip curled, and she could see the frustration in his eyes. "Daenae pretend ye daenae ken what I mean." He gestured. "What are ye doing out here? Do ye really think ye're safe here?"

"I dinnae think I was in any more danger here today than I was yesterday." Lydia heaved out a breath and marked her page before she shut the tome. "However, I daenae see any reason to stay. I came out here for peace and quiet, and clearly I'll get nothin' of either."

She rose and started to turn away, but Murdoch grabbed her shoulder. "Daenae just walk away from me."

Anger roared to life within her and she spun round and slapped his hand away, ignoring how it made her own hand sting. "Daenae touch me! Ye daenae own me, and ye daenae have the right to order me about."

Thunderclouds loomed in Murdoch's eyes, darkening their color. "As long as ye're me betrothed and within the walls of me castle ye will heed me words and do as I say."

"Tis a good thing then, we're nae in yer castle, isn't it me Laird?" She could see his anger rising to match hers, but she didn't care.

"Daenae even pretend ye dinnae ken what I meant. Ye're on me land, under me protection. I am laird here."

"But ye're nae me Laird, nae yet, and nae ever if I decide to refuse yer suit."

Murdoch growled and pulled her closer, close enough to feel the fierce heat of his body. His furious gaze held hers, and for a moment Lydia thought he might kiss her, as he had before.

If he tried, she was determined to slap him. She was tired of him running hot and cold. Trying to seduce her but trying to keep himself separate from her in every way that mattered.

"Ye're a stubborn lass." Murdoch stepped back. "Ye daenae ken how dangerous it is to be a woman walkin' around alone. Did ye learn naythin' from the incident at the tavern?"

"Aye. But I've learned since that the drunken brutes I might encounter are naythin' compared to ye." Lydia tossed her head.

It was a low blow, but Murdoch covered his reaction well enough. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Lydia met his eyes, determined to smother her own conflicted feelings. "Ye ken what I think, and yet ye keep trying to push me. Doesnae matter whether ye try seducin' me or orderin' me. Until the day ye learn I'm me own woman, and learn to trust and respect me the way ye demand respect in turn, we'll get naywhere."

Reading was no longer attractive, especially not when the book she'd been perusing was a romance and she was faced with someone who inspired too many erotic images without any literary inspiration.

"Excuse me, Laird Lochlann." She packed her book away, grabbed her blanket and turned. "Come Hector."

The dog came bounding over. Lydia moved toward the path, only to have Murdoch move to block her way. "Lydia…"

"Ye ken Hector is a hunter. Alex trained him to hunt, and to attack on command." Lydia set her hand on the large dog's head, making her threat clear.

After a moment, Murdoch stepped back. Lydia walked past him, ignoring the look in his eyes.

Perhaps she was being unfair, but she'd made her position clear. She was attracted to Murdoch and thought she might even be falling in love with him, but she wasn't going to sacrifice her principles for that. Not for him, or for any man.