Chapter Nine Munro
I stepped into the great hall, my head throbbing with the lingering remnants of last night’s wine, and froze at the sound of Murieall’s voice rising in distress.
“Go away and do nae come back!”
The words echoed against the stone walls, sharp with panic.
My gaze snapped to her, seated at a table with James, his hand reaching for her shoulder.
Something hot and dangerous coursed through my veins, and before I could form a coherent thought, I was striding across the hall, my hands already curling into fists.
James’s fingers had just barely grazed Murieall’s shoulder when I reached them.
I seized him by the front of his tunic, yanking him up from the bench with such force that the wooden legs scraped harshly against stone.
The sound grated through my already aching head, but I paid it no heed, my attention fixed solely on James’s startled face.
“What did ye do to her?” I demanded, my voice a low growl that barely resembled my own. I tightened my grip on his tunic, the fabric bunching between my fingers. “Answer me!”
James’s surprise gave way to indignation, and then, most infuriatingly, to what appeared to be slight amusement. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a way that made me want to drive my fist into it.
“Nae anything,” he replied, making no attempt to free himself from my grip. “We were breaking our fast and conversing when the lass suddenly grew pale and distressed.”
I didn’t release him. The rage that had propelled me across the hall still burned hot in my veins, demanding an outlet. “Then why did she cry out? Why did she look terrified when ye touched her?”
“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.