Page 14 of Claimed by the Ruthless Highlander (Taming the Highland Devils #2)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

" I believe it is yer turn," Maisie said.

"So it is," Caiden replied.

Maisie watched Caiden from across the chessboard as he made his move, his dark brows drawn tight as if the weight of the world pressed upon his shoulders.

He seemed moody this night, more restless than she had seen him before, though his voice carried no sharpness.

A shiver ran along her spine, a curious thrill she could neither welcome nor deny, desire tangled with fear, both warring in her chest. She cursed herself silently for finding aught about him attractive, for he was still a man that abducted her.

"Ye've grown quiet, lass," Caiden murmured, shifting one of his pawns forward with steady precision.

His hand brushed hers as she reached for her knight, the touch fleeting yet enough to send sparks racing through her arm.

She tried to steady her breath, tried not to let him see the way her lips parted in surprise.

"Daenae let me distract ye," he added, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed a quiet intent to do just that.

Maisie pushed her piece with care, her foot shifting beneath the table until it grazed against his boot.

She froze at once, ready to pull away, yet he didn't move his foot at all.

The weight of his presence seemed to linger there, an unspoken challenge, as if daring her to acknowledge it.

Heat rose to her cheeks, but she kept her eyes fixed on the carved figures before her.

She noticed that Caiden's conversation grew sharper. He leaned forward, his tone light on the surface, but his gaze as piercing as a hawk's.

"Tell me again about this merchant. Nathan, was it? Who is he, really?" The way his fingers idly brushed the edge of a pawn made her stomach tighten, for she knew he was not asking out of curiosity.

Her pulse quickened, though she forced her voice steady. "He's a merchant, naught more, naught less. He wrote the letter, tellin' me of the sale of the paintin'." She shifted, heat rising in her chest as she saw the gleam in his eyes, a gleam that told her he didn't believe her.

"Ye're interrogatin' me, Laird, like some common thief."

His jaw clenched, and he leaned back slightly, though his gaze never softened.

"Interrogatin', ye say? I'm only seekin' truth. Ye're holdin' somethin' back, lass, and I'll get the answer from ye one way or another." His voice was low, dangerous, and it made a shiver run up her spine.

Maisie's hands curled into fists in her lap, though she forced her chin high.

"Ye've asked and asked, and still ye hear naught but the same words from me lips. I'm nae the one ye seek. I'm nae the thief that's taken from ye." Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn't care; her pride burned hotter than her fear.

He leaned forward again, his arm brushing the board, his eyes narrowing.

"Words are easy, Maisie. I need proof, nae pretty denials."

His tone cut like steel, and for a moment she thought he'd reach across the board and seize her hand just to wring the truth from her.

Her breath hitched, but she would not let him see her falter.

"Proof? Then let me go," she whispered fiercely. "Let me leave this place. I'll help ye find the thief if I must, but I'll do it from me own hearth, nae as yer prisoner. Then ye will have yer proof." Her voice trembled, but the fire in her eyes met his squarely.

Caiden's lips twisted into a grim line. "Nay, lass. Ye'll stay right where ye are till I ken the truth. I cannae risk ye runnin' off to warn whoever's workin' with ye." His voice was final, unyielding, like stone against the sea.

Her fury broke loose at last, sharp and unbridled. "Ye brute!" she spat, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Keepin' me here, doubtin' me word, bindin' me like some caged bird! Ye'll never win me trust treatin' me so." Her hand shook as she pressed it against the table, the pieces rattling.

Caiden's eyes darkened, and he rose slightly from his chair, looming over her like a mountain.

"And ye, stubborn lass that ye are! Always defiant, always pushin' against me, even when the truth stares ye plain in the face.

" His voice thundered in the chamber, and yet beneath the anger there lay something else.

Maisie felt her heart pound like a drum, fury and fear mingling with something far more dangerous, thrill and desire. Her breath came quick, her body trembling, but she didn't yield her stare.

"I'll nae break for ye, Laird McGibb. Nay matter how ye press, I'll nae bow to a man who calls me a liar." Her words cracked with both pride and pain.

For a long moment, silence stretched between them, hot and heavy. The chessboard lay forgotten, their gazes locked like combatants on a field.

Maisie's chest rose and fell, her throat tight. She saw Caiden's hands flex at his sides as if war raged within him. And still, neither of them looked away.

A sudden sharp knock at the door cut through the tension like a blade. Maisie froze, her hands still curled in anger, and turned her head as the door creaked open.

A woman entered, her hair a cascade of golden-brown waves, eyes bright and pretty, her gown embroidered in delicate patterns that spoke of wealth and status. Maisie felt her stomach twist, a pang of envy and suspicion striking her all at once.

The woman smiled warmly, her voice lilting with charm. "I've come to meet the new lass in the castle," she said, stepping lightly across the threshold.

Maisie's gaze followed her every movement, taking in the grace in her stance, the subtle confidence in her eyes. She could not help but feel that this must be the mistress Isabelle had hinted at, the woman Caiden might desire instead of her. It had to be because she was simply beautiful and petite.

Anger bubbled beneath Maisie's skin, sharp and bitter.

How dare Caiden betray this mistress by kissing her?

The flush in her cheeks deepened as she realized the raw truth: she was jealous, furious, and more unsettled than ever.

Her hands clenched tighter, and she refused to lower her eyes, though every fiber of her body ached with frustration and longing.

She took a step forward, trying to regain composure, but her pulse raced.

Her thoughts tumbled like stormy waves, each one accusing her of weakness and folly.

And still, the woman before her remained unaware of the tempest she had stirred, smiling politely at Caiden as if they were very intimate.

Maisie's breath hitched, torn between resentment, desire, and the bitter envy that gnawed at her pride.

The woman looked over her shoulder, smiling at Maisie with warmth that made the lass hesitate. "Would it be all right if I take her on a walk? I'd like to get to ken ye better," she said, her voice gentle, but carrying a certain authority.

He simply grunted and nodded a reply, yes.

Maisie blinked, surprised at how easily Caiden had grunted his consent, when he had so often declared she would never leave his side. She puzzled over it, a mix of relief and confusion stirring in her chest, wondering what exactly had changed.

Behind the woman, two small heads bobbed like curious little birds, peeking from behind her flowing skirts. Maisie's gaze softened as she saw the boys and gauged that one must not be more than five years old and the other around three. Their bright eyes were wide with curiosity.

Maisie followed the woman out of the study, her skirts brushing the polished stone floor, heart hammering in her chest.

They stepped out into the garden, the cool night air brushing Maisie's cheeks and loosening the tension in her shoulders. Moonlight spilled over the castle gardens, casting silvery light on the carefully trimmed hedges and flower beds that scented the night air.

The scent of night-blooming flowers filled her nose, mingling with the crisp tang of sea air drifting from beyond the castle walls.

Silence stretched over them, punctuated only by the soft rush of waves and the gentle scuff of small feet on the gravel paths.

Maisie's nerves coiled tighter as she realized:

She must ken of the kiss with Caiden. That is why she has asked to speak with me in private. Och, how I dread this conversation.

A tug at her skirts drew her attention downward, and Maisie knelt to see the little boy holding out a beetle he had found along the path. Her lips curved into a smile despite herself, reminded instantly of her own nephew and the games they used to play together.

She crouched lower, examining the tiny creature, and the boy's giggles made her laugh softly, the sound light and freeing. Soon, the more boisterous elder boy joined them, and the two boys scurried around her feet, chasing shadows and offering their finds with proud excitement.

Maisie felt herself relaxing further, the tension of captivity and the fear of Caiden's temper easing in the night's calm.

She made gentle teasing noises as the boy tried to put the bug back, and the three of them erupted into laughter, the joyous sound echoing faintly in the quiet gardens.

Maisie realized she had not laughed this freely in days, not since leaving her home, and the moment filled her with a bittersweet ache.

They wandered deeper into the garden, moonlight glinting off the intricate stone fountain at the center, water glittering like scattered diamonds.

Maisie noticed the skillfully carved statues that lined the pathways, each a tribute to the McGibb ancestors, and felt awe at the castle's beauty even at night.

She stole glances at the woman walking beside her, noting the gentle authority in her posture and the warmth in her voice as she guided the children.

Maisie's curiosity about the woman grew, though it mingled with unease.

She wondered how much the lady knew and what she would say when they came to that subject.

Maisie's hands twisted nervously in her skirts, her breath catching as the lass before her gave a kind smile.

The beauty of the woman unsettled her, for her eyes shone like clear summer skies and her hair gleamed as though kissed by gold.

Maisie felt plain, tall, and clumsy by comparison, her jealousy pricking like needles.

She swallowed hard, unable to stop the heat rising in her cheeks.

The woman tilted her head, speaking softly. "The lads daenae take to strangers so quick, ye ken. They've their own ways, and it takes time for them to open their hearts." Her voice was warm, gentle as a lullaby, but it carried a quiet strength beneath the sweetness.

Maisie, startled by the kindness, realized she had been like a fool without offering a word. The shame settled heavy upon her chest.

Flustered, she blurted, "Och, I've been rude as sin.

Forgive me, I dinnae mean to ignore ye so.

" She lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening together, desperate to find the right manner.

The words spilled awkwardly, tumbling over themselves in her haste.

Her heart hammered with a mix of regret and humiliation.

The woman's lips curved in a tender smile, and she shook her head gently. "Think nothin' of it, truly. Ye've a great deal on yer mind, I can see it in yer eyes." She reached out, lightly touching Maisie's arm in reassurance. "There's nay offense taken, nae at all."

The kindness in her voice made Maisie's throat ache, for she had expected sharpness or scorn. Instead, she found grace and warmth, which only deepened her guilt. Her envy softened into confusion, and she fought the urge to look away. It unsettled her more than anger would have.

"I am surprised they have taken to ye so easily. Why, young Arran's a tender soul, though he hides it behind silence. Truth be told, he keeps his distance from his own uncle. I suppose a laird could be a frightenin' presence to be held." Her eyes flicked with something unspoken, a hint of sadness.

Maisie blinked, startled, the words bursting from her lips. "Keeps his distance? From the laird, ye mean…?" Her brow furrowed in disbelief. "But… I thought ye were his mistress?" She stopped herself too late, the shame already burning hot on her tongue.

The woman's eyes widened, then sparkled with amusement before a laugh slipped free. It rang through the chamber, bright as bells. "Och, heavens nay! His mistress? That's what ye thought?" She shook her head, still laughing, her cheeks rosy.

Maisie's face burned crimson, her throat tightening as she stammered, "I-I… aye, I did. Isabelle had spoken of some woman, and I…och, I let me mind run wild." She buried her face in her hands for a moment, wishing the ground would swallow her whole. Never had she felt so foolish.

The woman chuckled again, though gently this time. "Nay, lass. I'm Norah. I am Caiden's sister-in-law…" Her smile softened, touched with memory, yet it held no bitterness. "I am here for the bairns' sake, nae for scandal."

Maisie froze, her heart sinking. Isabelle had indeed mentioned a sister arriving. How had she not seen it? Her mind had been clouded with suspicion, all her thoughts consumed by Caiden's imagined betrayal.

Shaking her head, Maisie whispered, "Och, I'm a fool. It should've been plain as day, but I… I couldnae think clear." She lifted her gaze, her eyes meeting Norah's. "Ye must think me daft."

Norah reached across the table, her hand brushing Maisie's gently. "Nay, lass. I think ye're human. And humans doubt, and they fear. It means ye care, else ye wouldnae feel so fierce about it."

Maisie's heart tightened at the words, for they struck truer than any blade.

She thought of Caiden's kiss, the heat of it still fresh in her mind, and her heart ached with both anger and longing.

That kiss had stirred every doubt, every whisper she'd heard.

Yet here was proof she had judged too quickly.

She murmured, "Ye're kinder than I deserve." Her voice trembled, for she could not hide the mix of relief and embarrassment swirling within her. She had been ready to despise this woman, ready to guard herself against betrayal. Instead, Norah offered only understanding.

Norah leaned back, her eyes shining in the firelight. "Ye're young, Maisie. Ye've the look of a lass still learnin' where to place her trust. But let me tell ye, Caiden's nae the man folk make him out to be. He bears his demons, aye, but his heart is strong."

Maisie listened in silence, her envy ebbing into reluctant admiration.

The woman's beauty still dazzled her, but her spirit was gentler than Maisie could have imagined.

The weight of her earlier mistake pressed heavy, yet the warmth of Norah's words began to ease it.

Still, doubt gnawed at her soul like a restless hunger.