Page 15 of Claimed by the Ruthless Highlander (Taming the Highland Devils #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

" A fter Caiden found me and me two young sons in a dire state, he had us brought to the castle without hesitation. I will be eternally grateful for his help," Norah said.

Maisie sat very still, her mind twisting, for it was hard to reconcile this tale with the hard, sharp man who had shouted at her only moments ago.

Her thoughts tangled as she stared at Norah's fair face. "How could a man be cruel and then be sweet?" she murmured, her words tumbling before she could stop them.

Norah then lowered her gaze and confessed, "Lass, Isabelle told me ye are here because the laird thinks ye have a connection to a thief."

Maisie's brows furrowed as her heart twisted with unease. "Aye, and I tell him I daenae, but he doesnae believe me," she whispered.

She watched as Norah's eyes grew sad as she nodded, and silence weighed heavily between them.

"I can only say that the paintin' was precious to Caiden. It belonged to his mother. She passed only a few months ago, and the loss has hollowed him," Norah said.

Maisie's breath caught as she understood at last why Caiden clung so tightly to his pursuit.

The picture wasn't only a treasure; it was a piece of his grief.

The revelation settled like a stone in Maisie's chest. She thought back to the moments when Caiden's fury had flared, and she realized it was not just temper but sorrow behind his eyes.

Perhaps he is nae the heartless brute I think him to be, though his sharp tongue often gives me doubt.

The notion unsettled her, leaving her torn between anger and reluctant sympathy.

Finally, Maisie broke the silence, her voice low. "Why did ye wish to speak with me here, in private, Norah?" she asked, suspicion tugging at her. She had expected accusation or some hidden motive. Yet the lady's answer surprised her.

Norah smiled faintly, shaking her head. "It wasnae me intention to draw ye here," she explained gently. "I came to the study only to greet ye proper, but when I heard the raised voices, I thought ye'd need rescuin' from Caiden's temper." Her tone was light, yet her words carried a knowing truth.

For a moment, Maisie only blinked at her, stunned, then a sudden laugh burst from her lips. "Och, ye've the right of it," she admitted, covering her mouth as the laughter spilled free.

Relief mixed with a strange warmth in her chest, easing the sting of the earlier quarrel.

She was not ready to forgive him, nor to forget the way his lips had brushed hers, leaving her in turmoil. Yet now she understood his burden, and that knowledge lingered with her.

A few moments later, Maisie followed Norah through the dimly lit corridor. The silence of the castle pressed around them, broken only by the light patter of Hugh's feet and Arran's stifled yawn.

Norah stopped before the tall door of carved oak. "Rest well, lass. Ye'll need yer strength," she said softly as Maisie bent to bid the boys a gentle goodnight.

The bairns clung to Norah's skirts, their eyes heavy with sleep, but they both whispered a farewell to Maisie.

Her heart softened at the simple kindness, so rare in the uncertain place she found herself.

Then, with a final nod to Norah, she slipped into her chamber and closed the heavy door behind her.

Inside, the room was hushed, the fire in the hearth burning. Maisie unpinned her hair, watching the tresses tumble over her shoulders as she set the comb aside. She removed her gown, hanging it up with care, and donned the nightdress laid neatly on the chair.

Never had she dreamt that captivity might come hand in hand with such gentleness.

A man like Caiden, feared and cursed as cruel, could not be reconciled with the memory of his hand steadying hers over the chessboard.

The warmth of his touch haunted her still, sparking feelings she scarcely wished to name.

Maisie lay back against the pillows, staring into the flickering shadows cast by the fire. She pressed a hand to her breast, willing herself calm, though her thoughts betrayed her with every turn.

How can I feel both fear and longin' for the same man?

She turned onto her side, the sheets cool against her skin, yet her body refused the stillness of sleep. Every time her eyes drifted closed, the memory of Caiden's dark gaze returned, searing her with its intensity.

She recalled the strength in his voice, the sharpness of his temper, and yet, beneath it all, a sorrow he carried alone. A sorrow she now understood, tied to the memory of his mother and the stolen painting.

Maisie sighed, curling tighter into herself, as if the quilts could shield her from the tangle of her own thoughts.

She ought to despise him, yet her heart whispered treacherous words of tenderness.

Each breath she drew seemed louder than the last, echoing in the quiet of the chamber.

And still, she remained wide awake, lost in a battle against her own restless longing.

The night wore on with no peace to be found.

The fire burned lower, until only embers glowed red against the dark, but Maisie's mind refused its rest. She lay staring at the ceiling beams, hearing faint echoes of the wind rattling at the windows.

Sleep, when it came at last, was broken and shallow, haunted by dreams of Caiden's hand brushing hers once more.

"Ye swing like a milkmaid, lad," Caiden barked. The circle of men roared, shouting encouragement and jests alike in the training yard.

Caiden's blade clashed hard against Ewan's, the ring of steel echoing through the training yard. Sweat trickled down his brow, but his focus was sharp as he pressed the younger man back a step.

Another soldier hollered, "Watch yerself, Ewan! The laird'll have ye on yer arse!"

Steel sang again as the men tightened their circle, eager for the show. Caiden's muscles strained, but his strikes remained clean, measured, and deliberate, every movement calculated.

A cheer went up when Caiden twisted, disarmed Ewan with a flick, and pressed his blade to the man's chest.

"Yield, or I'll have yer pride strung up by supper," Caiden warned, eyes bright with mirth.

"Aye, aye, I yield," Ewan groaned, throwing his hands high.

The men howled again, slapping Ewan's shoulders and tossing insults that rang as much with fondness as jest.

Caiden turned, and his gaze drifted upward, drawn by something he had already sensed.

Along the wall, Maisie walked with Norah and the two lads, their small figures framed against the late sky.

She lingered at the edge, her hair catching the light as though the sun itself clung to her.

His chest tightened, pride and hunger mingling, for she watched him, yes, though she tried to look away when his eyes caught hers.

A sly grin curled across his lips as he pulled off his tunic, then lifted his blade once more, this time against Callum, his fiercest fighter.

"Come then, let us see if ye can best me today," he growled, lowering into stance.

Callum lunged, strong and sure, but Caiden moved with speed meant to dazzle. Each strike was sharp, deliberate, meant not only to win but to display the force and grace of his skill.

The men cheered louder now. Caiden's every parry gleamed with control, each twist a dance of power across the yard. He pressed Callum hard, until their boots tore at the packed earth, sparks flaring when steel scraped steel. His eyes sought Maisie again.

On the wall, she shifted, turning as though to hide her gaze.

He saw Norah leaned close, saying something that made the boys laugh, yet Maisie kept her chin high, feigning indifference.

Caiden felt a tug deep in his gut, stronger than any blow of the blade.

It pleased him to know she saw his strength, and yet it tormented him that she pretended not to care.

With a final burst, Caiden struck Callum's blade aside and sent him staggering back.

He held his sword aloft, letting the cheer of his men thunder through the yard.

But in truth, the only victory that mattered was the quickened beat of Maisie's heart, which he swore he glimpsed in the way she clutched the stone wall.

Pride burned through him, fierce and reckless, as he lowered his blade and let his eyes linger on her retreating form.

The next morning, Caiden leaned against the stone archway of the hall, his eyes fixed on the lass at the far table.

Maisie sat straight-backed, her head lowered as she measured every bite with the same care one might give to counting coin.

She never lingered over her food, never reached for more than she dared, as if fearful of taking too much.

The sight stirred something in him, part anger, part guilt, for he knew well she felt herself a stranger there.

He made his way across the hall, the men parting to give him room, nodding as they returned to their chatter.

He stopped by her side, resting a hand on the back of the chair beside her, his presence heavy enough that she looked up at last. Her eyes flickered like a startled bird, wary, cautious, and then dropped back to her trencher.

The lass has a way of slippin' through me fingers without ever leavin' her seat.

"Ye'll starve yerself if ye keep portionin' like that," he said, lowering himself to sit beside her. His voice carried a rough warmth, though irritation prickled beneath it.

"I've had enough, Laird," she answered softly, her tone clipped, as if the words themselves were a shield.

He narrowed his eyes. "Enough? A sparrow eats more than ye, lass. Ye'll waste away if ye keep refusin' to eat."

He watched as her lips tightened, but she did not look at him. "I daenae need more. I'm well enough."

Caiden studied her, frustration warring with the pull he couldn't deny.

He wanted her to meet his gaze, to grant him even a flicker of ease that he had not erred in keeping her under his roof.

Yet every time he reached for her with words, she drew herself further away.

It gnawed at him, the guilt of her captivity pressed against the fierce want that drove him nearer.

"Ye've a sharp tongue when ye choose, yet now ye'll say naught to me," he said low, leaning closer. "Tell me, lass, am I such a beast ye cannae bear the sight of me?"

Her lashes lifted then, green eyes meeting his for a breath before she turned aside again. "I've nay words that would matter to ye, me laird. Better I keep them."

Caiden's jaw tightened, but he held fast. He couldn't let her slip further from him, no matter how she fought to remain distant. A thought came suddenly, bold, one that might coax her past the walls she built. He drew in a breath and let the words fall steadily.

"Then come with me. A walk along the shore this day. The air will do ye good."

For the first time, her face brightened, the shadow easing as surprise softened her expression. "Aye," she said quickly, her voice almost eager. "I would like that."

Satisfaction curled through him, sharp and deep, as he watched her light kindle. At last, he had cracked her silence, if only a little. It was enough to set his blood thrumming, enough to make him vow he would tear down every wall she placed between them.

On the beach, Caiden walked beside Maisie, his stride steady and purposeful, though his voice softened as he pointed toward the curve of the shore.

"Ye see those rocks, lass? That's where the tide pools fill with crab and shellfish, good eatin' if ye ken where to look.

We've nets set further out, but many a bairn learns first with bare hands at the pools. "

He felt the pride of one showing his land to someone who cared when he saw Maisie's eyes lit with curiosity,

She leaned closer, her gaze fixed on the pools where the water shimmered under the sun. "And do the bairns truly pluck the crabs out with their hands? I'd think they'd be pinched sore!" she said, laughing lightly.

Caiden grinned, the sound of her voice stirring something restless in him. "Och aye, they're pinched often, but it's the way of learnin', same as sparrin' leaves ye bruised."

They walked further until the bay spread wide before them, the sea breeze tossing her hair against her cheeks. Caiden raised his hand toward the distant dock where small ships swayed.

"There's the harbor, where our fishing boats come in at dawn, bellies full of herrin' and cod. The men mend their nets along the shore, and the women salt the catch for keepin'."

Maisie tilted her head, her voice eager. "And do ye eat fish near every day, Caiden?"

He gave a low chuckle. "We'd be skin and bone if we dinnae. There's venison in the glens and oats for the table, but aye, fish feeds the folk well. We are prosperous.

"Aye, as I have seen," she said. "How deep's the water by the pier? And do storms sweep the ships away? Have ye ever lost a boat?"

He looked at her, bemused, marveling at her thirst for knowing.

At that moment, a man hauling a heavy net from the rocks raised his hand in greeting. "Me laird! Fishin' is good this day."

"Aimen!" Caiden called, his voice warm.

The fisherman strode toward them, sunburnt and grinning, ropes looped over his shoulder.

"What is over yer shoulder?" Maisie asked.

"Ye've the look of one curious, lass," Aimen said kindly, nodding to Maisie. "Shall I show ye how a net's cast?"

Maisie's face lit, but Caiden frowned at once. "Nay, she's nay need to tumble in the tide," he said, folding his arms.

Yet Maisie's eager smile worked on him, and Aimen's laugh only deepened his surrender.

"Och, very well then," Caiden muttered at last, sighing as he rolled up his sleeves.

Together, Aimen and Caiden spread the heavy net wide, showing Maisie how to hold its edge.

"Grip it firm, lass, else the sea'll take it from ye," Caiden instructed, his hand brushing hers as he corrected her stance and lighting his skin on fire.

She tugged at the weight, nearly toppling forward as the wind whipped against the cast. Laughter rang from her lips, bright and unguarded, and Caiden felt his chest tighten at the sound.

When she stumbled, he caught her at once, his hand firm around her waist, their fingers tangled in the wet ropes.

For a heartbeat, he could think of nothing but her nearness, the warmth of her skin, the salt wind in her hair. Then, as if burned, he jerked back, his jaw tight, though his heart thundered still.