Page 16 of Claimed by the Ruthless Highlander (Taming the Highland Devils #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

" W ho can he truly be?" she whispered to herself.

Maisie lay awake in the dark, staring at the low ceiling of her chamber as the hours dragged on.

The sound of the sea outside was steady, but her thoughts were anything but calm. She could still feel the brush of Caiden's hand against hers, the way his eyes had softened on the shore.

It is as if there are two men within him, one who is me own captor and frightens me… and the other is a man that draws me in.

She shifted restlessly beneath the blankets, her body tense with longing she dared not name. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his mouth, far too close to hers before he pulled away. The memory left her warm and restless, her chest tight with questions.

Is he truly the brute who took me by force, or the man who caught me when I stumbled near the rocks?

Her stomach gave a low, hollow growl, breaking her train of thought.

She remembered how little she had eaten at supper, pushing food about her plate while others had spoken around her.

She always felt too tall, too large, and never delicate like the women men admired.

The thought only added to her discomfort, and at last she threw back the blankets with a sigh.

Pulling her shawl about her shoulders, she stepped quietly from the chamber.

The stone corridors of the castle seemed to stretch endlessly, each shadow stretching long in the flicker of torches.

She walked with careful steps, her slippered feet making no sound on the worn floors.

The night was heavy with silence as the castle slumbered.

She slipped quietly into the kitchen. The smell of baked bread lingered faintly, mixed with the cool tang of the sea that drifted through the cracks in the shutters.

She lit a small taper, the flame giving just enough light to guide her to the pantry.

Her hunger now mingled with her restless thoughts, and she knew there would be no sleep until she eased both.

Maisie moved carefully among the shelves, finding a small loaf left from the day's baking.

She broke off a piece and sat at the long wooden table, the candle flickering before her.

Every bite tasted like more than food; it was something steady, something certain, when her heart felt anything but.

And though she was alone, she could not keep Caiden's face from her mind.

Maisie clutched the small loaf of bread to her chest as she slipped from the kitchen, the stone corridors heavy with silence.

She pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders, though the thin chemise beneath offered little modesty.

Turning the corner, her breath caught as she collided with a broad chest, the bread tumbling from her arms and caught mid-fall by a large hand.

The shawl slid down, leaving her half-bared, and she froze beneath Caiden's fierce gaze.

His eyes flared as they swept over her, not with tenderness but a storm she could not name. "What in the devil are ye doin', lass?" he barked, his voice echoing against the stone. "Wanderin' the halls in yer night-clothes where all could see?"

Maisie's cheeks burned, and she stooped to snatch up her shawl, though her fingers trembled.

"'Twas hunger that took hold of me that caused me to wander, nothin' else," she snapped, clutching the cloth back over her body. "I went to the kitchens for bread, nothin' more." Her words were sharp, though her heart beat louder than her voice.

Caiden stepped closer, his shadow swallowing hers, his jaw hard with disapproval.

"As I can see. This is nae some tavern, where a lass may roam as she pleases.

Ye're my prisoner here, Lady Maisie. Ye'll remember that before ye wander in the dead of night again.

" His eyes glimmered with something more dangerous than anger, though he masked it with his scowl.

Her chin lifted, stubborn fire igniting within her chest. "Prisoner or nae, I'll nae be locked up in me bed chamber for yer pride," she retorted, her voice taut with defiance. "What sort of brute claims to be a man but treats a woman so?" She felt the tremor in her hands but held her ground.

His breath came rough, and he leaned nearer, his words a growl.

"Ye ken nae what ye speak. Freedom's a thing ye daenae grasp, lass.

I still suspect ye are untruthful about the theft, and yet here ye stand, full of fire and spite.

" His tone was cruel, yet beneath it something warmer flickered like embers.

Maisie's lips parted, torn between fury and the strange pull in his voice.

"Ye daenae trust me; that much I already ken," she whispered, her gaze unflinching.

"Ye chained me to this cursed place, and now ye think I should thank ye for it?

Do ye think captivity feels like mercy?" Her chest heaved with the effort of speaking her truth as he stepped closer.

Caiden's hand shot out, gripping her arm, though not roughly enough to hurt. His eyes locked on hers, and for a heartbeat she saw the man from the shore, the one who had laughed with the wind in his hair.

"Daenae tempt me, lass," he muttered, his voice raw, strained with conflict, as he let the bread fall to his feet. He stepped closer, hovering over her.

Maisie's breath caught, the nearness of him unraveling the edges of her anger. The bread lay forgotten at their feet, their quarrel tangled with an unspoken longing neither dared name.

"Then let me be," she whispered, though her voice betrayed the tremble of desire. "For I cannae tell which man ye truly are, the cruel captor or the one I want."

The fire between them flared, each word striking like steel.

"Ye've nay idea the peril ye stir," he said, his hand slamming against the wall beside her head.

She flinched but refused to yield. "Peril? Or is it simply that ye cannae stand the thought of me free?" she countered, her breath quickening. For a moment, silence stretched, thick with the weight of longing unspoken.

His nearness consumed her, the heat of his body closing in until her back brushed the cold stone wall.

Caiden's eyes burned into hers, and Maisie's breath hitched, her lips parting as though some unseen cord pulled them together. For a heartbeat, she swore he would kiss her, that the tension snapping between them would at last break. His hand hovered at her waist, trembling with restraint.

Then, as sudden as a storm breaking, he pulled back. With a frustrated snarl, he grasped her by the waist and hefted her easily over his shoulder.

Maisie yelped, kicking at him as the hallway swayed beneath her upside-down view.

"Put me down this instant! I can walk well enough!" she cried, her fists pounding at his back.

He ignored her protests, his stride swift and unyielding as he carried her back through the quiet corridors.

His hand pressed firmly against the back of her thighs, holding her steady though she twisted in indignation.

The world tilted until he reached her chamber door and kicked it open.

With gentler care than his fury suggested, he set her on her feet inside the room.

Maisie's breath came in sharp bursts as she spun on him, fury and fire mingling in her chest.

"Ye've nay right to manhandle me so!" she snapped, clutching at her fallen shawl.

Caiden's jaw flexed as though he might speak, yet he only gave her one final look, dark with a torment she could not name, before he turned and left.

Left alone, Maisie's anger burned bright, her pride stung by his overbearing command.

Yet beneath the blaze of offense, something deeper stirred, something she could not smother.

Her skin still tingled where his hands had held her, her lips still ached with the memory of that near-touch.

Desire coiled within her, fierce and unwanted, leaving her restless in the quiet shadows of her chamber.

She stormed about her chamber, pacing with furious turns. Her cheeks burned hot, her fists clenched tight, and her words slipped out sharp and fast.

"That brute," she muttered, her voice rising in pitch. "He's just awful, selfish, a pig!"

The fire in her heart matched the blaze of the hearth, and she could barely keep still for the rage that clawed at her chest.

She halted only when a soft knock echoed at her door, making her flinch. Her breath caught, and her gaze darted toward the sound, suspicion narrowing her eyes.

"Caiden," she whispered to herself, for who else would come at such an hour?

She smoothed her hair quickly, tugging her shawl tighter about her shoulders, preparing her tongue for another round of barbed words.

With her heart hammering, Maisie pulled open the door, ready for battle.

Yet the hallway lay empty, still and silent, with not a soul in sight.

Instead, a tray rested neatly upon the threshold, steam curling up from a bowl and platters, the rich scent of food filling the air.

She blinked, taken aback, her anger faltering as confusion swept over her.

The platter was laden with hearty seaside fare, rustic and rich as only this seaside clan could provide.

A deep bowl brimmed with thick fish stew, fragrant with herbs and cream, chunks of potato and haddock peeking through.

Beside it sat a round loaf of dark barley bread, its crust cracked and warm, with wedges of sharp cheese stacked high.

A small plate held golden oatcakes and honey-drizzled sweet buns, while a bottle of whisky gleamed amber in the firelight.

Maisie knelt to lift the tray, her fingers brushing the polished wood, her mind reeling.

She carried it inside and set it upon her table, staring as though it might vanish should she blink.

Slowly, she broke the bread, dipped it into the stew.

It tasted rich, savory, comforting in a way she had not expected.

Each bite unraveled the knot in her chest, softening the storm of her mood.

The whisky, smooth and sharp on her tongue, soon warmed her veins.

She poured glass after glass, letting the heat ease her stubborn anger and carry her into a strange calm.

The room grew hazy, the fire's glow blurring, and she leaned back with a sigh.

Her thoughts betrayed her then, drifting toward Caiden, the only one who could have done this for her.

Surely it was his hand that brought the tray, for the servants have slept long since.

She pictured him, rough and fierce though he was, heating the stew over the kitchen fires.

Then, carrying the food through the darkened halls.

A selfish man would never have thought of such a kindness, and the thought gnawed at her as her head grew heavy.

Her anger faded into weariness, and soon her eyes closed against the candlelight.

Maisie's last thought, before slumber stole her, was how strange and gentle such a gesture seemed from him. The harsh words she had spoken of him earlier felt dim and far away, softened by the warmth of whisky and the fullness in her belly.

A brute he might be in word, but in deed, he showed a side she could scarcely understand. Sleep carried her swiftly, her breath evening into quiet peace at last.

The next morning Maisie woke unsettled, her dreams troubled by the memory of Caiden's nearness the night before.

The warmth of his hand still lingered upon her skin, though she scolded herself for recalling it.

She was a prisoner, bound by the will of the McGibbs, and it was folly to let her thoughts stray.

Yet her heart betrayed her, betraying discipline with every image of his smile.

A sharp rap sounded at her chamber door, and she thought it must be him, which made her heart thump loudly.

However, it was followed by a cheerful voice. "Maisie? 'Tis Isabelle. Will ye rise and come out with us?"

Maisie opened the door to Isabelle and beside her, Norah's softer tone added, "Aye, lass, we thought ye'd like to join us in the garden."

"I'd like that very much," Maisie replied, forcing steadiness into her voice.

Isabelle's bright eyes lit with pleasure, and Norah's gentle smile carried quiet welcome.

"We're gatherin' herbs for tea," Isabelle explained, her gown a deep blue that caught the morning sun. "The bairns are eager to join us as well."

"Then all the more fun we shall have," Maisie said as she dressed. The women helped lace her dress, and soon they were out in the gardens.

Outside, the air smelled fresh with dew and earth. Norah's two lads, Arran and Hugh, darted about, their laughter bright against the hum of bees.

Maisie bent to their level, plucking a sprig of thyme to show them.

"This wee herb will warm yer belly when the cold winds come," she explained, her tone soft and patient.

Arran's curious eyes widened, though he clung close to his mother's skirts. Hugh, bolder, reached for the sprig and gave a delighted giggle when Maisie brushed it under his nose.

Isabelle laughed, her voice like a bell, while Norah shook her head fondly. For a moment, Maisie felt something near peace among them. It reminded her of being with her own sister.

A shadow stretched across the garden path, and Maisie's breath caught as Caiden stepped into view. His presence filled the space, and she stiffened at once, though the lads' reactions told a deeper tale. Arran shrank back behind Norah's skirts, his wide eyes fixed on the laird.

"Mornin' ladies," Caiden greeted, his tone even, his gaze brushing briefly over Maisie.

He crouched low beside Hugh, pointing to a tall shrub nearby. "See this one? Ye can steep the leaves to soothe a cough."

The child nodded eagerly, his trust offered without hesitation.

Maisie found herself staring, startled by his easy knowledge of herbs.

He spoke not like a warrior but as a man well-versed in the land's healing gifts.

Yet when his eyes shifted toward Arran, Maisie saw the faint tightening of Caiden's jaw in disappointment.

That single glance carried a weight she did not understand, but it pierced her all the same.

She could see the child was fearful of his own uncle, and it unsettled Caiden.

Her heart beat faster, as if drawn against her will. For an instant she saw him not as her captor but as a man layered in sorrow and strength alike. His hand, so sure with sword or soil, brushed a leaf with tenderness.

Maisie looked away quickly, furious with herself, yet her chest still trembled with the quickening he stirred.