Page 19 of Claimed by the Ruthless Highlander (Taming the Highland Devils #2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T he cold wind whipped across the battlements, tugging at Maisie's shawl as she peered down at the dark stretch of sand. She stood with the other women in the castle while the men made their way down to the shore.

The moon hung low and full over the bay, casting silver light on the waves that lapped against the shore.

The clansmen's shouts rose and fell in rhythm with the surf, their laughter echoing off the rocks and the castle walls. Maisie shivered, not entirely from the chill, but from a thrill she could not name, a pulse of excitement that had nothing to do with the wind.

"Is it always like this?" she asked Norah, her voice nearly drowned by the distant splashes.

"Aye, it is tradition," Norah said, her eyes sparkling. "On the moon festival, the men strip away their clothes and run into the sea. It is said to honor the fish moon, and to welcome the bounty it brings. Sacrificing their bodies to the cold chill of the water in offerin'."

Maisie tilted her head, peering closer. "So, they truly remove all their clothin'?" she asked, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks.

Norah laughed, a soft, musical sound that mingled with the roar of the waves. "They do, though ye can hardly tell from here. They're mere shadows under the moonlight, splashin' and hollerin', far down on the sand."

Isabelle giggled beside her. "Aye, it is quite the spectacle, though I wouldnae wish to be among them, that's certain."

Maisie's eyes stayed fixed on the distant figures, trying to pick out familiar shapes.

Her heart thumped when she realized how small and joyful Caiden must look among them, free of the burden of his responsibilities.

The thought made her pulse quicken, and she caught herself wishing she could see him closer, even for a moment.

"He seems… different," she murmured, more to herself than to the others.

Norah glanced at her with amusement. "Aye, he has a side ye rarely see. He's stern and fierce, but tonight ye saw a glimpse of the man behind the brute."

Maisie shivered again, but this time from the thought of him, not the cold. She wondered if he knew she watched, if he felt the same strange tug of thrill as she did when she glimpsed that lighter, untamed side of him.

The splashes grew louder, and suddenly a chorus of laughter erupted, sending droplets flying into the night air.

Maisie covered her mouth to hide a gasp, heart racing, and her eyes widened as she imagined the audacity and freedom of those men.

Her gaze lingered on one figure that moved with commanding confidence, tall and strong, and she felt an unsteady flutter in her chest. Though she could not be certain, she thought she recognized the familiar stride of Caiden among the chaos.

Isabelle nudged her gently. "Ye seem taken with the sight, Maisie. Are ye nae cold?"

Maisie blinked, startled from her thoughts. "I—aye, a bit," she stammered, realizing she had been lost in the moonlight and the waves, imagining Caiden's laughter carried by the wind.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the unfamiliar warmth of longing and admiration for the laird. It frightened her slightly, to see the man she knew as a captor in a light so free, so almost… human.

The waves surged higher, and the men's voices rose in a collective cheer, echoing off the cliffs.

Maisie found herself laughing softly, caught between embarrassment and delight, a strange happiness filling her chest. Norah's hand brushed hers briefly, reassuring, and she realized she did not want the night to end.

'Tis the most joy I have felt in a long time.

Her eyes remained on the distant shadows in the water, hoping to catch one more glimpse of the man who had captured her body and, though she would not admit it, her curiosity and heart as well.

As the clansmen finally turned toward the shore, dripping and exhilarated, the moonlight shone across their backs like silver armor.

Maisie's breath came fast, and she leaned close to Norah and Isabelle, whispering, "I dinnae ken he could laugh like that. How can joy come from one so fierce?"

Norah smiled knowingly. "Aye, lass. That's the Caiden none dare see, but ye did. Guard it in yer memory; it is rare and precious."

Maisie nodded, feeling a new understanding of the man. The festival, the sea, the laughter, the dance—it had changed everything in her heart tonight.

The next day, the light filtered softly through the small, latticed windows of the parlor, casting warm squares of sun across the modest room.

A kettle steamed gently on the hearth, and the table was neatly set with a simple lace cloth, porcelain cups, and a small assortment of cakes: buttery shortbread, honeyed scones, and delicate oat biscuits.

The scent of sweet tea mingled with the faint tang of herbs from the garden, giving the room a cozy, inviting feel.

Maisie sank into her chair with a small sigh, grateful for the quiet reprieve from the castle's larger halls.

"Ye ken, Maisie," Isabelle said, pouring tea into the delicate cups, "ye were the talk of the moon fest last night. The gown alone, aye, I've never seen anythin' so extravagant on a lass, nae even on the laird's own kin."

Maisie sipped her tea delicately, feeling a flush creep into her cheeks.

"And to think me a captive, treated as such, it must make the clan very confused." She tapped her spoon lightly against the cup, pondering how someone like her had stirred the room.

Isabelle chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Aye, well, a man catching a woman, whether by force or fancy, is nae unusual in any clan. Folk take notice, aye, but they ken well enough it is part of our ways."

Maisie leaned back, her eyes tracing the patterns of the tea steam curling into the air.

"And what of the whispers, Isabelle? Any more rumors of the laird havin' a mistress?

Surely there are stories, given how some folk whisper behind closed doors.

I daenae ken she would like me sittin' next to him at the head table. "

Isabelle laughed lightly, covering her mouth with her hand. "Rumors there be, aye, but naught confirmed. Folks will always talk, Maisie, about who the laird takes a fancy to or who catches his eye. But truth be told, ye're the first lass I've seen him keep so close. He's nae like the rest."

Maisie felt a warmth spread across her chest, a mixture of pride and unease.

"Close, aye… but 'tis nae by choice of mine, Isabelle.

He's a stern man, fierce as the storm itself.

I cannae tell if he wishes me to stay for companionship or simply as a connection to the paintin' affair. It has become muddled in me own mind."

Isabelle tilted her head, her expression curious and knowing. "Aye, ye read him well, lass. But mark me, the laird is very loyal to what he claims, and even fierceness has its limits when a lass earns his regard. He may be difficult, but he's no crueler than he needs to be. Take heed of that."

Maisie chewed on a small scone, the buttery crumbs soft against her tongue.

"I cannae imagine how he became so… complex. One moment, he's a brute, commandin' and unyieldin'. And the next, he shows kindness and…" She paused, unsure how to voice the sensation that fluttered like a bird in her chest.

Isabelle smiled knowingly, reaching across to pat Maisie's hand lightly. "Aye, that's him. The moon fest showed ye glimpses of both. Few get to see the man behind the laird's mask, but ye did. Keep that memory safe, lass, for it tells ye more than any rumor ever could."

Maisie looked into her cup, swirling the amber tea and thinking of Caiden, of the way he had danced with her, laughed, and let the lighter part of himself shine in the moonlight.

She sipped quietly, heart still fluttering, and thought,

I wish I could understand him fully… yet I fear the more I see, the more I am caught between anger and… desire.

Isabelle tilted her head again, humming softly. "Ye must tread carefully. But remember, even a laird, stern as he may be, cannae control where the heart leans."

Maisie set her cup down, feeling the weight of her own thoughts pressing gently against her chest, a mixture of fear, curiosity, and a reluctant yearning.

After tea, Maisie strolled lightly through the courtyard, humming a soft tune that seemed to lift the weight from her shoulders. Her eyes caught Caiden speaking with Eric near the stairs, his posture rigid and commanding even in the warmth of the day.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to be brave, straightening her back before stepping toward him.

"Laird," she called softly, her voice tentative yet carrying just enough firmness, "might ye… sit with me for luncheon later? I would enjoy the company."

Caiden turned slowly, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in her approach.

"Luncheon?" he said coldly, voice edged with impatience. "I have far too much to do to sit around as the ladies do, eatin' and drinkin'."

Maisie felt a flush rise to her cheeks, the hint of indignation prickling at her.

"Is that so?" she said, stepping closer, hands on her hips. "Ye're always too busy for everythin', yet ye find time to carry me to me chamber as ye see fit."

Caiden's jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring slightly. "And what would ye have me do, Maisie?" he demanded, voice low and dangerous. "Take me ease and sip tea while the day's needs go ignored? Nay, lass, the day demands work, not idle chatter and crumbs."

Maisie's eyes sparkled with defiance, the sting of his dismissal fueling her courage.

"Aye, that might be," she shot back, "but must ye always be a brute to every soul? Even to me?"

Caiden's lips twitched, as though fighting to contain a snarl, his eyes hardening on hers.

"A brute, am I?" he growled, stepping closer, the heat of his presence nearly overwhelming. "And ye, little lass, are a stubborn thing, thinkin' words can sway a man with duties heavier than ye can imagine."