Page 21 of Claimed by the Ruthless Highlander (Taming the Highland Devils #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY

M e father's own voice, stern and unforgiving, rings in me memory. Why must it be a constant reminder of the cruelty that passes from one man to the next? Me uncle, me brother all revel in harshness.

Caiden strode through the corridors, his boots striking against the stone with a steady rhythm. The echo filled the silence, giving him too much room for his thoughts. He could still see Maisie's face in his mind, the way her eyes darkened when he dismissed her earlier that day in the courtyard.

"Relentless fool," he said.

He cursed himself under his breath, for his words had been too sharp, too careless.

He had not meant to wound her so deeply, yet his tongue always betrayed him when his temper rose. It was as though the coldness he had seen all his life had seeped into his very bones.

Caiden clenched his jaw as he descended the stairwell, the weight of bloodline pressing heavy upon him.

He had told himself long ago that he would never be different, no matter what softer urge stirred within him.

Men in his family did not know how to be kind; they only knew how to break, command, and control.

It was the curse he carried, and he would rather bear it alone than pass it to another.

"Oh, me laird, excuse me," Fowler the head servant said as he came around the corner on the stairwell.

"Fowler, why are ye nae overseein' the kitchens with the others?" he groaned. "Nay matter, go now, supper is almost served," Caiden ordered.

"Right away." Fowler bowed and scurried away.

Caiden continued on his way to the gallery where his mother's paintings were held. It was time for supper, but it could wait.

He entered and looked once again at the empty spot where the stolen painting had hung.

"I've failed ye, Mother," he whispered.

The thought of marriage had haunted him once, when he was younger and foolish.

He had watched neighbors take wives and for a brief moment wondered what it might be like to have a wife of his own.

Yet every glance at his father's hand striking his mother, or his uncle's sneer at his aunt, had taught him better.

If ever he took a wife, he believed, he would fall into the same ruin.

Thus, he had sworn to keep his heart untouched, a stone buried deep where no woman might reach.

It was safer that way, safer for them and safer for him.

A vow like iron had held him fast, though lately Maisie's presence had begun to loosen it.

She was light where he was shadow, and her laughter unsettled the silence he had kept for so long.

But it was that very light which made him cruel to her. Each time she edged closer, he drove her back with cold words and sharper looks. He thought it better to keep her heart safe from the ruin he might bring.

He left the gallery and made his way to the great hall for supper.

Better she despises me now than suffers of me later.

And yet, shame pricked him. He had seen the confusion in her gaze, the hurt he had carved across her expression. He wondered if she sat somewhere now, turning over his words, questioning herself instead of him. The thought unsettled him more than he wished to admit.

"Lettin' her hate me is a mercy," he grumbled to himself.

The only way to protect her from the poison of his blood. Still, a quieter voice whispered that he owed her an apology, that she deserved more than the shadow he had cast. He silenced it, as he always did, with the same bitter promise.

"Best she keeps her distance," he muttered to himself.

His voice was rough, betraying the conflict twisting within him. "Best she kens me for the cold-hearted brute I am."

The hollow ache in his chest betrayed how much this view cost him.

Caiden entered the great hall, the heavy doors groaning as they opened wide.

The chatter and clatter of dishes fell into silence, every head turning toward him as the people stood.

He moved with the same cold, commanding air that always followed him, taking his seat at the long table.

Once he was settled, the rest of the hall sat as well, and the servants rushed to bring out the evening meal.

His dark eyes swept over the hall as the food was laid out before him, yet one face he sought was missing.

The longer he searched, the heavier the knot in his chest became, though he masked it well behind a grim expression.

Lady Maisie's absence gnawed at him in ways he would not admit aloud.

His jaw tightened as frustration stirred, for he had expected her there, seated with the others, avoiding his gaze as she often did.

He rose from the table with sharp precision, ignoring the eyes that followed him across the room.

He made his way to where Norah sat with her kin.

She looked up in mild surprise when his shadow fell over her.

Leaning slightly closer, he lowered his voice, though his tone held its usual clipped edge.

"Norah, have ye seen Lady Maisie this night?" His brow furrowed as his gaze lingered on her, dark and unsettled. "She isnae here, and I cannae help but notice it."

Norah set down her cup and met his look with a calm steadiness, though her tone carried a trace of concern.

"Nay, Caiden, I've nae seen her in hours. The lass dinnae come down to supper. Would ye like me to send one of the maids to her chamber and see to her?"

Caiden's mouth pressed into a thin line, and he shook his head firmly. "Nay, Norah. I'll see to her meself." His voice dipped lower, edged with something heavier than mere irritation. "If she's unwell, I'll nae leave the matter to servants."

Norah studied him for a moment, a faint smile touching her lips as if she understood more than he wished her to.

Yet she nodded with quiet grace, not pressing further.

Caiden gave her a curt nod in return, then turned on his heel, his thoughts already consumed with the absence that troubled him more than he cared to admit.

He left the great hall in a rush of temper. The chatter of the people faded behind him, replaced by the echo of his steps that carried through the long corridor. His jaw clenched tight as he thought on the lass who had vexed him since the moment she crossed his path.

If she has dared to wander off, I swear I will drag her back by her stubborn hand.

He stalked through the castle, his cloak swaying at his heels, his mind burning with dark thoughts. He had tolerated her defiance more than once, but this, this absence from the supper board, was a step too far.

"She better nae think to slip her leash," he muttered, his voice rough with ire.

At last, he reached the door to her chamber and threw it open without thought for courtesy. The hinges groaned as the wood struck the wall, and he stepped inside with fire in his eyes.

"Maisie? Where are ye?" he said.

His gaze swept over the chamber, searching for the familiar figure of the lass who tested him at every turn. Yet the room was empty, the bed neatly made, the hearth quiet but for a faint glow of dying embers.

For a long moment, Caiden stood still, his fists tight at his sides as silence wrapped about him. His chest rose and fell, his temper simmering as he realized she was nowhere within.

He had half-feared she might have tried to run, but the thought of her out in the wild night set unease crawling through his veins.

"Where in God's name has she gone now?" he growled under his breath.

He turned on his heel and stepped back into the corridor.

The flicker of movement ahead caught his eye, and he saw the maid Leslie approaching, her arms full of fresh linens.

She dipped a quick curtsy, her eyes wide at the sight of the laird storming from the chamber like a man possessed.

Her lips parted, hesitant, before she found her courage to speak.

"If ye're lookin' for the Lady Maisie, me laird?" Leslie said, her tone polite though cautious. "I saw her nae long ago. She'd be in the library, last I saw her." The maid shifted the linens in her arms, her gaze flickering toward the open door behind him.

Caiden's scowl lingered, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction. He gave a short nod, the fire in his eyes dimming though not extinguished.

"The library, ye say," he muttered, his voice low and edged with something between relief and annoyance.

Without another word, he strode past her, his cloak brushing against her skirts as he moved down the hall.

Caiden, for his part, pushed on with renewed purpose, his thoughts set on the lass who had dared ignore her place at the supper table. Maisie might think herself clever, hiding away with her books, but she would learn soon enough that he was not a man to be tested.

Caiden entered the library with his jaw still set in the same grim line he had carried from the hall. The sight that met him stilled his stride at the threshold, though, and for a moment his breath caught in his chest.

Maisie sat slumped over the table, her hair spilling loose across the wood, her cheek pillowed on her folded arm. The candlelight softened her features, and all at once the anger in him melted into something far gentler.

"Bonnie," he whispered.

He lingered by the door, unwilling to break the quiet peace that surrounded her. The harsh words he had prepared to scold her with seemed foolish now, paling against the sight of her sleeping so soundly.

Stepping closer, his eyes traced the curve of her lashes against her skin, the faint flush of warmth in her cheeks. A tenderness he rarely allowed himself stirred, and he could not help but reach down.

The back of his hand brushed against her cheek, light as the drift of a feather.

Her skin was warm beneath his touch, and his heart gave a strange twist at the feel of it.

She stirred faintly, lips parting, but did not wake.

For a brief instant he wished she would, wished those eyes would open and look at him with something other than stubbornness.

Instead, she breathed his name in a soft, dreamy whisper, and the sound of it near undid him.

"Caiden…?" she said.

He bent his head, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath.

"Shhh, lass," he murmured, his voice low, "I'll get ye to yer bed."

She shifted at the sound, sighing, and it made him feel as though she trusted him utterly.

With careful arms, he lifted her from the chair, her body light and warm against him. Her head fell easily against his shoulder, and she nuzzled her face into his chest with a soft, contented moan.

The small sound struck him harder than he expected, lodging itself in his chest where his anger had once been. He held her closer, steadying his steps as though she was the most fragile treasure he'd ever carried.

Through the quiet corridors of the castle he walked, the hush of the night wrapping round them both.

He thought of how fiercely she fought him when she was awake, and yet here she lay with no guard, her trust unspoken but clear. Something in him shifted then, deeper than anger, deeper than duty.

When he reached her bedchamber, he nudged the door open with his shoulder and carried her inside.

He lowered her to the bed as though setting down a thing too precious to bruise, letting her head sink into the pillow.

She stirred again, half asleep still, but he hushed her softly.

Drawing a blanket over her, he tucked it around her with surprising gentleness, ensuring no draft could touch her.

The hearth stood cold, and he would not leave her to the chill.

He bent to the fire, striking flint until the flames sparked to life, casting warmth into the dim chamber.

Watching the glow spread, he glanced once more at the bed where she lay, her breathing even and soft. A strange ache tugged at him.

At the door he paused.

Ye deserve a moment of joy, of respite for all I have put ye through. And tomorrow night, I shall give ye just that.

His eyes softened as they rested on her sleeping form, and his voice dropped to a whisper meant only for her.

"Sleep well, lass."