Page 24 of Claimed by the Ruthless Highlander (Taming the Highland Devils #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

" E ric! What in God's name do ye think ye're doin'?" A frown creased Caiden's brow, the sight igniting a flash of anger.

He spotted Eric chasing after yet another young maid, grabbing at her. Although the maid laughed flirtatiously and darted amongst the tall grass of the meadow, Caiden had had enough of his man-at-arms deflowering the reputation of the maids of his castle.

The young man started, letting go of the maid, who scurried away with cheeks flushed bright red, her skirts flaring behind her.

Caiden approached, boots crunching on the earth, his gaze fixed on Eric with all the weight of authority.

"Ye've a duty to this clan, man, and here ye are, chasin' after maids like a lovesick fool instead of mindin' the castle, the men, and the lands, as is the duty of me man-at-arms," he said, voice low and dangerous, each word deliberate.

"I expect loyalty, focus, and discipline from ye, not distractions that would shame a bairn. "

Eric shifted under the laird's piercing eyes, but the heat in Caiden's voice made it clear he meant every word.

Eric straightened his back, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"Aye, Laird, I ken what ye say, but a man cannae live his life with naught but toil and order," he replied, tone cocky and unrepentant.

"If a man has nay pleasure, nay diversion, he loses his wits and goes mad, ye ken?

" His boldness hung in the air, a challenge mixed with the arrogance only a younger man could muster.

Caiden took a deep breath, arms crossed over his chest, watching the sun cast long shadows across the meadows. For a moment, he considered Eric's words, the notion that endless duty might indeed gnaw at a man's sanity.

"Ye speak like a fool," Caiden muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite. In the quiet that followed, he couldn't entirely dismiss the truth that even the most steadfast men needed some small relief from their burdens.

Eric gave a careless shrug, brushing dirt from his tunic, unconcerned by the tension in Caiden's eyes.

"I'll mind me duty, Laird," he said lightly, "but I'll nae deny meself the livin' of it."

His grin was infuriating, but Caiden found himself reluctantly acknowledging that there was merit in allowing a man some freedom, lest he grow bitter and reckless. The younger man's spirit, though irritating, had a fire that might serve them well if properly tempered.

Caiden shook his head, letting out a short, rough sigh. "Aye, Eric, I'll be watchin', but mind this, me patience is low," he warned, tone stern, eyes flashing with authority.

"Do yer duty first. Leave the chasin' and foolish games for after the work is done."

As Eric grinned once more and bowed in obedience.

Caiden allowed himself a moment of reflection, the wind tugging at his hair as he considered the balance between duty and desire.

Perhaps Eric was not entirely wrong, he thought; some measure of indulgence might preserve a man's mind and spirit.

Even the most loyal of men, he realized, could falter without the occasional reprieve, though he would not admit it aloud.

"Come, walk with me," Caiden said.

The air carried the salt of the sea, sharp and biting, as they turned toward the churchyard that lay beyond the castle. Caiden's gaze swept the horizon, his thoughts heavy with matters of duty and the unease gnawing at the edges of his land.

Eric finally broke the silence, his tone brisk. "The boats have been mended near to all of them now, Laird. We've three still needing new boards, but the nets are patched, and the traps set back out by the cove. The men worked fast these last days, and I'll say they've done fair well."

Caiden gave a short nod, his jaw tightening in thought.

"Tell the men to tar the hulls again once they're dried. 'Twill keep them longer against the rot. As for the nets, daenae let them sit idle when the tide's low, hang them high, or they'll rot quicker than a loaf left wet. We cannae lose what's just been fixed."

Eric's brow furrowed, but he nodded with approval.

"Aye, I'll see it done. Though there's another matter, one that cannae wait. Down by the cliffs, in the cave that opens to the sea, we found signs of a fire and rope left behind."

Caiden's eyes narrowed at once. "A fire, ye say? The fishermen oft take shelter there when storms turn sudden. Naught strange in that. They'll leave their things behind without much thought." His tone carried skepticism, but his mind already worked through possibilities.

Eric shook his head firmly. "Nay, I asked each of the fishermen, and nay man owned to it. The rope was thick, nae for fishin' but for climbin' or haulin'. Whoever was there kept low and left quick."

Caiden's lips pressed into a hard line. "If nae the fishermen, then who? We still daenae ken how the paintin' vanished from under our very noses. Could be mercenaries, aye? Hidin', waitin', plannin' their next move." His voice dropped low, filled with a grim certainty.

Eric spat into the dirt, his expression grim. "I feared as much. The tide would hide a small boat well enough there, and the rope makes it easy to come and go without bein' seen. They could slip in by sea while the guards watch the gate."

Caiden's mind sharpened, anger stirring in his chest. "Then we'll watch them back. Double the guard at the cliffs and set a man to watch the tide. If they're fool enough to return, I'll see them caught," he said.

"Now go. I need a moment of peace," Caiden dismissed Eric with a low word, his tone gruff though his heart weighed heavy. The man-at-arms gave him a brief bow of respect before turning toward the path that led back to the castle yard.

Alone now, Caiden turned his boots to the churchyard, the old stones crunching beneath his tread. The air felt cooler there, hushed as though even the wind dared not disturb the resting souls.

He passed through the iron gate, its hinges groaning like an old man's bones, and strode between rows of weathered stones.

Moss climbed over names half-forgotten, yet his eyes sought only one marker among them.

His mother's grave stood near the far wall, sheltered by the wide arms of a yew tree. Caiden slowed, his breath unsteady.

Kneeling before the stone, he brushed away the damp leaves that had settled across the carved letters.

His calloused fingers lingered on her name, the grooves worn smoother than he remembered.

A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard, but the ache did not ease.

He bowed his head, as if the weight of his shame pressed it down.

"Mother," he muttered, his voice low and rough, "I've come again, though I cannae say I bring ye any honor.

" His gaze fixed on the earth before him, dark and silent, holding comfort.

"I've tried to change, to be a better man, yet I've naught to show for it.

Folk whisper that I'm like me faither, cruel and hard, and I fear they speak true. "

His words faltered, but he forced them onward.

"I told meself I could be somethin' different, a life ye'd be proud of.

But I've failed ye, Mother, again and again.

Even the lass who might've softened me heart looks on me as though I were naught but stone.

How can I ever claim to love when I cannae show kindness without falterin'? "

The silence stretched around him, broken only by the distant cry of a gull.

Caiden's jaw tightened, and he pressed his fist against his knee, his knuckles whitening.

"I let yer paintin' slip from me very hands," he confessed, his voice cracking like old wood.

"The one ye cherished, loved, gone, stolen, because I couldnae guard it. "

He shut his eyes, remembering the painting. She used to tell him that light upon the water held hope, no matter how dark the storm. Now that light was lost, and the guilt clawed at his chest like talons. "I've failed to keep safe the very memory of ye," he whispered, his throat raw.

"I ken I'm nae worthy of a wife," he went on, his voice low and bitter. "What woman deserves a man who lets the past haunt him so? Who clings to anger and pride when he should show gentleness? I'm cursed with me faither's temper, cursed with his coldness, and I cannae drive it out."

His shoulders sagged, the weight of confession pressing them down.

"They all see it," he said, almost to himself.

"Eric, the lasses, even the men who serve, aye, they ken well enough what I am.

I try to mask it, to lead with strength, but strength without mercy turns to tyranny.

I cannae bear the thought that I'll end as he did, feared and hated. "

Caiden laid his hand flat against the stone, as though by some miracle her touch might return through it.

"Tell me, Mother," he pleaded softly, "how did ye endure him? How did ye smile when his shadow darkened every chamber? Ye had a light that never dimmed, yet I've naught but shadows inside me."

A sharp breath escaped him, heavy as a sigh yet rough as a growl.

He raked a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling despite his efforts to still them.

The churchyard seemed to press close, the air thick with judgment he could not flee.

He stared at the carved name, wishing it might speak back, wishing for some balm to the emptiness.

He stood and made his way to the seashore.

The path wound down to the stony beach, where the tide breathed in and out with steady force.

The cave yawned dark and wide at the edge of the rocks, a place where he often came as a boy.

Yet tonight, the flicker of a figure inside caught his eye, a shadow where none should be.

He stepped forward, his voice sharp as it echoed against the stone.

"Fowler?" he called, his tone edged with suspicion. The servant startled, turning quick, his cap pulled low as though ashamed to be caught. Caiden's brow furrowed, the salt air stirring his temper. "What in God's name are ye doin' here?"

Fowler bowed his head low, his hands clasped in front of him. "This place… it grants a man silence." His gaze slid to the cave walls, never daring to meet Caiden's eyes. "I've come to think."

Caiden let out a slow breath, but his shoulders stayed rigid, distrust curling in his chest. "There's been word of seedy folk in these parts," he warned, his voice cold as the tide. "Best ye keep yer thinkin' for the castle, lest trouble finds ye here."

Fowler bowed again, deeper this time, his frame small beneath the stone arch. "Aye, Laird. As ye command." With that, the man slipped past him, footsteps scattering loose pebbles before fading into silence. The cave swallowed the hush again, leaving Caiden alone with the echo of his own thoughts.

The sea's roar filled the space around him, but it could not drown the turmoil that clawed inside.

He pressed a hand against the damp stone, eyes closing as the lass's face rose sharp in his mind.

Her voice, soft yet defiant, lingered in his memory, tugging at parts of him he had long thought dead.

It unsettled him, this heat that burned whenever she stood too close.

He had let her go the night before, not because her words had swayed him, but because he had seen the edge of himself.

Desire had gripped him with a force near violent, his restraint fraying with every breath she took.

If he had kept hold a moment longer, he feared what he might have become.

The shame of it gnawed, a reminder of the blood that cursed his line.

The men of his clan had a darkness in them, one he had sworn never to unleash. He had seen what cruelty did, how it twisted a man's love into ruin. And yet, standing in the shadows of the cave, he knew how near he had come. The lass had not the faintest idea of the danger he posed to her.

His hand curled into a fist, pressing against the stone till his knuckles whitened.

He could not allow himself to sink deeper, could not risk her safety for the weakness of his own hunger.

Better she return home than fall prey to the monster within him.

Better to cut the thread now than let it bind them both to misery.

The sea rushed relentlessly against the rocks, as though mocking his resolve.

His chest ached with the war between want and fear, each pull sharper than the last. He longed to hold her, to know her warmth without restraint, but the cost was too steep.

His mother's face rose in his memory, sorrowful, as though to remind him of the promise he had once made to her, that he would not treat anyone like his father had treated her.

"Nay more pain," he whispered into the dark, the words caught in the salt-laden wind. "Nay more." His voice trembled, though his jaw clenched to steady it. She deserved freedom, not the chains of his shadowed blood.

Caiden turned from the cave at last, his steps heavy with decision, upon the wet stones. He would tell Maisie in the morning, clear and final, that her time at the castle was done.

She would return to her home, untouched by the ruin he carried within. And he, he would remain as he had always been, alone against the sea.