Page 27 of Claimed by the Ruthless Highlander (Taming the Highland Devils #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

C aiden sat at the long table in the great hall, his goblet untouched before him, though laughter and chatter rose around the meal.

His gaze slid across the chamber, unbidden, where the empty chair sat.

Maisie had occupied it with Isabelle and Norah, but it now sat empty after his behavior toward her.

When the warmth in her eyes had caught his, it nearly undid him, but he had clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away. It cut him deeper than a blade to give her naught but coldness, yet he knew it was the only way to guard her heart.

Inside, guilt twisted through him like a knot he couldn't unravel.

Maisie deserved a man who could give her the whole of himself, not one bound in doubt and past sins.

He told himself again that he would be no true husband for any lass, least of all one as bright and tender as her.

Better she think him distant now than suffer more cruel hurt later.

Still, the memory of her smile burned behind his eyes, soft and full of trust. He longed to reach for it, to let himself imagine a life where her hand was in his each day.

But such dreams were dangerous, a false hope that could ruin them both.

So he forced the mask of indifference upon himself, even as his chest ached with the weight of it.

Caiden felt a soft tug at his tunic and turned. He looked down into the wide, earnest eyes of his wee nephew, Arran, who stood clutching something in both hands. The boy's cheeks were sticky, his small fingers dusted with crumbs, and held out before him was a half-crumbling honey cake.

"Here, Uncle Caiden," Arran said.

Blinking, Caiden reached for the sweet, his heart near stopping at the simple gesture.

"And what's this for, laddie?" he asked, crouching a bit so their eyes met.

Arran grinned, his teeth showing through the smear of honey at his lips, and said with pride, "It's a gift for me uncle."

For a moment, Caiden could hardly breathe.

Relief flooded through him, warm and deep, as if the boy had just tossed him a lifeline when he had been adrift too long.

"A gift, is it? Then I'll treasure it, lad," Caiden said, taking the cake with care, as though it were something far grander than it was.

He ruffled Arran's soft hair, smiling faintly.

"Thank ye kindly, Arran. I cannae think of a finer gift. "

Arran beamed and shifted in his small boots, clearly pleased with himself.

"Lady Maisie says ye daenae eat enough," he said, blinking up at him with open innocence.

Caiden chuckled, a sound he scarcely recognized in his own throat, rough but genuine. "Och, does she now? Then I'll have to prove her wrong, aye?"

He bit into the sweet, savoring its sticky taste, and found himself grinning despite his brooding thoughts.

"Thank ye, nephew," Caiden said.

The boy nodded solemnly, as though giving him a sacred trust, before darting away to chase after a hound skulking near the hearth.

Caiden felt relief move through him that his nephew had made an effort to speak with him instead of avoiding him.

Caiden continued to eat and drink along with the others while watching Arran and Hugh move about the hall with the other children.

"I will care for ye as if ye were me own," he mumbled to himself.

With those words he was unsure if he would ever have his own children to care for. In these young boys could be the future laird of the McGibb clan, and he would show them the gentleness he never received.

A few moments later, Arran was at his side again.

"Would ye play with us in the gardens, Uncle?" he asked.

Caiden could scarcely believe his ears. For so long, Arran had kept to his mother's skirts, casting wary glances at his uncle as though he were some fearsome creature.

But now, with those wide eyes shining with hope, the boy's request cut through Caiden's chest like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

He smiled, nodding slowly, and offered his hand. "Aye."

He stood and locked eyes with Norah, who already waited at the door with Hugh. Arran skipped at his side, clutching a small ball of leather, while wee Hugh tottered along beside his mother.

Once they reached the lawn, Arran thrust the ball toward him with a grin, demanding he toss it high. Caiden obeyed, sending it arcing through the air, and laughed when the boy darted forward with surprising speed to catch it.

Hugh squealed and clapped his tiny hands, toddling after his brother, though he was too small to keep up. Arran threw the ball back with a strength that startled Caiden, and though it wobbled through the air, Caiden caught it neatly and praised him for his effort.

"Well done, lad, ye've the makings of a strong arm," he said, and Arran's chest puffed out with pride.

Norah chuckled softly, watching them. Caiden felt something stir deep inside him as he played, the tension of the past weeks loosening its grip. The children were not avoiding him now, nor shrinking from his presence, but seeking him out with laughter and eager voices.

Relief flowed through him with every toss and catch, every shriek of joy that rang across the garden. He had feared he'd never earn their trust, that his brother had destroyed that possibility.

Arran's smile grew wider the longer they played, his small face glowing with the flush of excitement. At one point, he stumbled and fell in the grass, and before Caiden could move, the lad leapt up again, brushing dirt from his knees and laughing.

He ran to Caiden, clutching the ball, and placed it in his hands as though entrusting him with a treasure. "Yer turn to throw it high, Uncle," Arran cried, his voice light as birdsong.

Caiden crouched low so that he was eye-level with the lad and ruffled his dark hair. "Aye, I'll send it to the moon, ye'll see." And with a powerful swing, he launched the ball so high that both boys gasped in awe, watching it tumble against the night sky before plummeting back to earth.

Hugh squealed again, begging to hold the ball, and Arran, without hesitation, placed it into his wee brother's hands. The trust and patience in that small act made Caiden's throat tighten.

They will be good brothers to each other. I shall see to it.

Caiden leaned back on the wooden bench, his eyes fixed upon the two small lads chasing one another across the moonlit lawn.

Their laughter carried sweet through the stillness, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves and the night's soft ocean breeze.

He felt a strange calm stir within him as Arran's voice rang out, louder than he had ever heard from the boy before.

Norah's quiet steps broke through his thoughts as she came to rest beside him on the bench. She folded her shawl around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the boys with a soft smile playing at her lips.

"I'm glad to see ye and the boys get on," Norah said, her voice low but filled with meaning.

Caiden let out a breath, shaking his head slowly.

"I'm shocked, truly. The lad would nae even look at me before, let alone ask me to play.

" His eyes drifted back to Arran, who was now spinning in circles with Hugh until they both tumbled into the grass with laughter.

"It fair leaves me wonderin' what changed. "

Norah leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped in her lap.

"Aye, ye have Lady Maisie to thank for the change in Arran, as do I.

" She spoke with quiet certainty, her eyes softening as though recalling some memory dear to her.

"It was Maisie that helped Arran when his heart was too heavy for a bairn. "

Caiden's chest tightened, his brows lifting as he turned sharply to Norah. "Maisie?" His voice cracked with disbelief, though he tried to temper it. The name felt heavy on his tongue, far different than when he'd spoken it with coldness.

Norah nodded, her expression calm and steady. "Aye, she has a good heart, even if she is a prisoner. She spoke with Arran, and he trusted her. I'll nae forget what she did for him."

Caiden fell silent, his thoughts churning like restless waters.

A fool—that was what he had been at supper, sitting stiff and cold across from her.

He had turned from her kindness as if it meant nothing, blind to what she had done for those he held dear.

Now, watching his nephews smile beneath the moon, he felt the truth press hard against him: he owed Maisie more than he had ever imagined.

He drew in a long breath, letting it out slow, and his eyes returned to the boys who had once kept him at arm's length. Whatever his pride had been worth before, it seemed hollow now. He knew he must thank Maisie and do it with the sincerity she deserved.

"It's time I check on the nightly patrols. There have been sightings of unusual activity in the sea cave on the beach," Caiden said to Norah.

"Sea cave? I want to go to the sea cave. Can we, Mama?" Arran said as he rushed over just as Caiden stood.

"Aye, when ye are older, lad, ye can, but for now ye must stay on the castle grounds," Caiden said as he ruffled the lad's hair.

Caiden strode toward the outer wall. Two guards straightened as he approached, their hands snapping to their weapons before they recognized their laird.

Caiden nodded, his keen gaze scanning the horizon where shadows blurred into the darkened glen.

"All quiet?" he asked, his voice low but commanding, the sort that demanded honesty.

One of the men cleared his throat and replied, "The night has been uneventful, Laird."

"Keep yer eyes open," Caiden said, resting a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "An enemy hides in silence before he shows himself."

His words carried both warning and encouragement, drawing a spark of pride into the guard's posture. With that, Caiden continued along the parapet, pausing every so often to peer into the shadows below.

Beyond the walls, the glen stretched into darkness, scattered with the faint glimmer of crofters' fires. Caiden felt the familiar pull of responsibility at the sight, the knowledge that each light belonged to a family under his protection.

Descending the stone steps, he moved through the courtyard, where the scent of horses lingered strong near the stables.

He pushed the heavy door open, greeted by the soft snort of a mare shifting in her stall.

Running a hand along the sleek flank of his own steed, Caiden inspected the feed and water, noting the care taken by the lads assigned to the task.

The simple act steadied him, grounding his thoughts in duty that was both practical and personal and kept him from thinking about her.

By the time he returned to the keep, the night was deep and silent, the torches burning low along the walls. His men stood watchful, and his household slept in peace.

He found himself standing in front of Maisie's door. His palm pressed against the wood, but he did not knock. Though his thirst for her was great, he forced himself to turn on his heel and walk away.

Tomorrow I will thank her… before it all comes to an end.