Page 29 of Claimed by the Ruthless Highlander (Taming the Highland Devils #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
C aiden led her carefully down the long, rectangular gallery, the soft light from the high windows catching the dust motes in the air. He held her hand firmly, though not harshly, and he could feel the heat of her palm against his.
The walls were lined with portraits and landscapes, except for the empty space at the far end. It seemed almost to hum with absence, a silence that pressed heavier than any words.
"This is where the paintin' was," Caiden said, his voice low, carrying a weight.
He didn't move from the space, his eyes fixed upon the blank wall, as if he could summon the lost brushstrokes with sheer will.
"I can see how much it hurts ye to have it taken, Caiden. I swear to ye, I dinnae touch it. I hope one day ye'll believe me fully," Maisie said.
He turned toward her then. "Aye… it's more than just the loss of the paintin'," he admitted, his jaw tight. "It was her work… me mother's hand in every stroke. Losing it… feels like losin' a piece of her all over again."
"I understand, Caiden. And I wish I could fix it for ye. I wish I could bring it back or at least bring ye some comfort."
Caiden looked down at her, the coldness he often wore slipping just slightly, revealing a flicker of vulnerability. "Ye… ye mean to comfort me?" he asked quietly, almost hesitantly. His usual commanding tone softened. "After how I have been to ye?"
"Aye, I do," she said firmly. "I want to help, even if it's only by standin' with ye. And I want ye to ken I would never betray yer trust, not for a single thing." Her gaze held his, unwavering.
He exhaled slowly, and for the first time he felt that maybe, just maybe, he could allow someone in without fear, even if just for a moment.
"It's hard to let anyone see me like this," he murmured, almost to himself. "Hard to trust that a soul willnae be broken by me… like the paintin' was taken, or worse, like the people I've hurt in the past."
Maisie stepped closer. "Caiden, ye arenae the monsters of yer kin. And I see ye… the man who cares, the man who loves the art, and the man who, despite it all, has a good heart."
He looked away for a moment, then back at her, and the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, almost a smile.
"Ye are a brave lass, Maisie. Maybe… maybe ye can teach me how to be brave too."
Caiden stood in the quiet gallery, his gaze fixed on the empty frame, though his thoughts were elsewhere.
He knew deep down that Maisie had no hand in the theft of the painting, and the certainty brought a rare pang of relief to his chest. Yet he kept this truth locked away, for he had made a decision that couldn't be undone.
Sendin' her home is the only way I can protect her from the dangers of what I might become.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, the lines of his jaw tight with the weight of his choice.
To admit the truth to Maisie would be to give her hope, and he couldn't allow that when he intended their paths to part.
His heart throbbed with a strange mixture of longing and restraint, a battle he knew he must win.
For now, he would carry the secret alone, a silent guardian of both her honor and his own restraint.
The farewell would be sharp and final, and he would bear the sorrow in silence.
"I'll see ye back to yer chambers, lass," he said, his voice low but steady, masking the conflict he felt inside.
Caiden led Maisie down the long corridor, his hand brushing against the wall for guidance, though he kept his eyes on her.
"Ye think ye'll find the paintin'?" Maisie asked as she followed. "How could it be taken from inside the castle unnoticed?"
"I havenae yet discovered how it was taken," Caiden admitted, his eyes narrowing as he considered the possibilities. "It's a mystery that gnaws at me daily."
"It must be someone ye trust," Maisie said, her gaze steady on his. "As I can see there are few people in this part of the castle. Therefore, it could only be someone allowed here."
Caiden paused at the top of the spiral staircase. Her words echoed in his mind, sharp and true, forcing him to acknowledge a possibility he had tried to deny.
"Aye… ye're right," he said at last, his voice quieter than before. "I'll make a list of everyone who has access to this wing, and I'll start with those I trust most."
Maisie nodded, but her eyes held something more, a glimmer of daring that made his chest tighten. "It's unnervin', ye ken, that someone could betray ye so close to home."
"Aye," Caiden said, his jaw set. "And betrayals from those ye trust hurt the deepest. That's why I must be cautious, Maisie."
As she descended the spiral staircase, winding down, Maisie suddenly stopped and reached for his hand. Her fingers closed over his, warm and insistent.
"Stop," she said softly, yet with command. "Look at me, Caiden."
He turned his head toward her, startled by the intensity in her gaze. His heart thrummed against his chest, a foreign warmth that both unnerved and intrigued him.
"Maisie…" he began, unsure how to respond, feeling the weight of her small hand holding his. He could see in her eyes a mixture of courage and something deeper, something that made him question how well he truly knew his own heart.
She held his gaze, her hand a tether to the honesty she demanded. "Ye need to listen, Caiden," she said, her voice trembling only slightly. "Ye cannae always bear the burden alone."
For a moment, he said nothing, letting the silence between them speak louder than words. The spiral staircase below seemed to vanish as his mind focused entirely on her, and he realized the truth she'd shown him: even a laird, no matter how strong, couldn't carry every weight alone.
He felt her fingers brush lightly across his cheek, the touch soft yet commanding. Caiden felt a jolt of desire that startled him.
Her voice, low and confident, carried a reassurance he did not deserve. "The paintin' will be found, Caiden," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his.
His breath quickened fearing the storm that her nearness stirred within him.
"Be careful, Maisie," he said, his voice low, almost a growl.
Her brow furrowed. "Why?" she asked, tilting her head, innocence and curiosity wrapped in one.
Caiden swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pull her closer, to let his hands roam freely, though he knew the line he must not cross.
"If ye continue… touchin' me," he warned, his voice rough, "ye should be ready for the consequences."
Her cheeks flushed crimson, and the heat of her embarrassment only inflamed the fire in him.
He could feel the pull of her presence, the soft scent of her hair, the way her warmth seeped into him.
Every rational thought battled with desire; he told himself she must leave, that tomorrow would come and he would let her go, yet his body betrayed him.
Caiden's gaze lingered on her lips, her eyes, the subtle curve of her jaw, and he felt himself losing the quiet control he prided himself on.
He wanted to resist, to remind himself that restraint was a laird's duty, yet every part of him ached to claim her.
In the privacy of the stairwell, he pressed her gently against the wall, feeling her small frame yield beneath his strength.
His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and his mouth descended to hers.
The kiss began soft, exploratory, but the tension that had simmered for days, for nights, ignited between them.
He trailed kisses down her neck, feeling the shiver that ran through her body at his touch.
Her hands clutched at his shoulders, desperate and timid all at once, and he felt the heat of her desire match his own.
Every restraint he had maintained shattered; he could no longer hold back, nor did he wish to.
Caiden's lips pressed again to hers, hungering, tasting, memorizing.
His hands moved possessively over her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, each inch of contact sending fire through his veins.
He knew she would be gone tomorrow, that this closeness would soon be ripped away, yet that thought only made his need for her sharper.
The world narrowed to her, to the feel of her, to the sweet, forbidden pleasure of having her in his arms.
"Caiden…" Maisie murmured, breathless, trembling against him.
Her voice was both plea and surrender, and it drove him further into the storm of his own making.
He pressed her against the wall again, letting his hands explore the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist. He could not stop, would not stop; every restraint was abandoned, every caution forgotten, as the heat of desire and the longing of months claimed him utterly.
"Lass, I cannae resist ye," he said.
Her warmth, her softness, her very presence overwhelmed him, yet amidst the frenzy, a small, sober thought flickered: he must remember that tomorrow she would be gone.
He pushed the thought aside, banishing caution as his lips trailed down her neck again.
Maisie gasped softly, her fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring him as much as he anchored her.
The fire between them blazed unchecked, and Caiden realized, with both dread and longing, that he would never be able to hold back again.
The world outside the walls ceased to exist, and all that remained was the press of her body, the taste of her lips, the desperate, heady connection that neither could deny.
Tomorrow could wait, and all responsibilities could be ignored in this stolen, consuming moment.
He buried his face against her neck, inhaling her scent, letting his hands roam without restraint. And even as reason whispered warnings, Caiden knew he had surrendered fully, willingly, to the temptation that Maisie embodied, letting desire reign supreme for this one night.