Page 7 of Claimed by the Ruthless Highlander (Taming the Highland Devils #2)
CHAPTER SEVEN
" L aird McGibb?"
Maisie whispered the name under her breath, as though saying it aloud might make the pieces of the puzzle fit together. But they didn't.
She stood in the center of the chamber, her hands still trembling from the encounter, her mind spinning like a leaf caught in the wind. This man who she thought was nothing but a brute bandit was in fact a laird.
How could a man of such station, a laird nay less, stoop to abductin' me as though I were some common thief?
Her gaze roamed the chamber, drinking in the carved wood paneling, the gilded edges of the fireplace, the thick rugs that muffled even the sound of her own restless pacing.
Her anger rose again, only to twist into something she hated admitting even to herself. She could still feel the press of his hand on her waist, the warmth of him behind her as they'd ridden through the gates.
Saints above, the man was infuriatingly handsome, all sharp lines and a presence that filled the room even when he was gone. She clenched her fists, willing the thought away.
What is wrong with me, letting' me mind wander toward such notions? A man like Caiden Byrne would never look at me that way, nae truly.
She caught sight of herself in the looking glass and thought she was too tall, always had been, taller than most men, which had earned her more teasing than admiration.
She looked at her lanky limbs, always feeling her elbows stuck out from her body further than they should.
She ran a finger down her neck, noticing just how long it was, but not feeling a like a swan.
Dresses fit her too short just above the ankle, when they were not tailored for her, and stockings were always over the knee instead of up to her thigh.
Lairds have their pick of women, and it certainly wouldnae be someone like me.
She moved to the chair and sat, her mind shifting from herself to her sister.
Lavina would be beside herself with worry by now, perhaps already organizing a search or pacing in front of the hearth with her brows drawn tight.
Maisie's stomach clenched with guilt; her sister had warned her, told her she was out of her depth meddling in such matters.
Fool that she was, she had brushed off the warning.
Now she was paying for it. And worse, Lavina was paying it too, in worry and fear. Maisie could almost hear her voice now, half-scolding and half-pleading for her to think before acting. But it was far too late for thinking; her fate was no longer her own.
Rising, she crossed the chamber and approached the tall, arched window draped with velvet curtains.
She pulled them aside and blinked at the sight before her, her breath catching in her throat.
Below stretched the endless sweep of the sea, its surface glinting silver under the sunlight, the sound of the waves faint but steady even from this height.
The salty tang of the breeze reached her, carrying with it the sharp truth, she was far, far from home. Here, in this grand, foreign castle, she was alone. And for all her stubborn spirit, Maisie knew the road back to them would not be easy to find.
A knock sounded on the heavy wooden door, sharp enough to make Maisie flinch. She turned, wary, and called out a hesitant, "Aye?"
The door opened to reveal a young maid with dark hair tucked neatly beneath a linen cap, her eyes quick and polite.
"Me lady, I am Leslie. Ye're to follow me, please," the lass said, her tone gentle yet leaving no room for argument.
Maisie rose from the chair and trailed behind her, each step echoing softly against the stone floor as they walked down the corridor. The air here smelled faintly of wax and the sea, the mingled scents tugging at her senses in strange contrast as she took in the rich furnishings of the castle.
They stopped before a carved oak door, and when the maid pushed it open, Maisie's breath caught. This was no cell, no cold corner meant for a prisoner; this was a chamber fit for a favored family member.
"These are to be yer chambers, me lady," the maid said. "I have provided fresh water in the pitcher for washin' up. I will return with some drink and refreshment for ye."
Stepping inside, Maisie turned to the maid in disbelief.
"There must be some mistake," she said quickly, her voice low but urgent. "I doubt the laird meant for me to be in here."
The maid, unflustered, only shook her head.
"His orders were clear, me lady," the maid replied, clasping her hands neatly in front of her.
"Ye're to stay in these chambers, and there is clothin' for ye in the wardrobe.
" With that, and without waiting for another protest, she curtsied and stepped out, the door closing softly behind her.
Maisie was left staring at it, her words swallowed before she could speak again.
Silence settled over her like a heavy shawl, the absence of the maid's presence somehow deepening the strangeness of her situation.
The door was unlocked. She tested it, just to be sure, but the thought of running only made her heart sink.
There were too many people here loyal to him, too many eyes watching, and she was alone in their midst. Escape would be nothing but a foolish dash into the jaws of a trap. No, she needed to plan such a thing.
Turning from the door, she let her gaze wander over the room.
A grand canopy bed stood against the far wall, its posts of dark polished wood twined with delicate carvings of vines and flowers, the heavy curtains drawn back to reveal linens so fine they looked fit for royalty.
A thick woven rug of deep crimson and gold covered much of the stone floor, softening her steps.
To one side stood a writing desk with brass fittings, its surface gleaming as though freshly polished.
Near the window sat a pair of velvet chairs, their curved arms and carved legs matching the bed's craftsmanship. A tall wardrobe stood opposite, its doors inlaid with intricate marquetry, the patterns forming curling waves that seemed almost alive.
Maisie's eyes caught on a small, gilded mirror above a low dresser, its frame etched with thistles and roses, as though the craftsman could not choose between the two. The room felt warm despite its size, each detail speaking of wealth and care.
Drawn to the light, Maisie crossed to the window, the hem of her gown whispering against the rug.
Beyond the glass stretched the wide expanse of the sea, a restless sheet of blue and silver that seemed to go on without end.
The breeze carried the faint cry of gulls, their voices mingling with the soft crash of distant waves against unseen cliffs.
She had never been so close to the shore for so long; it felt both freeing and imprisoning at once.
Her fingers brushed the stone of the windowsill, cool and solid beneath her touch.
She tried to imagine what it would be like to walk along that shore, to find a way past the walls and the gates and the guards.
But the thought faltered before it could become a plan; she had no allies here, no hope of slipping away unnoticed.
For now, she was trapped, in a room beautiful enough to feel like mockery.
"Me lady," the word came with a knock at the door.
"Come in," Maisie responded.
Leslie entered carrying a tray with a pot of tea and a platter of food. "The laird said ye had traveled far and all night and would be needin' food and rest."
"Indeed I have," Maisie said, narrowing her eyes, wondering if Caiden told his staff she was merely a guest and not his prisoner.
"I have fish stew to warm yer bones, hot tea, bread, and cheese. A small bottle of whisky to help ye sleep," Leslie said, placing the tray on the table.
"Thank ye, Leslie. I appreciate it," Maisie said. As soon as the smells hit her, she realized just how hungry she was.
"Rest well, me lady," Leslie said and closed the door.
Maisie poured water from the pitcher into the wash basin and rolled up her sleeves. She washed her hands and face, realizing how much dirt she wore from the chase.
Then she sat down to the hearty meal. The fish stew was fresh and delicious. She dipped a piece of bread into it and savored the bite.
When she was done, she drank a good amount of whisky to help her from a restless sleep she was certain she would have. But after being awake all night until late morning, it was a much-needed respite.
She sat on the edge of the canopy bed, her fingers curled in the fine coverlet as though the fabric could anchor her to some sense of steadiness. Despair pressed in on her like a rising tide, cold and relentless.
She missed her sister, Lavina, with an ache so deep it made her chest tight. The uncertainty of whether she would ever see her again gnawed at her with every quiet beat of the room.
She buried her face in her hands, fighting the heat pricking at her eyes.
Why had I been so foolish? The other paintings for the auction would have been more than enough. But nay, I had to chase after the promise in that letter, lettin' curiosity steer me right into the hands of strangers.
Maisie leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ornate canopy above her, the carved flowers and curling vines a stark reminder of her current prison.
Her thoughts, unbidden, drifted to the man who had taken her, the laird, Caiden Byrne.
Heat rose to her cheeks, and she hated herself for it.
She felt as though she was betraying her family simply for noticing the way his eyes seemed to catch the light or how the strength in his arms had felt when he'd held her steady during the ride.
It made no sense; this was no betrothed, no suitor, no man she had chosen to draw close to her.
This was the man who had stolen her from her home, who had brought her here against her will.
And yet, she could not deny the flicker of something dangerous that had sparked inside her when he spoke in that low, sure voice.
It was wrong, she told herself. Utterly wrong.
Her heart beat faster at the memory of his nearness, the solid warmth of his chest against her back as they rode. She told herself it was only because she had been frightened, because she had been too aware of every shift and movement.
Maisie turned on her side, curling into the blankets as though they could shield her from the confusing tangle of her thoughts.
The sound of the sea lulled her despite her troubled mind. She told herself she would think of a plan tomorrow, that there must be some way to turn this to her advantage. But for now, her body betrayed her, sinking deeper into the soft embrace of the bed.
Sleep claimed her slowly, drawing her under with the pull of her despair and the confusion of her unwelcome thoughts.