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 thewide 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 mustbe 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.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"It's time to wake, lass. Ye've been sleepin' since yesterday."
The door burst open without warning. Maisie startled upright, her hair tumbling loose around her face as Caiden strode in as if he owned the very air she breathed.
"Heaven's sake! I could have been bare as the day I was born!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest. "What do ye mean bargin' in on a lady?"
