Caiden merely tilted an eyebrow, his mouth quirking in faint amusement.
"Och, that's what has ye fashin' yerself? Nae the fact I'm here at all, but the state of yer clothes?" he said, his voice steeped in mockery.
Maisie narrowed her eyes, heat prickling her cheeks at his gall. "'Tis a matter of decency, nae vanity," she shot back, swingingher legs over the side of the bed. "A beast would have more manners than to come bargin' in unbid."
Caiden stepped closer, his boots thudding softly on the thick rug. "Aye, and if I'd waited for yer permission, we'd still be standin' on opposite sides of the door." His tone was cool, but there was an edge there, sharp as a blade. "Ye'll dress quick. There's food to be had, and I have things to attend to."
Maisie folded her arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. "And if I daenae feel like sharin' a table with the likes of ye?"
His jaw flexed, but he only leaned back slightly. "Then ye'll sit in the great hall and scowl at me while ye eat. Either way, lass, ye're comin' with me even if I have to carry ye."
Maisie muttered under her breath, but she rose and tugged on her gown. "Yer manners are a disgrace," she said.
"Ye're welcome," Caiden replied dryly, as if bringing her to breakfast was some grand favor. Then she saw as his gaze looked her over.
"Why do ye still wear that dress? It is covered in filth," he asked.
"I dinnae mean to, I fell asleep in it and since ye barged in here as I slept I dinnae have time to dress meself, did I?"
Caiden strolled to the wardrobe and pulled out a dress and tossed it onto the bed. "I'll wait outside the door. Be quick, now." He stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Maisie huffed in annoyance. She didn't like being ordered about. But terrified that he would walk in on her in a state of undress, she undressed and donned the new gown as quickly as she could. She found a brush and ribbon on the table and brushed her hair and braided it, tying it with the ribbon.
"Better," he said as she stepped out of the door and turned on his heel for her to follow.
The walk through the corridors was silent. When they reached the great hall, she paused in the doorway, her indignation momentarily forgotten.
The vast chamber stretched out before her, its vaulted ceiling ribbed with dark oak beams carved in intricate Celtic patterns. Sunlight streamed in through tall, narrow windows, catching on banners of deep crimson and gold that hung proudly along the walls.
The long table ran nearly the length of the room, its surface polished to a gleam and set with silver platters. Two great fireplaces roared at either end, their flames dancing and casting warmth across the flagstone floor. The air smelled faintly of roasted meats, fresh bread, and the tang of the sea drifting in from the open windows. Along the walls stood heavy sideboards laden with goblets, pitchers, and ornate serving trays, each piece glinting in the morning light.
Maisie's gaze rose to the grand chandelier overhead, wrought from black iron and hung with dozens of candles, their wax dripping lazily into the holders. She had expected to see others gathered, lords, ladies, servants bustling about, but the hall was eerily empty. Caiden gestured toward a chair with a flick of his hand.
She hesitated, suspicion prickling. "Is this some kind of trap?" she asked warily.
"If it were, lass, ye'd ken it by now," he replied, pulling out her chair with a mock flourish.
Maisie sat stiffly, her eyes still roving the hall, and the echo of their voices seemed to fill the space. For all its grandeur, the great hall felt less like a place of welcome and more like a stage, and she was not sure whether she'd been brought here to dine… or to be tested.
The spread before her was unlike anything she'd been served in her life. There was a platter of fresh bannocks, their crusts crisp and golden, steam curling up from their soft insides. Beside it lay a mound of tattie scones, thin and browned to perfection, and a trencher bearing thick rashers of back bacon glistening with their own fat. A heavy black pot held creamy porridge, with a jug of honey and a small dish of dried currants for sweetness.
Maisie's gaze drifted to another plate where plump sausages sat beside fried eggs, their yolks bright as the sunrise. A dish of grilled tomatoes and mushrooms gave off a rich, earthy aroma,and in the corner a small wheel of oatcakes waited beside a crock of fresh butter.
"Ye tryin' to feed an army, or just me?" she asked, eyeing the feast.
Caiden poured himself a dram of strong, dark tea, his expression unreadable. Maisie tried to keep her gaze fixed on the food, but her eyes betrayed her, drifting toward Caiden's face. The sharp lines of his jaw, the way the firelight caught in his dark eyes, it all made her breath hitch in spite of herself. She cursed inwardly, knowing such thoughts were foolish and dangerous. This man was her captor, not a suitor.
"Eat," he said simply, as if the command alone should bend her will. "Ye look like a lass that has an appetite."
A frown pressed onto her mouth as she realized that he did not see her as a petite dainty thing, but a large and tall woman, her worst fear about herself.
"Eat," he said again, his tone firm and low.
She met his gaze, her chin defiant. "I willnae take a bite until ye tell me why ye've kept me here."
His lips curved, but it was no smile, it was the sort of expression that promised trouble.
He rose from his chair, moving toward her with a slow, deliberate grace.
