Caiden arched a brow, not breaking stride as he closed the gap between them. "I dinnae ask ye," he replied, his voice hard enough to cut stone.
A faint flush rose in her cheeks, and her lips parted as if to strike him with a retort.
"While I'm yer captive, I daenae have to obey ye," she said, her voice sharpening with defiance.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment he considered tossing her over his shoulder simply to prove the point. "Careful now, lass," he warned, the growl in his voice carrying an edge. "If ye keep challengin' me, ye'll nae like the consequences."
Maisie's chin tilted higher, the fire in her eyes brightening at his threat. "What? Will ye lock me in the dungeon? Bind me to a post like a huntin' hound?" she asked, her words laced with mockery.
He stepped closer until there was barely an arm's length between them, the scent of her skin and hair curling into his senses.
"Nay," he said softly, "but I willnae hesitate to carry ye like a petulant bairn if ye push me."
Her lips curved into a small, taunting smile. "Go ahead. I'll scream loud enough for the whole castle to hear. Ye have nae told them I am a captive, have ye? What do they think, that I am a mere guest?"
His eyes swept over her face, catching the faint tremor in her lashes though her voice stayed steady.
"Aye, scream if ye like," he murmured, "but ye'll still be where I want ye." The flicker of heat in her eyes did not escape him, though she quickly masked it with another glare.
"I remind ye, ye're nae me laird," she said firmly, her voice ringing clear in the quiet courtyard. "I'm here against me will. Ye may have me under yer roof, but ye'll never have me submission."
Caiden felt something coil tight in his chest at her words, an old instinct to dominate, to bend others to his will, colliding with something far less familiar. He'd faced defiance before but never with this strange pull beneath it.
His hand flexed at his side, every muscle tense with the effort to hold back. The lass's spirit was like a flame, and he could not decide if he wanted to quench it or shield it from the wind.
Her dark eyes met his without a flicker of fear, and for a heartbeat, he nearly forgot why she was here at all. Then the memory struck—she was a means to an end, nothing more, and her presence in his hall was temporary.
Even so, he found his gaze drawn to the curve of her mouth, the quick rise and fall of her breath as she waited for him to speak. This was dangerous ground, and he knew it. He'd spent years letting cruelty harden him, letting power keep others at arm's length, yet here she stood, testing the walls he had built.
"Enough talk," he said finally, turning on his heel. "Follow me, lass, or I'll make ye."
For a long moment, he thought she might truly refuse. But then, with a sigh sharp with frustration, she followed. He didn't turn to look, better not to let her see the small, unwanted satisfaction curling low in his chest.
This would be easier if she were like the others: meek, compliant, forgettable.
And though he told himself it was irritation that burned in his chest, a quieter truth gnawed at the edges: he was beginning to enjoy this battle far too much.
The great oak doors of his study groaned as Caiden pushed them open, the scent of burning peat and polished wood washing over them. Light filtered through high windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor where braided rugs lay beneath sturdy oaken tables.
Tapestries depicting fierce clan battles adorned the walls, their threads rich with crimson and gold despite the years. This was no mere fortress; it was a laird's home, built to command respect and inspire loyalty.
Caiden heard the faint click of the door closing behind them and turned slowly to find her watching him, defiance simmering still beneath that crisp exterior.
His gaze softened, despite himself, as he caught the way her lips parted slightly, the rawness of her emotions barely concealed.
"Sit," he commanded, nodding toward a high-backed chair carved with the McGibb stag, his symbol.
She hesitated a heartbeat before dropping onto the seat with a small huff, folding her arms over her chest. "And what am I supposed to do here?" she asked, eyes blazing.
"Wait," he said simply, voice rough with a promise. "Till we get what we came for."
Maisie's jaw clenched, but she forced herself to meet his eyes.
"And what if I refuse? What if I make this as difficult as I can?" Her voice was steady, but the challenge was clear.
Caiden smiled darkly, stepping closer until the warmth of his breath brushed her cheek. "Then ye'll find I'm nay man to be trifled with," he said low, "and that's nay idle threat."
Caiden's eyes searched hers, hungry for any hint of weakness, but finding none. He admired that fierce spirit, that unwillingness to break. "Ye've guts, Maisie Lewis," he murmured, "more than most."
