His voice carried more edge than he intended for his friend's words gnawed at a truth he refused to face. Yet still, the image of Maisie's downcast gaze burned hot within him.
Eric leaned back, laughter spilling soft but unrelenting. "Och, ye growl like a hound denied its bone. Careful, else the hall will ken where yer thoughts truly lie."
Caiden's glare silenced him at last, though Eric's smirk lingered, smug as ever. The laird turned his eyes away, but not before they found Maisie once more, his annoyance deepened by the knowledge that his man-at-arms saw far too much and now he felt the need to show his dominance.
Caiden lifted a bottle of whisky and pulled the cork with his teeth. He drank long and deep, the fire of drink searing his throat. The hall's noise blurred into a dull roar, yet his eyes never left the slip of a lass seated across the room.
He pushed away from the table and strode across the hall, boots striking heavy against the stone. Laughter and chatter swirled about, yet the moment he reached Maisie, silence seemed to stretch between them.
She did not look at him, her chin ducked low, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The restraint in her posture only fueled the storm inside him.
"Ye'll come with me," Caiden growled, his voice low but commanding enough to turn a few heads nearby.
Maisie rose at once, silent and obedient, though she still refused to meet his gaze. The gesture stung more than it should, a slight that pricked at his pride. He clenched his jaw and turned, leading her out of the great hall with long strides. Behind him, he could hear the faint swish of her skirts as she followed, meek as a lamb, though he suspected fire burned beneath that calm mask.
When they reached his study, Caiden shoved the heavy oak door closed, the latch falling into place with finality. The fire was banked low in the hearth, shadows pooling thick across the room. Without a word, he crossed to the shelf, pulled down a carved chessboard, and set it atop the table with a decisive clatter. Then he turned, his eyes narrowing on the lass who still lingered near the door.
Maisie lifted her chin at last, a spark of defiance glimmering in her dark eyes.
"What's this then?" she asked, her voice sharper than he expected, though her lips trembled faintly.
Caiden lowered himself into a chair, his hand resting firm atop the board.
"Ye'll play with me," he commanded, the words a test, a line drawn in the sand.
Her brows shot up, her mouth parting in incredulity. "Play? I've nay wish for yer games, me laird."
His eyes darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Aye, ye will. I daenae give ye a choice in the matter."
Maisie crossed her arms, her chest rising with a sharp breath. "Ye drag me from supper like a hound on a leash, only to sit me at a table of painted pieces? Ye're mad if ye think I'll humor ye."
His lips twisted in something between a sneer and a smile. "Better to sit across a board of kings and pawns than sit across a hall pretendin' ye've nay eyes for me. Ye think I dinnae see how ye avoid me?"
Color rushed to her cheeks, though she lifted her chin higher. "I avoid ye because I wish to keep me peace."
"Peace?" His voice dropped low, edged with something dangerous. "Ye call it peace, I call it cowardice."
Maisie's eyes flashed, and she stepped closer to the table. "Ye call it cowardice, I call it sense. Any lass with sense would keep clear of a man whose temper runs hotter than the devil's fire. Why would I want to be near me own captor? I daenae wish to speak to ye at all."
Caiden leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers. "And yet here ye stand, answerin' me blow for blow."
Her lips parted, words faltering for a heartbeat. Then she shook her head. "Ye're impossible."
"Aye," he said, softer now, though his stare held her captive. "And so are ye."
The silence stretched, thick and taut between them, until Maisie finally gave a sharp exhale. She dropped her arms, the fight dimming though not extinguished in her eyes. With a muttered curse under her breath, she moved toward the chair oppositehis. Her skirts rustled as she sank down, her gaze flicking to the chessboard.
"Fine," she said, the word bitten off like a challenge. "I'll play yer cursed game. But daenae think for a moment that makes ye the victor."
Caiden's mouth curved, satisfaction warming the sharpness of his features. "Nay, lass. The game's just begun."
The chessboard sat between them, its polished pieces gleaming like carved soldiers, each waiting to be commanded. He moved a pawn forward, the scrape of wood across wood sounding louder than it ought. His gaze lingered on her, on the delicate arch of her wrist as she traced the rim of the board.
Maisie's lips curved into a sly smile as she slid her knight into play. "Ye seem very fond of pawns, Laird. Always movin' the little ones first." Her voice was teasing, yet her eyes held something sharper, a challenge that pricked his composure.
He bent closer to the board, the nearness of her unsettling his thoughts.
"A pawn may be small, lass, but one wrong move, and it can turn the whole game." He let his words sink between them, layered with meaning beyond the board.
