Maisie pushed her piece with care, her foot shifting beneath the table until it grazed against his boot. She froze at once, ready to pull away, yet he didn't move his foot at all. The weight of his presence seemed to linger there, an unspoken challenge, as if daring her to acknowledge it. Heat rose to her cheeks, but she kept her eyes fixed on the carved figures before her.
She noticed that Caiden's conversation grew sharper. He leaned forward, his tone light on the surface, but his gaze as piercing as a hawk's.
"Tell me again about this merchant. Nathan, was it? Who is he, really?" The way his fingers idly brushed the edge of a pawn made her stomach tighten, for she knew he was not asking out of curiosity.
Her pulse quickened, though she forced her voice steady. "He's a merchant, naught more, naught less. He wrote the letter, tellin' me of the sale of the paintin'." She shifted, heat rising in her chest as she saw the gleam in his eyes, a gleam that told her he didn't believe her.
"Ye're interrogatin' me, Laird, like some common thief."
His jaw clenched, and he leaned back slightly, though his gaze never softened.
"Interrogatin', ye say? I'm only seekin' truth. Ye're holdin' somethin' back, lass, and I'll get the answer from ye one way or another." His voice was low, dangerous, and it made a shiver run up her spine.
Maisie's hands curled into fists in her lap, though she forced her chin high.
"Ye've asked and asked, and still ye hear naught but the same words from me lips. I'm nae the one ye seek. I'm nae the thief that's taken from ye." Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn't care; her pride burned hotter than her fear.
He leaned forward again, his arm brushing the board, his eyes narrowing.
"Words are easy, Maisie. I need proof, nae pretty denials."
His tone cut like steel, and for a moment she thought he'd reach across the board and seize her hand just to wring the truth from her.
Her breath hitched, but she would not let him see her falter.
"Proof? Then let me go," she whispered fiercely. "Let me leave this place. I'll help ye find the thief if I must, but I'll do it fromme own hearth, nae as yer prisoner. Then ye will have yer proof." Her voice trembled, but the fire in her eyes met his squarely.
Caiden's lips twisted into a grim line. "Nay, lass. Ye'll stay right where ye are till I ken the truth. I cannae risk ye runnin' off to warn whoever's workin' with ye." His voice was final, unyielding, like stone against the sea.
Her fury broke loose at last, sharp and unbridled. "Ye brute!" she spat, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Keepin' me here, doubtin' me word, bindin' me like some caged bird! Ye'll never win me trust treatin' me so." Her hand shook as she pressed it against the table, the pieces rattling.
Caiden's eyes darkened, and he rose slightly from his chair, looming over her like a mountain. "And ye, stubborn lass that ye are! Always defiant, always pushin' against me, even when the truth stares ye plain in the face." His voice thundered in the chamber, and yet beneath the anger there lay something else.
Maisie felt her heart pound like a drum, fury and fear mingling with something far more dangerous, thrill and desire. Her breath came quick, her body trembling, but she didn't yield her stare.
"I'll nae break for ye, Laird McGibb. Nay matter how ye press, I'll nae bow to a man who calls me a liar." Her words cracked with both pride and pain.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, hot and heavy. The chessboard lay forgotten, their gazes locked like combatants on a field.
Maisie's chest rose and fell, her throat tight. She saw Caiden's hands flex at his sides as if war raged within him. And still, neither of them looked away.
A sudden sharp knock at the door cut through the tension like a blade. Maisie froze, her hands still curled in anger, and turned her head as the door creaked open.
A woman entered, her hair a cascade of golden-brown waves, eyes bright and pretty, her gown embroidered in delicate patterns that spoke of wealth and status. Maisie felt her stomach twist, a pang of envy and suspicion striking her all at once.
The woman smiled warmly, her voice lilting with charm. "I've come to meet the new lass in the castle," she said, stepping lightly across the threshold.
Maisie's gaze followed her every movement, taking in the grace in her stance, the subtle confidence in her eyes. She could not help but feel that this must be the mistress Isabelle had hinted at, the woman Caiden might desire instead of her. It had to be because she was simply beautiful and petite.
Anger bubbled beneath Maisie's skin, sharp and bitter. How dare Caiden betray this mistress by kissing her? The flush in her cheeks deepened as she realized the raw truth: she was jealous, furious, and more unsettled than ever. Her hands clenchedtighter, and she refused to lower her eyes, though every fiber of her body ached with frustration and longing.
She took a step forward, trying to regain composure, but her pulse raced. Her thoughts tumbled like stormy waves, each one accusing her of weakness and folly. And still, the woman before her remained unaware of the tempest she had stirred, smiling politely at Caiden as if they were very intimate. Maisie's breath hitched, torn between resentment, desire, and the bitter envy that gnawed at her pride.
The woman looked over her shoulder, smiling at Maisie with warmth that made the lass hesitate. "Would it be all right if I take her on a walk? I'd like to get to ken ye better," she said, her voice gentle, but carrying a certain authority.
He simply grunted and nodded a reply, yes.
Maisie blinked, surprised at how easily Caiden had grunted his consent, when he had so often declared she would never leave his side. She puzzled over it, a mix of relief and confusion stirring in her chest, wondering what exactly had changed.
