The fire in her heart matched the blaze of the hearth, and she could barely keep still for the rage that clawed at her chest.
She halted only when a soft knock echoed at her door, making her flinch. Her breath caught, and her gaze darted toward the sound, suspicion narrowing her eyes.
"Caiden," she whispered to herself, for who else would come at such an hour?
She smoothed her hair quickly, tugging her shawl tighter about her shoulders, preparing her tongue for another round of barbed words.
With her heart hammering, Maisie pulled open the door, ready for battle. Yet the hallway lay empty, still and silent, with not a soul in sight. Instead, a tray rested neatly upon the threshold, steam curling up from a bowl and platters, the rich scent of food filling the air. She blinked, taken aback, her anger faltering as confusion swept over her.
The platter was laden with hearty seaside fare, rustic and rich as only this seaside clan could provide. A deep bowl brimmedwith thick fish stew, fragrant with herbs and cream, chunks of potato and haddock peeking through. Beside it sat a round loaf of dark barley bread, its crust cracked and warm, with wedges of sharp cheese stacked high. A small plate held golden oatcakes and honey-drizzled sweet buns, while a bottle of whisky gleamed amber in the firelight.
Maisie knelt to lift the tray, her fingers brushing the polished wood, her mind reeling. She carried it inside and set it upon her table, staring as though it might vanish should she blink. Slowly, she broke the bread, dipped it into the stew. It tasted rich, savory, comforting in a way she had not expected. Each bite unraveled the knot in her chest, softening the storm of her mood.
The whisky, smooth and sharp on her tongue, soon warmed her veins. She poured glass after glass, letting the heat ease her stubborn anger and carry her into a strange calm. The room grew hazy, the fire's glow blurring, and she leaned back with a sigh. Her thoughts betrayed her then, drifting toward Caiden, the only one who could have done this for her.
Surely it was his hand that brought the tray, for the servants have slept long since.
She pictured him, rough and fierce though he was, heating the stew over the kitchen fires. Then, carrying the food through the darkened halls. A selfish man would never have thought of such a kindness, and the thought gnawed at her as her head grew heavy. Her anger faded into weariness, and soon her eyes closed against the candlelight.
Maisie's last thought, before slumber stole her, was how strange and gentle such a gesture seemed from him. The harsh words she had spoken of him earlier felt dim and far away, softened by the warmth of whisky and the fullness in her belly.
A brute he might be in word, but in deed, he showed a side she could scarcely understand. Sleep carried her swiftly, her breath evening into quiet peace at last.
The next morning Maisie woke unsettled, her dreams troubled by the memory of Caiden's nearness the night before. The warmth of his hand still lingered upon her skin, though she scolded herself for recalling it. She was a prisoner, bound by the will of the McGibbs, and it was folly to let her thoughts stray. Yet her heart betrayed her, betraying discipline with every image of his smile.
A sharp rap sounded at her chamber door, and she thought it must be him, which made her heart thump loudly.
However, it was followed by a cheerful voice. "Maisie? 'Tis Isabelle. Will ye rise and come out with us?"
Maisie opened the door to Isabelle and beside her, Norah's softer tone added, "Aye, lass, we thought ye'd like to join us in the garden."
"I'd like that very much," Maisie replied, forcing steadiness into her voice.
Isabelle's bright eyes lit with pleasure, and Norah's gentle smile carried quiet welcome.
"We're gatherin' herbs for tea," Isabelle explained, her gown a deep blue that caught the morning sun. "The bairns are eager to join us as well."
"Then all the more fun we shall have," Maisie said as she dressed. The women helped lace her dress, and soon they were out in the gardens.
Outside, the air smelled fresh with dew and earth. Norah's two lads, Arran and Hugh, darted about, their laughter bright against the hum of bees.
Maisie bent to their level, plucking a sprig of thyme to show them.
"This wee herb will warm yer belly when the cold winds come," she explained, her tone soft and patient.
Arran's curious eyes widened, though he clung close to his mother's skirts. Hugh, bolder, reached for the sprig and gave a delighted giggle when Maisie brushed it under his nose.
Isabelle laughed, her voice like a bell, while Norah shook her head fondly. For a moment, Maisie felt something near peace among them. It reminded her of being with her own sister.
A shadow stretched across the garden path, and Maisie's breath caught as Caiden stepped into view. His presence filled the space, and she stiffened at once, though the lads' reactions told a deeper tale. Arran shrank back behind Norah's skirts, his wide eyes fixed on the laird.
"Mornin' ladies," Caiden greeted, his tone even, his gaze brushing briefly over Maisie.
He crouched low beside Hugh, pointing to a tall shrub nearby. "See this one? Ye can steep the leaves to soothe a cough."
The child nodded eagerly, his trust offered without hesitation.
Maisie found herself staring, startled by his easy knowledge of herbs. He spoke not like a warrior but as a man well-versed in the land's healing gifts. Yet when his eyes shifted toward Arran, Maisie saw the faint tightening of Caiden's jaw in disappointment. That single glance carried a weight she did not understand, but it pierced her all the same. She could see the child was fearful of his own uncle, and it unsettled Caiden.
