"Go to the eastern shore and find Eric. Tell him the lass has been found," he shouted to a gate guard.
The guard nodded and ran in the direction to find Eric. Caiden carried Maisie inside the castle walls and as he did so could feel her body shiver. And instant fear came over him that she would become ill.
He crossed the hall with swift determination, the storm's roar fading behind the thick stone walls. Once inside her bedchamber, he gently lowered her to the floor, taking in her shivering form. His eyes immediately moved to the fireplace, and he lit it, the flames casting warm light across the room.
"Maisie, take off these wet clothes at once, or ye'll catch yer death of cold," he commanded, his voice sharp with worry.
"I… I can manage it meself," Maisie replied, trying to keep her pride steady as her wet hair stuck to her cheeks.
"Ye can manage? Ye'll nae last the night with those clothes clingin' to ye like that. Out with them, lass, I command ye," Caiden barked, stepping closer.
With a huff, Maisie reluctantly peeled off her sodden dress, leaving only the wet chemise clinging to her.
He saw her cheeks flush at the chill, but she met his eyes with stubborn defiance.
"I am nae helpless, Laird. Ye neednae fuss over me like I'm some wee bairn!" she shot back, crossing her arms.
Caiden's eyes darkened, the heat of frustration battling with desire. He could not tear his gaze from the wet fabric clinging to her body, outlining curves he had tried to ignore. Her rosy nipples protruding through the fabric.
"By the gods, Maisie, ye'll drive me mad… with that pride of yers," he muttered, his tone rough but tinged with longing. Knowing it was her body that was driving him mad.
"I am nae here to amuse ye, Laird! I am just tryin' to keep warm," Maisie spat, though her voice wavered with the same dangerous mix of fear and attraction he felt.
Caiden closed the distance between them, his breath hot against her ear.
"Ye think yer stubborn words will sway me? Ye'll nae endanger yerself without consequences, lass," he growled.
Caiden's jaw tightened as he fought the desire that surged through him. At last, he stepped back, forcing himself to regain control, his breaths ragged.
Caiden moved toward the door, his steps heavy with restrained agitation.
"A hot bath'll be brought up immediately, and tea with it," he barked over his shoulder, his voice rough yet carrying an unspoken urgency.
He paused for a moment, glancing back at Maisie, his eyes dark with desire and frustration. "Once I close this door, ye'll take off that wet chemise and wrap yerself in a blanket," he added, his tone sharp but tinged with something more.
Maisie nodded, cheeks flushed, as she watched him leave the room. The click of the door closing behind him.
Caiden lingered outside the door for a moment longer than necessary, his hand hovering over the handle. A part of him wanted nothing more than to turn back and close the distance between them, to press his lips to hers and feel the heat of her body against his. But the cruel edge of his own nature held him back, reminding him of the dangers she would face if he gave in.
With a heavy breath, he finally turned away, forcing himself to leave the room, even as his mind burned with the memory of her form beneath the wet chemise.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Maisie wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, shivering despite the fire's warmth. She watched the flickering flames, the heat slowly seeping into her chilled limbs, yet her thoughts kept wandering to Caiden. The memory of his strong arms pulling her from the storm made her cheeks warm, though she berated herself for feeling anything but anger toward him. She told herself it was all practicality on his part, that he cared only for her as a key to the stolen painting.
The servants moved efficiently, setting the tub and carrying in buckets of steaming water. Maisie stepped aside, keeping her distance as they poured the water into the tub, steam rising in curling tendrils into the cold air of the room.
"Thank ye," she murmured, her voice soft, almost lost beneath the roar of the fire and the splashing of water.
Once the bath was filled, the servants departed, leaving her alone, the room heavy with the scent of herbs and waxed wood.
Taking a deep breath, Maisie lowered herself into the hot water, feeling the tension in her muscles begin to ease. Her skin tingled as the warmth enveloped her, and she closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the comforting sensation. Thoughts of Caiden intruded, as always, his harsh words, his stormy eyes, the dangerous way he seemed to look at her in her wet chemise, and she scolded herself for the fluttering in her chest. Yet even as she admonished herself, a tiny spark of gratitude lingered for the man who had risked himself to save her from the storm.
The contradiction of his nature, the cruelty he displayed one moment and the tenderness the next, left her unsettled. She shook her head and tried to focus on the bath, on the heat seeping into her bones, telling herself that she must not let her thoughts betray her. Still, the echo of his presence in the room haunted her, even in the quiet solitude of the fire-lit chamber.
The following morning, Maisie watched the sun climb higher in the sky, but there was no sign of Caiden anywhere about the castle. She pressed her face to the window, spotting Norah and Isabelle laughing as they chased Arran and Hugh across the garden. Their small voices carried on the breeze, and Maisie felt a longing to be part of that carefree joy.
With a shrug, she decided to join them, stepping out into the garden and letting the children run to her with shouts of delight.
