"Luncheon?" he said coldly, voice edged with impatience. "I have far too much to do to sit around as the ladies do, eatin' and drinkin'."
Maisie felt a flush rise to her cheeks, the hint of indignation prickling at her.
"Is that so?" she said, stepping closer, hands on her hips. "Ye're always too busy for everythin', yet ye find time to carry me to me chamber as ye see fit."
Caiden's jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring slightly. "And what would ye have me do, Maisie?" he demanded, voice low and dangerous. "Take me ease and sip tea while the day's needs go ignored? Nay, lass, the day demands work, not idle chatter and crumbs."
Maisie's eyes sparkled with defiance, the sting of his dismissal fueling her courage.
"Aye, that might be," she shot back, "but must ye always be a brute to every soul? Even to me?"
Caiden's lips twitched, as though fighting to contain a snarl, his eyes hardening on hers.
"A brute, am I?" he growled, stepping closer, the heat of his presence nearly overwhelming. "And ye, little lass, are a stubborn thing, thinkin' words can sway a man with duties heavier than ye can imagine."
Maisie's voice rose, laced with fury and pride. "Stubborn, am I? I'll tell ye this, Laird McGibb, I care nae for yer duties nor yer airs of grandeur! If ye cannae treat a lady with a shred of courtesy, then ye may keep yer company to yerself!"
"Ye are relentless, Maisie," he admitted, voice lower now, though still brimming with command. "Perhaps too clever for yer own good… and far too bold for a lass who's meant to be kept safe within these walls. Daenae forget yer place."
Maisie's chest heaved, caught between triumph and frustration, her glare unwavering.
"How can I forget I am yer prisoner?" she said. She meant it to come out with anger, but it came out in a whisper as she held back tears. She turned on her heel and marched away.
She stormed down the castle corridor, her skirts swishing against the stone floor. She could still hear the echo of Caiden's cold words bouncing in her mind, as if the warmth of the dance had been some cruel dream. Her chest heaved with frustration, and she hated herself for feeling the sting of his dismissal. Shewondered how a man so harsh could have such a hold on her thoughts.
She paused at the top of the spiral staircase, her fingers clutching the railing. The sunlight spilled through the narrow windows, but it did nothing to warm the chill creeping through her. Her thoughts tumbled over themselves, replaying every glance, every touch from the night before. She cursed her own heart for betraying her reason.
How could ye be such a fool, lass?
Maisie found a quiet nook near the library, leaning against the cool stone wall. She breathed deeply, trying to steady the tumult inside her. Her mind kept returning to Caiden, to the way his hand had guided her across the dance floor and the way he had pressed her shoulder close to his. She felt foolish for imagining tenderness where there had been none.
Her gaze drifted toward the gardens below, where the sun glinted off the dewy herbs and flowers. She remembered the moments of laughter with Norah and Isabelle, the way the children had tugged at her skirts, and the peace she had felt in those rare glimpses of normalcy.
And yet, all of it felt overshadowed by the brutal reminder of Caiden's authority. Maisie felt the weight of her own confusion pressing down, heavier than any stone wall in the castle.
She sank to a low bench, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her fingers traced the edge of the fabric, trying to ground herself in something tangible.
How could a man so commandin' and so cruel have left me heart so unsettled?
She admitted to herself, though reluctantly, that she longed for the Caiden who had danced with her, not the one who spoke with such icy indifference.
Maisie closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to breathe through the knot of emotion. She told herself that she would not let him see her weakness, would not surrender her mind to the brute who held her in his castle.
But in the quiet of the afternoon, even as she tried to steel herself, she knew the battle was far from over. Her thoughts swirled, tangled between desire, anger, and the firm resolve not to let herself fall again.
She rose at last, shaking out the tension from her limbs and squaring her shoulders.
Though she would march on through the day with her head held high, she could not deny the ache that lingered in her chest. Caiden's dismissal had left its mark, a reminder that the dance, the touch, the fleeting tenderness, were not his to give.
She moved quietly to the library. The door loomed ahead, heavy oak adorned with iron studs, and she gave a soft push before slipping inside. The air smelled of old paper, beeswax polish, and a faint trace of wood smoke from the hearth, a comforting cocoon against the world outside.
She ran her fingers along the spines of books bound in cracked leather, titles embossed in faded gold. Some were histories of the clans, others were ledgers, letters, and journals left by generations past.
The letters spoke of trade, disputes with neighboring clans, and careful instructions about the harvest and fishing seasons. Maisie's eyes lingered over the careful handwriting, marveling at how the past mirrored the present yet felt so distant. She found herself reading a missive about a painting, a cherished gift from a distant relative, and her curiosity spiked. Could this be connected to the theft that had ensnared her in this castle?
A sudden sound startled her, the creak of a door, and her head snapped up, heart quickening. It was Leslie, a maid.
"Oh sorry, me lady, I dinnae ken anyone was in here," Leslie said. "I merely came to clean the tables."
