"Please daenae fash yerself, Leslie. Go about yer work," Maisie said.
The maid curtsied and started to clean around the room.
Maisie pressed a finger to the page and leaned back, realizing how deeply absorbed she had become. In that quiet moment, Maisie felt both the thrill of discovery and a pang of unease, knowing that each new fact she uncovered brought her closer to understanding Caiden, and perhaps, the reasons behind her captivity.
When Leslie was finished, she asked, "Can I bring ye anythin', me lady?"
"Actually, I think I will take me meal in here. If that is all right?" Maisie asked.
"Of course, ma'am, right away," Leslie said and left the room.
Maisie didn't want to admit she was hiding. Eating in the library meant she didn't have to join anyone else for noon meal or for supper. She did not want to see Caiden. Not when he had angered her so.
A few moments later, the maid returned with a tray of freshly baked fish and bread.
Hours passed unnoticed as Maisie moved from letters to ledgers, records to histories, losing herself in the quiet power of knowledge. Each page whispered secrets, some mundane, some intriguing, and her mind raced with connections.
By the time the sun set, casting long shadows across the library floor, Maisie closed the book with a soft sigh. She had founddistraction, yes, but also had successfully hidden all day fromhim.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Me father's own voice, stern and unforgiving, rings in me memory. Why must it be a constant reminder of the cruelty that passes from one man to the next? Me uncle, me brother all revel in harshness.
Caiden strode through the corridors, his boots striking against the stone with a steady rhythm. The echo filled the silence, giving him too much room for his thoughts. He could still see Maisie's face in his mind, the way her eyes darkened when he dismissed her earlier that day in the courtyard.
"Relentless fool," he said.
He cursed himself under his breath, for his words had been too sharp, too careless.
He had not meant to wound her so deeply, yet his tongue always betrayed him when his temper rose. It was as though the coldness he had seen all his life had seeped into his very bones.
Caiden clenched his jaw as he descended the stairwell, the weight of bloodline pressing heavy upon him. He had told himself long ago that he would never be different, no matter what softer urge stirred within him. Men in his family did not know how to be kind; they only knew how to break, command, and control. It was the curse he carried, and he would rather bear it alone than pass it to another.
"Oh, me laird, excuse me," Fowler the head servant said as he came around the corner on the stairwell.
"Fowler, why are ye nae overseein' the kitchens with the others?" he groaned. "Nay matter, go now, supper is almost served," Caiden ordered.
"Right away." Fowler bowed and scurried away.
Caiden continued on his way to the gallery where his mother's paintings were held. It was time for supper, but it could wait.
He entered and looked once again at the empty spot where the stolen painting had hung.
"I've failed ye, Mother," he whispered.
The thought of marriage had haunted him once, when he was younger and foolish. He had watched neighbors take wives and for a brief moment wondered what it might be like to have a wife of his own. Yet every glance at his father's hand striking hismother, or his uncle's sneer at his aunt, had taught him better. If ever he took a wife, he believed, he would fall into the same ruin.
Thus, he had sworn to keep his heart untouched, a stone buried deep where no woman might reach. It was safer that way, safer for them and safer for him. A vow like iron had held him fast, though lately Maisie's presence had begun to loosen it. She was light where he was shadow, and her laughter unsettled the silence he had kept for so long.
But it was that very light which made him cruel to her. Each time she edged closer, he drove her back with cold words and sharper looks. He thought it better to keep her heart safe from the ruin he might bring.
He left the gallery and made his way to the great hall for supper.
Better she despises me now than suffers of me later.
And yet, shame pricked him. He had seen the confusion in her gaze, the hurt he had carved across her expression. He wondered if she sat somewhere now, turning over his words, questioning herself instead of him. The thought unsettled him more than he wished to admit.
"Lettin' her hate me is a mercy," he grumbled to himself.
