Maisie's head lifted at once, her breath catching in surprise. "Ye're leavin'? But I thought Castle McGibb was yer home," she exclaimed, staring at the lass as if she had misspoken.
"Nay," Isabelle answered gently, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I'm of the Connelly clan, ye ken. I've only been visitin' me sister Norah here. I'll be ridin' back to me own kin in a few days."
Norah reached over to pat her sister's arm, her eyes soft, though her mouth was firm. "Isabelle is of stubborn mind. When she decides somethin' she doesnae let it go. I kent this day would come."
Maisie felt a pang she couldn't hide, as though someone had tugged a thread loose in her chest. The thought of Isabelle gone, her laughter absent from these halls, made the place seem emptier already.
"I will miss ye sorely," she murmured.
"And I ye, Maisie. But blood binds me back to Connelly lands. Still, I will never forget the fondness I found from being acquainted with ye."
Maisie nodded, swallowing hard, then tried to keep her voice steady. "Ye speak of family, and it reminds me of me own sister, Lavina. We are as close as two hearts could be."
Norah tilted her head, listening with gentle curiosity. "Tell us of her, Maisie. Ye've spoke her name a time or two but nay more."
A wistful smile softened Maisie's lips as memory carried her back. "We'd oft go wanderin' in the meadows, gatherin' posies of wildflowers. Lavina would braid them into garlands, crownin' us queens of the field. Other days we'd sit within the parlor, readin' together or bendin' our heads over our embroidery."
Isabelle's eyes brightened with tender recognition. "Ah, ye were blessed with a companion of the heart. 'Tis a rare thing."
Maisie's smile faltered a little as she went on. "Our mother was an Englishwoman, ye ken. She'd taught Lavina her ways, and Lavina was ever sure to share them with me. She'd insist I learn her letters well, and sit with me for hours, patient as a saint."
Norah's brow furrowed softly, touched by the longing in Maisie's voice. "Ye must miss her keenly, lass."
"Aye," Maisie whispered, pressing a hand to her breast. "Every day, though I try to carry her lessons in me heart. Sometimes when I stitch or read, I feel as though she sits beside me still."
Isabelle reached out and clasped Maisie's hand with quiet strength. "Then she does, Maisie. In yer every stitch and word, she lingers."
Maisie blinked, her throat tight as she gave a small nod. Surrounded by Norah's steady presence and Isabelle's fleetingone, she felt the pull of kinship and the ache of absence in the same breath.
Maisie and the sisters had just stooped to gather a handful of wildflowers when a low, rumbling growl cut through the quiet of the garden.
Caiden's dark figure strode with authority, his eyes blazing.
"Maisie!" he barked, voice sharp and dangerous, making her heart lurch. "Did ye think ye had leave to wander these grounds without me say?"
Maisie froze, clutching a daisy to her chest, as Norah stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. "She was just gatherin' flowers, Caiden," she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly, betraying her unease.
Maisie noticed it immediately, the tremor in Norah's words, the way her knuckles whitened as she gripped her basket. Her heart tightened; even Norah, usually steady, was nervous in the face of Caiden's fury.
Caiden's gaze shifted sharply toward Norah, dark and intense. "And ye," he growled, his voice like a whip, "should have asked permission first before lettin' the lass leave this far from castle walls."
The warning left no room for argument, the weight of his authority pressing down upon them. Norah inclined her head, asoft hum of acknowledgment, but the tremble in her lips showed he had unsettled her more than she would admit.
Before Maisie could speak, he reached for her, grabbing her wrist with firm, unyielding strength.
"Come with me," he said, his voice low, urgent, and commanding. Despite the thrum of indignation rising in her chest, she followed.
By the time they reached his study, Maisie's chest heaved with both fear and anticipation.
Caiden closed the door with a sharp thud and pressed her against the cold stone wall, his body close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. His hands framed her face with startling gentleness, and yet his gaze remained fierce.
"Ye must learn, Maisie," he murmured, his voice harsh and intimate all at once, "that disobeyin' me comes with consequences. I cannae allow ye to wander freely, not when it endangers ye, and me patience."
Maisie tried to speak, tried to argue, but the words caught in her throat when his lips descended on hers. The kiss was demanding, insistent, a storm of heat and desire that stole her breath. Every ounce of her resistance melted away as she felt the press of his chest, the curve of his arms anchoring her against the wall. Her fingers twined in his hair, tugging gently as if urging him closer, and her heart raced with a wild, dizzying exhilaration.
The world outside the study ceased to exist; the flowers, the sisters, the garden—they were gone, replaced by the surge of longing between them. Caiden's hands roamed carefully, his touch igniting fires along her arms and shoulders, tracing the curve of her waist.
Maisie's body shivered under his touch, alive with sensations she had never allowed herself to feel before. Every beat of her heart, every shallow breath, was consumed by the intensity of the kiss, leaving her trembling in the storm of desire he had awakened.
