The night stretched long, every laugh and every clink of cup a torment. Maisie barely tasted a bite, her appetite lost to the ache building inside her. She thought of the words she longed to speak to him, words that would bare her soul and her desire completely. Each moment felt like an eternity of waiting for courage to move her from her seat.
At last, when the hall began to quiet and men reached for empty cups or left for their beds, Maisie rose. Her knees trembled as she smoothed her skirts, her chin lifted with determination.
Crossing the space to where Caiden sat felt like wading into deep waters, yet she carried herself as best she could.
"Laird," she said softly, her voice laced with nerves, "might I have a word with ye in private?"
For a heartbeat, she thought she glimpsed the warmth she had seen before in his gaze. But in an instant, it was gone, his expression shuttered as if a door had closed between them.
"Perhaps later," he said, his tone suddenly cool and distant, "if I can manage the time."
The words struck her like a blow, her breath catching sharp in her chest.
She swallowed hard, forcing a nod though her heart plummeted. "Aye, very well," she murmured, her voice brittle like thin glass ready to shatter.
Around her, the laughter of others seemed mocking, the candlelight harsh on her flushed cheeks. She turned away swiftly before her hurt could show too plainly.
Her footsteps echoed through the corridors as she fled toward her chamber, her pulse hammering in her ears. Each stride was heavy with confusion and the sting of rejection, though she could not understand what had brought about such coldness from him. Her mind replayed every glance, every smile from earlier in the evening, desperate to make sense of it.
By the time she shut her chamber door behind her, her heart was a tangled knot of hurt and doubt.
Inside, the fire burned low, shadows dancing on the stone walls as she sank down upon her bed. She clasped her hands tightly, staring at the flames while questions churned within her.
Was I too bold, darin' to ask for his company so directly? Or had I imagined the yearnin' in his eyes, fooling meself into believin' he felt the same?
Her cheeks burned as she remembered the maid's laughter at his side, the way her bosom had brushed too near his shoulder. Perhaps Caiden had grown weary of her altogether, turning his interest to one more worldly, more willing.
Maisie pressed her palms against her face, biting back the sting of tears. It was foolishness, she scolded herself, to think she could hold the attention of a man like him.
The longer she sat, the heavier her heart became, until it felt like stone lodged in her breast. Her thoughts ran in circles, each more painful than the last, each whispering of mistakes she could not see but surely had made. All she had wanted was to give him her whole self, without reservation, yet now it seemed as though he had withdrawn before she could speak. The silence of the chamber wrapped around her, a lonely echo of the joy she had imagined only hours before.
Still, beneath the ache of hurt, a stubborn spark remained, whispering that his coldness could not be the whole truth. Her spirit clung to that fragile thread, even as her tears threatened to fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Caiden sat at the long table in the great hall, his goblet untouched before him, though laughter and chatter rose around the meal. His gaze slid across the chamber, unbidden, where the empty chair sat. Maisie had occupied it with Isabelle and Norah, but it now sat empty after his behavior toward her.
When the warmth in her eyes had caught his, it nearly undid him, but he had clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away. It cut him deeper than a blade to give her naught but coldness, yet he knew it was the only way to guard her heart.
Inside, guilt twisted through him like a knot he couldn't unravel. Maisie deserved a man who could give her the whole of himself, not one bound in doubt and past sins. He told himself again that he would be no true husband for any lass, least of all one as bright and tender as her. Better she think him distant now than suffer more cruel hurt later.
Still, the memory of her smile burned behind his eyes, soft and full of trust. He longed to reach for it, to let himself imagine a life where her hand was in his each day. But such dreams were dangerous, a false hope that could ruin them both. So he forced the mask of indifference upon himself, even as his chest ached with the weight of it.
Caiden felt a soft tug at his tunic and turned. He looked down into the wide, earnest eyes of his wee nephew, Arran, who stood clutching something in both hands. The boy's cheeks were sticky, his small fingers dusted with crumbs, and held out before him was a half-crumbling honey cake.
"Here, Uncle Caiden," Arran said.
Blinking, Caiden reached for the sweet, his heart near stopping at the simple gesture.
"And what's this for, laddie?" he asked, crouching a bit so their eyes met.
Arran grinned, his teeth showing through the smear of honey at his lips, and said with pride, "It's a gift for me uncle."
For a moment, Caiden could hardly breathe.
Relief flooded through him, warm and deep, as if the boy had just tossed him a lifeline when he had been adrift too long. "A gift, is it? Then I'll treasure it, lad," Caiden said, taking the cake with care, as though it were something far grander than it was.He ruffled Arran's soft hair, smiling faintly. "Thank ye kindly, Arran. I cannae think of a finer gift."
Arran beamed and shifted in his small boots, clearly pleased with himself.
