The letter, the painting, it seemed now that there was far more tangled beneath the surface than she had guessed.
"Who are ye?" she asked. "Ye have the wrong person."
She tried to keep her voice steady without seeming weak, but every attempt was met with silence or a sharp grunt from the man behind her.
Yet beneath the fear, a stubborn flame of defiance burned.
Hold it together. Ye can get out of this.
As the horses moved steadily forward, Maisie's gaze lifted to the sky, where stars blinked cold and distant. Somewhere out there, Lavina waited, and Peter would eventually be found, and they would mount a search. Hope flickered like a distant beacon, and she clung to it fiercely.
The scarred man shifted behind her, breaking the silence with a low, gruff voice.
"Ye want to speak now and tell me what I want to ken?"
"How can I when I daenae ken what ye want? I've told ye already I am nae the person ye seek," she said.
"Yer lies will be met with silence," he groaned.
"I daenae lie," she said, annoyed. But he did not respond to her after that.
Hours passed as the night deepened, the horses' steady pace carrying them farther from the safety she knew.
Maisie's mind drifted between moments of fierce determination and quiet desperation. And though bound and captive, a plan began to form, a way to turn this nightmare to her favor.
Escape.
"These bonds are too tight. With every jolt of the horse the ropes slice into me wrists," she said.
There was no reply, so she continued, "It willnae do ye good to have me leavin' a trail of blood to be followed. Or to be ill with the fever from the wounds. What then? Have ye thought of that?"
The man groaned behind her. Then he reached one arm around her pulling her close against him. She gasped, feeling the hardness of his chest as he loosed the bonds a little.
"There. Now be a good lassie, stay quiet, and obey me. Or ye will be punished."
CHAPTER FOUR
Caiden could feel the fire of indignation rising in the lass he held close, her body tense against his, breath sharp with defiance as they rode along the road toward his lands.
Daenae let yer thoughts linger there.
He thought this because stirring within him was something dark and satisfying, a hunger not just for the answers he sought but for the game itself, a playful game of cat and mouse.
He was certain this stubborn filly held the knowledge he craved, and by God, he wouldn't let her slip through his fingers. The scent of her fear mixed with anger was intoxicating, and he leaned in, his voice a low growl in her ear.
"If ye tell me what I want, I'll see ye free as the wind on the moors," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "But if ye choose silence, lass… well, I'll find other ways to make ye speak."
His words were rough, edged with promise and threat both. The lass spoke, her chin lifting defiantly even though she was bound to his saddle.
"I daenae ken what ye're speakin' of," she said, voice steady, though her pulse betrayed her. "Ye've picked the wrong lass."
He found her tone sharp, even mocking, daring him to press further.
Caiden's lips curved into a dark smirk, eyes narrowing with challenge. "Ye think ye can play me, do ye?" he taunted, tightening his hold just enough to remind her who held the power. "Aye, I like a lass who's got fire, who's nae afraid to stand her ground. But if ye want to play games, then so be it. I'll play along."
"I'm nae the one playin' games. Ye've got the wrong end of the stick."
"Manipulative, this one is," Caiden said as he looked at Eric, who smiled back.
