He didn't move from the space, his eyes fixed upon the blank wall, as if he could summon the lost brushstrokes with sheer will.
"I can see how much it hurts ye to have it taken, Caiden. I swear to ye, I dinnae touch it. I hope one day ye'll believe me fully," Maisie said.
He turned toward her then. "Aye… it's more than just the loss of the paintin'," he admitted, his jaw tight. "It was her work… me mother's hand in every stroke. Losing it… feels like losin' a piece of her all over again."
"I understand, Caiden. And I wish I could fix it for ye. I wish I could bring it back or at least bring ye some comfort."
Caiden looked down at her, the coldness he often wore slipping just slightly, revealing a flicker of vulnerability. "Ye… ye mean to comfort me?" he asked quietly, almost hesitantly. His usual commanding tone softened. "After how I have been to ye?"
"Aye, I do," she said firmly. "I want to help, even if it's only by standin' with ye. And I want ye to ken I would never betray yer trust, not for a single thing." Her gaze held his, unwavering.
He exhaled slowly, and for the first time he felt that maybe, just maybe, he could allow someone in without fear, even if just for a moment.
"It's hard to let anyone see me like this," he murmured, almost to himself. "Hard to trust that a soul willnae be broken by me… like the paintin' was taken, or worse, like the people I've hurt in the past."
Maisie stepped closer. "Caiden, ye arenae the monsters of yer kin. And I see ye… the man who cares, the man who loves the art, and the man who, despite it all, has a good heart."
He looked away for a moment, then back at her, and the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, almost a smile.
"Ye are a brave lass, Maisie. Maybe… maybe ye can teach me how to be brave too."
Caiden stood in the quiet gallery, his gaze fixed on the empty frame, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He knew deep down that Maisie had no hand in the theft of the painting, and the certainty brought a rare pang of relief to his chest. Yet he kept this truth locked away, for he had made a decision that couldn't be undone.
Sendin' her home is the only way I can protect her from the dangers of what I might become.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, the lines of his jaw tight with the weight of his choice. To admit the truth to Maisie would be to give her hope, and he couldn't allow that when he intended their paths to part. His heart throbbed with a strange mixture of longing and restraint, a battle he knew he must win. For now, he would carry the secret alone, a silent guardian of both her honor and his own restraint.
The farewell would be sharp and final, and he would bear the sorrow in silence.
"I'll see ye back to yer chambers, lass," he said, his voice low but steady, masking the conflict he felt inside.
Caiden led Maisie down the long corridor, his hand brushing against the wall for guidance, though he kept his eyes on her.
"Ye think ye'll find the paintin'?" Maisie asked as she followed. "How could it be taken from inside the castle unnoticed?"
"I havenae yet discovered how it was taken," Caiden admitted, his eyes narrowing as he considered the possibilities. "It's a mystery that gnaws at me daily."
"It must be someone ye trust," Maisie said, her gaze steady on his. "As I can see there are few people in this part of the castle. Therefore, it could only be someone allowed here."
Caiden paused at the top of the spiral staircase. Her words echoed in his mind, sharp and true, forcing him to acknowledge a possibility he had tried to deny.
"Aye… ye're right," he said at last, his voice quieter than before. "I'll make a list of everyone who has access to this wing, and I'll start with those I trust most."
Maisie nodded, but her eyes held something more, a glimmer of daring that made his chest tighten. "It's unnervin', ye ken, that someone could betray ye so close to home."
"Aye," Caiden said, his jaw set. "And betrayals from those ye trust hurt the deepest. That's why I must be cautious, Maisie."
As she descended the spiral staircase, winding down, Maisie suddenly stopped and reached for his hand. Her fingers closed over his, warm and insistent.
"Stop," she said softly, yet with command. "Look at me, Caiden."
He turned his head toward her, startled by the intensity in her gaze. His heart thrummed against his chest, a foreign warmth that both unnerved and intrigued him.
"Maisie…" he began, unsure how to respond, feeling the weight of her small hand holding his. He could see in her eyes a mixture of courage and something deeper, something that made him question how well he truly knew his own heart.
She held his gaze, her hand a tether to the honesty she demanded. "Ye need to listen, Caiden," she said, her voice trembling only slightly. "Ye cannae always bear the burden alone."
For a moment, he said nothing, letting the silence between them speak louder than words. The spiral staircase below seemed to vanish as his mind focused entirely on her, and he realized the truth she'd shown him: even a laird, no matter how strong, couldn't carry every weight alone.
