Then he put his hand over hers, and moved it up and down, slowly, tenderly.
"Is that what ye like, Laird?" she asked.
"Aye," he said.
Then he released her hand, and she moved hers up and down with care. Then remembering how his movements grew faster on her, she did the same. Moving her hand faster and faster.
She watched as Caiden put a hand against the wall and braced himself. His groans grew louder and louder.
Then she saw his whole body tense before releasing his seed.
CHAPTER THIRTY
"Such a beautiful mornin'," Maisie said to herself.
She woke with a lightness in her heart she had not felt in many days. The memory of Caiden's touch upon the stairwell lingered still, making her cheeks warm and her smile linger even as the chill of morning seeped through the stones. She replayed the way his voice had dipped, rough and deep with yearning, and the way her body had come alive beneath his hand. It made her pulse quicken anew, though the hour was early and the castle still quiet.
She whispered aloud, her voice soft but certain, "Aye, today's the day I'll tell him. He'll ken I want nothin' more than to be his."
The words tasted sweet, freeing, as if she had loosed a secret chain she had long borne upon her soul. No longer did she feel trapped nor torn; her heart was her own, and it belonged to him. The truth of it set her step dancing, light as the larks outside her window.
She opened it and let the sea breeze rush in. It felt like a whole new world to her in that moment. She hummed a tune and did not realize she was doing it.
Moving across the chamber, she poured cool water into the wash basin, the metal pitcher clinking softly against the rim. The water shimmered faintly in the morning light, steam curling from it where it had been warmed by the hearth coals. She dipped the cloth and pressed it to her face, gasping at the freshness, feeling it chase the last shadows of sleep away. Each stroke upon her skin seemed a new beginning, a way to ready herself for the confession she vowed to make.
Humming a tune her mother once sang, she began to dress, the task familiar and comforting in its rhythm. The linen shift clung first to her, soft and plain, then the stays that cinched firm about her waist, reminding her of the strength she carried. She laced her skirts, smoothing the heavy wool, and pulled the sleeves of her gown over her arms. With each layer, she felt both shielded and adorned, a woman preparing not just for the day but for the truth of her heart.
Maisie's heart leapt when she heard the knock at her chamber door. Leslie's voice came softly from the other side: "The laird has summoned ye, me lady."
For a moment, Maisie's pulse hammered so loud in her ears she could scarcely hear anything else. She smoothed her gown quickly and pressed her hand to her breast, willing herself to be calm, though excitement sparked in every corner of her.
She opened the door. "Good day, Leslie."
"Good day, me lady." Leslie curtsied.
"Did he say why I am being summoned?" she asked.
"Nay, me lady. Just to bring ye straight away if ye were awake," Leslie said.
"And if I were nae awake?" she asked.
"He said to rouse ye and wait for ye to dress and then take ye to him," Leslie said.
"I see, then it must be of importance. One moment please," she said.
She closed the door and rushed around the room fixing her hair and taking a good look in the looking glass to see if everything was in place.
She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. "I am ready."
"He is this way, me lady," Leslie said.
Maisie followed with excitement in her heart. What had transpired between them was a turning point, she was sure of that. Perhaps he was ready to confess his true feelings for her, as was she.
"Lady Maisie is here, Laird," Leslie knocked on the door of Caiden's study.
"Let her in and be gone," he commanded.
Leslie opened the door and curtsied, then left.
