He flinched faintly, but his face held firm, his jaw set. "It's better this way, Maisie. Ye'll be safe with them, and ye'll have yer life back. I should never have taken ye in the first place."
Her tears spilled freely, her cheeks hot with the sting of them. Anger and heartbreak churned within her until she could no longer bear the sight of him. She turned sharply on her heel, her skirts sweeping across the stone floor as she stormed out of his study. Her footsteps echoed in the corridor, quick and furious,until she reached her chamber door and slammed it shut behind her.
Maisie leaned against the wood, pressing her palms to it as though to steady herself. Her chest heaved, her sobs raw and desperate, filling the lonely space. Never had she felt so foolish, to give her heart only to have it thrown back with such cruelty. She stumbled toward the bed, collapsing onto the coverlet as her tears dampened the fabric beneath her.
Her thoughts tangled and twisted, no thread of sense to guide her through. She had only just begun to admit her feelings, to open herself to the hope that love could bloom in so harsh a place. The memory of his touch, his kiss, his whispered yearning, seared through her with every heartbeat. How could he cast her aside so coldly when she knew his passion had been as fierce as hers?
Maisie pressed her hands to her face, muffling the sound of her grief. She felt foolish for believing there had been more, for daring to hope she could be more than a passing pleasure to a man so bound in his own walls. Her heart screamed that it had been real, but his words rang louder, echoing cruelly in her mind. She had been nothing to him but a mistake to be corrected.
The room seemed smaller now, suffocating her with its silence. Her gaze drifted to the small washbasin, the shawl draped across the chair, the belongings that would soon be packed away. The thought of returning home, of facing her family with a hollow smile, weighed heavy on her shoulders.
What story could I tell? What lie could I weave to hide how I've been undone by a man who never wanted me?
Maisie curled onto her side, pulling the blanket over her as though it might shield her from the storm inside. Her tears slowed but did not stop, falling one by one into the stillness. She longed for comfort, for the warmth of his presence, though she cursed herself for it. In her heart, she knew the truth: she had given herself and now she was left with nothing but the ache of being cast aside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
If she stayed, I would only destroy what little light she carried, and I couldnae bear to see her broken by me own hand.
Caiden sat slouched in his chair by the hearth, his hand braced against his temple as the ache in his chest gnawed at him. He had sent Maisie away, told her words he didn't even believe himself, yet he clung to the thought that it was better for her.
Still, the hollowness in his heart was sharper than he expected, cutting him deeper with every breath.
A knock came at the heavy oak door, dragging him from his thoughts. He straightened in his chair, his voice rough as he called.
"Come." The door creaked open, and Eric stepped inside, tall and broad, his hair falling into his eyes. He shut the door behind him with a thud, bowing his head slightly before speaking.
"Ye summoned me, Laird?" Eric asked.
"Aye," Caiden replied, his voice steady though his insides still churned. "I've a few tasks for ye. I want ye to put a man on the matter of the gallery. I need to ken who had access to it, especially the day the paintin' went missin'."
Eric's brows lifted slightly, and he crossed his arms. "So ye still think the thief walks among us then? Nae some outsider who slipped in and out unnoticed?"
Caiden's gaze hardened, his eyes shadowed with doubt. "I cannae rule out a hand inside these walls. Too many know the hidden paths of this castle, and fewer still are allowed near that gallery. It narrows the list, but it makes the betrayal cut deeper."
Eric tilted his head, his lips curling with a trace of a smirk. "Aye, then ye'd like me to sniff around, see who fits the part best? Folk daenae always hide their secrets well."
Caiden leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice low but firm. "Aye, and more than that, I want a guard set to keep an eye on Fowler."
At the mention of the butler's name, Eric's smirk faded. "The head servant? Fowler? He's been in yer service for years, has he nae?"
"He has," Caiden admitted, his jaw tight. "But I found him once in the sea cave. He claimed to have been out for a walk there,though I cannae say it was truth. And he has access to the gallery, more than most."
Eric let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. "That doesnae sit well, I'll grant ye. A butler who strays where he shouldnae… aye, that smacks of trouble. Ye want me to keep a guard close on him then?"
"Aye," Caiden said, his tone brooking no refusal. "Day and night, discreetly. If he's involved, he'll slip sooner or later, and I'll ken the truth of it. I'll nae have betrayal festerin' under this roof."
Eric gave a curt nod, though a glimmer of amusement lingered in his eyes. "Very well, Laird. I'll see it done. Though I'll say this, Fowler's a sly one. If he's hidin' somethin', it'll take sharp eyes to catch him."
Caiden's gaze drifted toward the fire, the flames reflecting the storm in his mind. "Sharp eyes is what I need. I cannae afford to let this go unchecked, nae while that paintin' still lies in another's hands."
Eric shifted, planting his hands on his hips. "Consider it done. I'll pick the best man for the task, and Fowler'll nae move a step without me hearin' of it."
"The truth will come to light, one way or another," Caiden said.
Eric turned as though to leave the chamber at once. His boots had barely scraped the stone floor when Caiden's voice halted him.
"Hold, Eric," he said, his tone quiet yet firm, the kind that carried years of unspoken sorrow.
