Trapped with the Devil of the Highlands (Falling for Highland Villains #3)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

“Are ye ready to go home?” Camden murmured to his beloved mare, feeding her a shiny red apple while he stroked her glossy nose.

The mare chewed contentedly, swishing her tail.

“With any luck, we’ll be there before midnight,” Camden told her, adjusting her bridle.

A cloudy sky threatened rain, the mid-afternoon sun hiding behind the veil of gray, but the day a Scotsman feared a downpour was the day that Scotland fell.

“There ye are!” a stern voice called from across the courtyard.

Camden turned, raising a pleased eyebrow. Paisley wore a dark green woolen dress that he had acquired from the innkeeper’s wife, the shade so very becoming against her pale, freckled complexion and vibrant red hair. Her former clothes and accouterments were now stuffed into Nyx’s saddlebag, destined to stay hidden until a month had passed.

“Should I be touched that ye were searchin’ so thoroughly for me?” he said, draping an arm around Nyx’s neck as he watched the novice nun approach.

She shot him a disapproving look. “I assumed ye’d be upstairs.”

“I’m sorry I wasnae. Did ye have somethin’ in mind?”

“Listen, Laird Cairn, if ye’re so concerned about provocation, then may I suggest that ye dinnae provoke yerself,” she muttered, her hands on hips. “Are we leavin’?”

Camden chuckled. “Aye, if the healer has given ye permission.”

Paisley stooped slightly to touch her injured knee. “She said there shouldnae be any lastin’ damage, but I’m to keep it dry and clean. Gave me an ointment with a stench so vile I have half a mind to make ye sniff it whenever ye start sayin’ improper things.”

“With respect, Lady Paisley, it wasnae me hands that were wanderin’ earlier,” he remarked, delighted by the blush that rushed so easily to her cheeks.

It was almost too easy to get her to blush.

She jabbed a finger at him. “Now, that’s enough of that—ye dinnae call me sweetlin’, and ye dinnae call me Lady Paisley. Just Paisley. Miss Callum if ye want to be polite.” She glanced furtively around the courtyard. “I cannae have anyone hearin’ I’m a Lady.”

“Anyone would think ye didnae want people kennin’ that ye’re runnin’ free instead of sayin’ yer prayers with the rest of the nuns,” he said inquisitively, hoping she would open up some more.

He knew who she was now, and he knew where he should take her, but he still did not know how she had come to be in a convent in the first place. It was not exactly common for lairds to lock away their only children, even if that child was a daughter. After all, with daughters, fortuitous marriages could be made to strengthen clan alliances or to end clan wars.

His friends, Jack and Amelia, knew that all too well. Had there not been a need to seek peace between Clan Dougal and Clan MacAllen, those two would not be married and sickeningly in love. Although, of course, it had not begun with love. The very opposite, in fact.

“As ye said yerself, it’s safer if nay one kens.” Paisley breezed past him and grabbed the saddle, clearly meaning to pull herself up.

Nyx had other ideas. The willful mare sidestepped, nearly knocking Paisley off balance again.

Camden stifled a laugh. “She’s a particular lass, this bonny mare. If ye’re nae polite enough, she willnae tolerate ye.”

“I ken the feelin’,” Paisley grumbled.

“Now, Nyx, ye be nice to our temporary beloved, eh?” Camden said, watching Paisley’s face for any sign of rejection.

She had not explicitly agreed to the ruse, but she had not explicitly rejected it either. Considering she had agreed to venture to Castle Cairn, Camden had taken that as a sign of her acquiescence.

The mare nickered, pawing at the cobblestones.

“Och, dinnae be jealous,” Camden teased. “Ye didnae mind carryin’ her last evenin’.”

He moved up behind Paisley, inhaling the soapy scent of her riotous hair. Pushing away any impure thoughts that might creep into his head, he took hold of her waist and hoisted her up into the saddle. There, she flung her other leg over to the opposite side and shuffled into the same position she had assumed at dawn.

An invitation for Camden to join her, so they could get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Is it much farther?” Paisley asked with no small amount of trepidation in her voice.

Night had swarmed in with a barrage of icy rain, the road a quagmire under Nyx’s hooves, the forests that flanked the route on either side offering no glimpse of civilization. But Camden would have known the way in the densest of fog and knew that the imposing forests held no threat other than the occasional vengeful stag.

“Nae much,” he said, expelling a breath of relief.

She held the cloak he had given her tighter around herself. “I dinnae see anythin’.”

“Ye will.”

His timing could not have been more sublime, for the moment he said it, the road wended to the left and the woodland to the right gave way to a glittering river and, beyond, a flat expanse of moorland as far as the eye could see.

Ahead, where the river temporarily disappeared into solid rock, the lights of Castle Cairn were all aglow, a beacon set halfway up a craggy mountain.

Paisley gasped. “Is that it?”

“Aye, sure enough, that’s home.”

Camden was somewhat pleased they had arrived under the cover of darkness, for the castle was never more beautiful than when it glowed like that. What he did not tell her, however, was that the path to the castle looked short from their viewpoint but would take them another hour at least.

The complicated entrances and exits were by design, not merely due to the difficulty of the terrain, constructed in the days when Clan Cairn was forever at war with someone or another.

Paisley did not complain, though, her eyes fixed on the lit castle, and before any of them knew it, they were moments away from the place Camden called home.

“Are ye nae worried that there’ll be a rockfall and ye’ll have nay way of gettin’ in?” Paisley asked, tilting her head up to take in the high walls of stone that bordered the path.

He smiled at her perceptiveness. “There are many ways in and out. These rocks are our safety. Ye see, if an enemy were to come this way, we would cause a rockfall.”

“Goodness, I wouldnae want to be yer enemy then,” she said in an awed tone.

I dinnae want ye to be either.

Nyx plodded the last stretch of the steep incline up to the gates, coming to a halt outside the iron portcullis.

“State yer purpose!” the guards called down.

Camden looked up, shielding his eyes from the rain. “It’s yer Laird and an honored guest.”

The guards hurried to raise the portcullis, allowing Nyx to pass through to the inner courtyard, where two stablehands hurried to tend to the beast.

Meanwhile, Camden was more concerned about his ‘honored guest’ and how on earth he was going to explain her presence. He had not exactly thought that far ahead, nor had he explained how… tense things were about to become.

Remaining as casual as possible, he helped Paisley down from the saddle and looped her arm through his, taking off the saddlebag with the contraband before he headed to the welcoming glow of the castle’s grand entrance hall.

“Miss Becker!” Camden called out to a maid who was just about to disappear down one of the narrow hallways.

She whirled around, a smile brightening her face as she rushed to attend to her Laird. “M’Laird, what a relief to see ye back so soon! Mercy, ye’re soaked to the bone.”

She paused, eyeing Paisley, who eyed her back, no doubt thinking the worst of the maid’s relationship to Camden.

He nearly laughed, wondering how prolific a lover Paisley judged him to be. Still, he decided to let her believe what she would for now. He would tell her later that he never mixed pleasure with castle business, which was precisely why she had nothing to fear from him… not unless she wanted to.

“Dinnae worry about me,” he said to the maid. “Please, see to it that Miss… Nunford is taken to the finest guest chambers. She will need somethin’ to eat and some new garments to wear. I trust ye’ll be diligent in yer duties.”

Paisley’s eyes widened, and she pursed her lips in annoyance.

Camden shrugged as if to say, Ye were the one who didnae want anyone kennin’ ye were free of yer nunnery cage.

The maid, Rowena Becker, nodded effusively. “Of course, M’Laird. Please, Miss Nunford, come this way. I’ll tend to ye so well that ye’ll think ye’re at the palace in Edinburgh!”

Before Paisley could utter a word of argument or protest her name, the maid grabbed her eagerly by the arm and pulled her away, leading her up the curving stairwell ahead and into the belly of the castle. Paisley looked back in fits and starts, and Camden had a feeling he would pay later for his little jest.

The prospect only made his smile widen.

With his pleasant burden gone, Camden strode toward the right-hand hallway and took a narrow staircase, cut into the stone, to the windowless world beneath the castle. With every step, he trailed water, leaving wet footsteps in his wake. But if anyone wanted to find him, they already knew where he would be—his study.

Heaving open the thick oak door, he cocked an eyebrow. Someone was already working away at the smaller writing desk in the room, respectfully avoiding the use of Camden’s mahogany monstrosity.

“M’Laird!” The man started in fright, clasping a hand to his chest. “Mercy, if ye did not have a mighty army, I’d box yer ears where ye stand!”

Camden flashed his man-at-arms, Marcus Cleary, a grin. “Me?” He feigned innocence. “What have I done to deserve such aggression?”

“Ridin’ off without tellin’ a soul!”

Camden gestured to a slip of paper that sat on Marcus’s writing desk. “I left a note.”

“Aye, ye left a note sayin’ ye were chargin’ off to find runaway MacDunns to interrogate! Sometimes, I wonder what the point of me position is when ye do as ye please anyway.” Marcus stood up and bowed his head reluctantly. “Did ye find any?”

Camden walked over and clapped his friend on the back. “I did, but I didnae get anythin’ from him that I didnae already ken. Still, the fact that he was in our territory isnae a good sign. After so many months of nothin’, it seems MacDunn has decided it’s time to get bolder.”

The entire reason Camden had ridden out was that news had come from Laird MacAllen that a village to the west of MacBrayne lands had been torched while Laird MacAllen and his charming wife, Keira, had been visiting to help heal the sickly daughter of Laird MacBrayne.

The MacBrayne territory was small and poorly patrolled, situated close to the northernmost point of Camden’s lands. Not having many resources, and with the terrain rocky and harsh, Camden and his fellow lairds had assumed that their weaker ally would be safe from MacDunn’s reign of fire. Especially as it had been months since MacDunn’s last strike.

That close to his border, Camden had not hesitated. He had set off at once, alone, with one objective in mind—to finally catch a MacDunn man and pry as much information out of him as possible. Mainly, to prove a point to Laird MacAllen and the other two lairds of their Highland pact, Laird Dougal and Laird Moore. He would have had bragging rights for the rest of his days if he had succeeded where they had failed.

“What would ye have us do?” Marcus asked.

Camden sat down in the chair his man-at-arms had just vacated, scratching his stubbled jaw. “Send declarations to the border villages—north, east, and west. Any man that’s fit and able ought to be standin’ guard, night and day, patrollin’ as much of the woodland as they can. Let them ken they’ll be paid for their trouble.”

Marcus flinched. “That’ll be costly.”

“Nae as costly as losin’ villages,” Camden pointed out. “It’s all we can do ‘til we ken what MacDunn’s next move will be. I have a feelin’ he’s gone west, but that doesnae mean he willnae come back to our territory. The villages on the edges of me lands are vulnerable, and I willnae let them be taken by surprise. Och, and ye should send messengers to the other lairds to inform ‘em about me plans.”

Marcus wandered over to a side table and, without asking, poured a measure of whiskey for them both. Bringing the glasses back, he handed one to Camden.

Camden had just lifted the much-needed drink to his lips when the study door burst open and a harried figure in a sapphire blue gown swept in, already pointing a finger at him.

“ Who is that woman? Explain yerself!”

Taking a sip of the whiskey, Camden sat back in his chair, wearing his most annoying smile as he looked at his mother. “What woman, Maither?”

“Dinnae toy with me, Camden. I am under enough strain as it is without yer jests and japes.” His mother, Olivia Lyall, slashed her hands through the air. “Ye have brought a guest with ye. Who is she?”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Ye brought a lass back?”

“She needed protection,” Camden replied with a smile.

“By ye or from ye?”

Camden groaned. “I’m nae that bad. Honestly, hearin’ the pair of ye, one would think I was me great-great-grandfaither reincarnated, sowing his tyranny and lechery across the Highlands with impunity.” He smiled more agreeably at his mother. “Ye’re throwin’ a cèilidh, are ye nae? A cèilidh needs guests. Lo and behold, I brought ye another.”

His mother scurried over to the fireplace, where she promptly began pacing, wringing her blue-veined hands and muttering to herself. “ We are throwin’ a cèilidh for yer betrothal to Kenna,” she said, snapping out of her trance. “And it willnae look good if gossip spreads that ye’ve brought some other lass into the castle with ye—alone, I might add. Goodness, it has probably already spread!”

A twinge of guilt knotted in Camden’s stomach, not just over his mother’s stress but over the mixed reception that Paisley was about to receive from the castle residents. He should have forewarned her of the situation, but it had not crossed his mind until then. It had not seemed important for their deal, since no one would dare to openly offend his ‘guest.’

Now, he wondered if he should not have held back.

In more ways than one…

His chest tingled with the memory of her wandering fingertips, so bold and curious. Not at all what he had expected from a nun—novice or otherwise. If he had pulled her in and kissed her as he had wanted to, how would she have reacted? Would she have shoved him away or welcomed his kiss?

She was a beautiful conundrum.

He shook away thoughts of her; he could only deal with one issue at a time. And the most pressing issue was how on earth he was supposed to get out of a betrothal he did not want. Paisley would, with any luck, play her part in that, but he had not yet figured out how.

Rather, he had not yet plotted how to manipulate the situation just enough to avoid a war.