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

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

“What is the matter with ye?!” Paisley whirled and smacked Camden in the chest.

He smirked at the feeble hit, his appreciative gaze roving over the thin white nightdress that had caught his eye from the steep rock face of the mountain above the garden. He had not intended to scare her; he had thought she heard him drop down from the last ledge, and that was what had inspired her to hurry off.

Evidently, he was wrong.

“I might ask ye the same thing,” he replied with a chuckle. “Are ye attemptin’ to catch yer death? Have ye had enough of the luxuries I’ve afforded ye already? Or did ye feel a sudden need to punish yerself in the cold, for all the warm thoughts I’ve inspired in that innocent head of yers?”

He winked and reached out, tucking a wind-blown lock of her hair behind her ear.

She swiped his hand away, huffing and puffing. “I couldnae sleep, and I came down the wrong stairs, ‘cause ye’ve deliberately made them all look the same and so steep and endless that nay one wants to traipse back up them once they’ve come down them.” She scowled. “I was catchin’ me breath before I made me ascent.”

“Aye, well, ye best be climbin’ those stairs again,” he said. “I could sling ye over me shoulder if ye’d prefer?”

She backed away, pressed flat against the stone wall in a manner that stoked his relentless desires back to where they had been at the loch. In that thin nightdress, molded to her shapely figure by the furious winds, with her cheeks pink and her eyes so fiery, she was hard to resist.

“Ye’ll do nay such thing,” she grumbled, apparently realizing her state of undress.

She grabbed the sides of the blanket she wore as a cloak and pulled the fabric tighter around herself, hiding her sumptuous figure from his view. It did very little to diminish his wayward thoughts. If anything, it increased them, his hands itching to unwrap her like a gift.

Ye’re behavin’ like the immature laddie yer maither still thinks ye are.

He folded his eager hands behind his back and straightened up, putting on the facade he used with his council—a stony, stern efficiency.

“Ye shouldnae go wanderin’ after the sun has set again,” he told her, his voice clipped. “Especially nae in yer nightclothes. I cannae be everywhere at once, Paisley. If I’m to protect ye, ye ought to have the sense to keep yerself safe when I’m nae around.”

Her eyes narrowed, her arms folded defiantly over her chest. “Aye, well, I wouldnae have had to wander and I wouldnae have gotten lost if me host had bothered to show me around the castle.” She huffed through her nose. “Ye just… left me, M’Laird!”

“And here I was, thinkin’ ye had a lick of sense in that pretty head of yers.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His mouth softened into a smile. “If someone sends ye off to yer chambers in a castle that isnae yers, there’s likely a reason for ye stayin’ where ye’ve been sent. Then again, ye are the wee nun who ran away from her convent, so maybe I should’ve kenned ye wouldnae do as ye’re told.”

“Ye havenae given me any instruction, M’Laird!” she rasped, bristling with annoyance as the wind howled and tossed her glorious, fiery red hair.

If I had a ribbon, I’d tie it back for ye… and kiss yer neck as I did.

He could not prevent his thoughts from wandering to places it should not, much like her.

“Ye havenae said anythin’ to me, in truth!” she ranted, hissing like an angry cat. “Ye say ye need me help, ye say I’m to be here for a month, ye say I cannae fulfill me purpose ‘til I’ve aided ye, then instead of—I dinnae ken—sittin’ down with me to explain what in the world I’m doin’ here and what that ‘help’ will require, ye all but have me locked in a tower, like a prisoner in a nice cage.”

“I didnae lock ye up anywhere,” he said brusquely, offended by the accusation. “But I did expect caution from ye. Clearly, ye need me to speak more plainly—for as long as ye’re here in this castle, ye’re to heed me command. Ye dinnae go anywhere at yer whim, nae without askin’ for me permission first. If ye want a midnight wander in these gardens, ye come to me and ask. Ye?—”

“I dinnae listen to any man who isnae of the clergy!” Paisley interrupted sharply, her eyes ablaze. “Ye have nay right to make demands of me.”

He moved closer to her until there was barely a breath between them, his hand bracing against the wall just above her head. The drape of his own cloak flapped like a sail in high winds, but it kept enough of the blasting gusts from hitting her and making her fiery eyes water.

“I earned the right when ye asked for me help in gettin’ ye back to yer maither and faither,” he said, spotting a petal caught in her hair. “Of course, I could send a rider after the messenger I sent out. I can have ‘em bring the messenger back with the letter to yer faither. I could also summon back the two scouts who are searchin’ the roads to Morris lands for that friend of yers, if ye truly dinnae want to aid me.”

He had not forgotten the absent friend who seemed to be dear to Paisley. Rather, he had forgotten, but memory had kicked in while he was handing over the letter that needed to reach Laird Morris. He had asked two of his best scouts to undertake the task immediately, his instructions hilariously vague— “She’s likely wearin’ the garb of a nun. She’ll be alone. I think her name is Cecilia or somethin’ similar.”

Paisley had not explicitly said that her friend went by that name, but his mention of the name had shocked her into remembering her runaway accomplice, so he had figured it was a reasonable guess.

“What?” she gasped, the ferocity in her expression dimming to wary confusion. “Ye… sent people to look for me friend?”

“Aye. I thought ye might be more at ease if she could be found. A gesture of goodwill.”

Paisley dipped her chin, clearly in turmoil, not expecting him to make a gesture like that. She was silent for a while, and Camden did not feel the need to disturb her quiet. He just watched her, admiring the rosy apples of her cheeks, the plumpness of her lips, the dusting of freckles, wondering if she would kiss him back if he brushed her lips with his, imagining how loudly she would cry out his name if he slid his hand between her thighs.

“What is it ye actually want from me? I keep askin’, and this time, ye’re goin’ to tell me,” she said at last, raising her gaze to his, peering at him through long lashes.

He smiled at her spark of defiance, still as bright as the moment he met her. “For ye to be me betrothed for a month.”

“I beg yer pardon?” Her eyes bulged, her mouth falling open.

“Leave the details to me. I’ll announce it to me council, and I’ll turn ye loose when the month is over. I’ll even escort ye where ye want to go myself.” He flashed her a mischievous grin. “Until then, just behave as if ye’re besotted with me. It shouldnae be too difficult for ye.”

She looked like she wanted to smack him in the chest again, her breath pluming in the cold night air, like a huffing, furious dragon. But she was not stupid; losing her way in the forest had undoubtedly served as a valuable lesson that her task could not be completed alone. She was safer in his company than out there by herself. He hoped she knew that.

“And what are we to tell yer family? Ye have family, I assume.” Paisley avoided his gaze, not realizing the torment it caused him.

Camden tried not to grimace. “I’ll inform them. Ye dinnae have to worry about that, ye just have to make it believable.”

“But what is the story , M’Laird? It’s bad enough that I’m consentin’ to lie for ye—which is a sin, by the way—I should at least do it well.”

He wished she would stop calling him ‘M’Laird.’ He wanted to hear her say his name, the way her lips curved around it.

“Every fairytale ought to have a grain of truth in it,” he replied in a sultry tone. “Ye stumbled across me path months ago. It was love at first sight. I’ve been meetin’ ye in secret ever since, until I couldnae bear it anymore—I had to make ye mine without further delay.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, her breaths shallow, her hand pressed to her chest as though he had wounded her immortal soul. She looked infuriatingly beautiful, so innocent and flustered that he did not know whether to bow his head and leave her or pull her into his arms, kissing her until that flustered warmth transformed into the heat of passion.

“Love at… first sight?” she rasped. “That is supposed to be believable.”

He rested his other hand against the wall, temptingly close to the curve of her waist. If she shoved him, he would move without hesitation, but she stayed where she was, her eyes turned up to meet his once more.

“Ye dinnae think such a thing can happen?” he purred, pressing closer.

Their bodies were almost flush, her ample bosom rising and falling in a mesmerizing rhythm that inspired the desire to touch, to taste, to kiss, to caress. His fingers began to curl against the stone, clawing for a clear mind. He could not do anything to jeopardize his plan to help them both.

“I dinnae think it’s common,” she replied in a breathy tone. “Nor do I think it lasts long.”

A laugh rumbled in the back of his throat. “I assure ye, it can last as long as ye like.” He dipped his head, whispering close to her ear. “All night if ye but ask.”

“I suspect that… love at first sight is naught but lust. A trick… that ends in misery for… all involved. The lass, most of all,” she panted, every catch of her voice pouring fuel onto the fire in his loins. They ached for her in a way they had not ached for a woman in years. Ever, perhaps.

His frown was hidden from her view as he gazed down at the curve of her neck. He was using his usual tricks, but it was not nearly as satisfying as he was accustomed to. Instead, he felt the sudden urge to protect her—to protect her from himself.

“Ye should leave,” he murmured, resisting the desire to slide his hand into her hair. Resisting the desire to do something stupid.

After all, she was not like other ladies; she did not understand the unspoken agreement he had with other conquests, that it would just be an evening or a few days or a few weeks of mutual enjoyment before parting ways.

Paisley was someone destined for no man but the all-seeing one above, and even if she could be swayed, she would expect marriage before she gave herself, ever conscious of the idea of sin. To make love to her would be to ruin her, and, regardless of his reputation, he would not do that.

“How can I when ye’re hemmin’ me in?” she replied, making no move to push him backward or to duck under his arm to escape him.

“Ye’re free to go,” he told her, raising his arm slightly. “Indeed, ye should.”

“And if I dinnae?”

A tight sensation pulled at his abdomen, a swell of need cresting up into his chest. His heart beat quicker, a wildfire surging through his veins, burning his mind into a delicious sort of madness that would surely be the undoing of them both.

So, he decided to be honest.

“I cannae promise ye’ll be pure enough to take yer vows if ye stay.”

Her breaths became tortuous, ragged, and thrilling. If Camden were to touch her skin, he knew it would be red hot. If he were to kiss her lips, he had no doubt she would kiss him back—at first, at least, until sense and discipline swooped in to snuff out the moment.

The trouble was, if he kissed her, if he indulged in just a taste of her, he would want the entire feast. He would want all of her, and he had a habit of losing interest once he had satiated his hunger.

Leaning into her, his hand coming to rest on the hourglass dip of her waist, he bent his head to that tempting curve of her neck and pressed a kiss to her feverishly hot skin. It burned against his lips, like the heavens themselves were warning him off, but, at that moment, he would have allowed himself to be scorched to a cinder if he could just have her for one night, without consequence. Anything to rid himself of the torment in his veins.

She gasped at the brush of his lips, trailing kisses up and down that delicious curve. Each breathy exhale made it harder and harder not to claim her mouth with his, each kiss bringing him closer to her lips.

“ Ye should leave, I think,” she managed to whisper. “Ye shouldnae be doin’ this. We shouldnae. I’m tired. I’m nae in me right mind.”

Her palms settled on his chest, but she did not push, her fingertips curling slightly, as if she meant to grasp his shirt.

“But ye want me to carry on, do ye nae?” he murmured in reply, feeling the thrum of her curiosity in the faint claw of those fingertips. “Ye want to ken what it feels like.”

Her breath stuttered, her eyes no longer wide with want but with panic, transforming back into the conscientious novice nun right in front of him.

She ducked under his arm and wrenched the door open, vanishing into the darkness of the staircase tower without a word. Leaving him with the touch of her palms still lingering on his chest, the gasps from her throat haunting his ears, the heat of her skin still blazing on his lips. Not satiated, but doubly tormented, as he realized that what he had received was all he would get.

Perhaps he needed one more swim in the corrie loch before bed, or he would never get a wink of sleep.

Dinnae take risks with yer freedom, lad. She’s the answer, so dinnae make her a problem.