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

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

How can I ever face Mother Superior again?

Paisley’s stomach twisted into knots, robbing her of her appetite as she poked and prodded the morning porridge with her spoon.

“Is it nae to yer likin’?” Rowena asked, her hands clasped together in worry.

The poor maid seemed perpetually concerned that she was not suitable for the task of tending to Paisley’s wishes and needs.

“I’m nae very hungry,” Paisley replied with a forced smile.

“But ye werenae hungry yesterday, and ye werenae hungry the day before. Ye havenae been hungry since the night ye arrived.” Rowena clucked around Paisley like a mother hen. “Nor have ye been out of these chambers. Are ye nae well? Shall I fetch the healer for ye?”

It had been three days since Paisley came to Castle Cairn, and the maid was not wrong—she had deliberately been hiding away in the drafty guest chamber, fearful of losing what was left of her piety if she crossed paths with Camden again.

He had not sought her out either, but she sensed that was deliberate too.

He wants me to go to him. He wants me to seek his presence. It is a game to him.

She blushed furiously, heat prickling from the nape of her neck to the crown of her head, remembering the press of Camden’s body and the soft graze of his lips against her neck, the way she had desperately wanted him to brush those lips against hers, the way he had teased her by not kissing her mouth.

“But ye want me to carry on, do ye nae? Ye want to ken what it feels like.”

She had not been able to answer him then, and she did not dare to admit what her reply might have been, even now. Her dreams had been bad enough, her thoughts wandering astray the moment she closed her eyes.

Still, at least she had not had to corrupt herself further by lying about a betrothal. Not yet, anyway. Staying in her room, staying away from him was the only way to repair the damage he had done to her virtue. If she had to stay there for the entirety of the promised month, then so be it.

“I really think ye ought to take in some fresh air, Miss Nunford,” Rowena insisted. “How about ye take a few bites of that porridge, then I’ll show ye around the castle?”

Paisley chewed on her lower lip, considering the proposal. “Is the Laird in the castle at the moment?”

“Is it him ye want to see? I can have him sent for if?—”

“Nay!” Paisley’s eyes went wide. “Nay, I dinnae want that. I just… wanted to ken if he was in the castle. I dinnae need his company.”

Rowena tilted her head to the side, a flare of understanding in her kind eyes. “He’s nae in the castle,” she said in a sympathetic tone. “Ye willnae have to see him if it’s a lovers’ quarrel that ye’ve had.”

“It’s nae a lovers’ quarrel,” Paisley bit back, horrified for the second time that the maid could look at her and see someone so loose with their affections, someone who would lie with a man she was not married to—someone who would lie with any man.

Rowena smiled, no doubt thinking she knew differently. “Whatever ye say, Miss Nunford. But ye will walk through the castle with me?”

Paisley did not know how to get the lively young maid to believe her, though her innards burned with frustration. Maybe that was a battle that she could not win. Maybe it was a battle she should not be trying to win, considering that when the ‘betrothal’ was announced and she began to play her part, it would be even harder to deny.

“Aye, I will,” Paisley replied with a weary sigh. “Perhaps it will do me some good. Lookin’ at the same four walls can be maddenin’.”

Rowena brightened, clapping her hands together. “I’ll find ye a fine dress to wear, we’ll get ye ready, then we’ll begin our wanderin’.”

“I shall see to it meself,” Paisley responded as politely as she could. “I ken ye’ve got duties to perform, and ye’ve likely been given instructions, but I really prefer to dress on me own.”

She had once had a lady’s maid, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a child living in a castle and not a novitiate who was expected to shun airs and graces.

Rowena bowed her head. “Can I at least style yer hair?”

“Is it so awful?”

A small chuckle escaped Rowena’s lips, hastily covered with her hand. “It’s beautiful hair, Miss Nunford, but I expect it’ll be all the more beautiful when ye’ve had a brush through it. A ribbon or a slide might nae go amiss either.”

Rather than feel offended or let embarrassment smolder in her already warm face, Paisley laughed. She glanced at the mirror to the left of the writing desk where she was having breakfast and laughed even harder. She laughed until her sides were sore and her eyes were streaming with giddy tears, and when she looked at Rowena to say something about her appearance, the maid’s laughter set her off again.

The two women filled the room with that raucous sound until it choked and spluttered to a natural end, both of them dabbing their eyes with their sleeves. As they looked at each other again, there was a new feeling instead of the stilted association they had had before. A new bond of ease that felt to Paisley like the seedling of a friendship.

“I apologize in advance to yer wrist and forearm,” Paisley said, smiling.

Rowena quirked an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”

“They’re goin’ to be achin’ somethin’ terrible once ye’ve dragged a brush through this bird’s nest on me head.”

The two women burst into laughter again, Paisley pointing at her reflection with a shaky finger. She had never seen a lion, had only seen pictures of one alongside the story of Daniel being cast into the lions’ den, but she was certain that her tangled explosion of copper hair would put any mane to shame.

“What’s the jape?” A silky voice severed any amusement in an instant.

Paisley’s head whipped around, and her eyes landed on Camden. He leaned against the doorjamb, looking every bit the embodiment of temptation in his kilt of Cairn tartan and his pale yellow léine, the collar unlaced to the middle of his chest. The loose sleeves did little to hide his powerful arms, his corded neck compelling Paisley to wonder what it would feel like if she were to press kisses there, as he had done to her.

This is exactly why ye cannae be near him!

“None of yer business,” she muttered, jamming her spoon into the congealed porridge.

She scraped off the spoonful with her teeth and began to chew, immediately regretting her decision. The porridge was a thick paste in her mouth, and if she swallowed it, she feared it would just sit in her throat. Though, at least she would not have to talk to him.

“Is that any way to greet yer beloved?” Camden said with a smirk. “Ye dinnae need to pretend in front of Rowena. She willnae say aught. Will ye, Miss Becker?”

Rowena grinned and shook her head. “I willnae say a word, M’Laird. I was just sayin’ to Miss Nunford that I’d take her around the castle, but now that ye’re here, maybe ye’d prefer to do it yerself?”

Paisley tried to swallow the porridge fast enough to protest. It caught in her throat, as she had suspected it would, propelling her into a spluttering cough.

Camden was at her side in an instant, unceremoniously thumping the spot between her shoulder blades.

“Is it that unbearable of an idea?” he asked, that usual note of humor in his voice.

Paisley reached for her cup of lukewarm rosehip tea, but Camden beat her to it. Sliding his hand up, her bare skin tingling as he cradled the back of her neck, he brought the cup to her lips. Staring at him through watery eyes, she sipped without hesitation.

When she could breathe again, the porridge lump gone from her throat, he put the cup into her hands and peered down at her, smiling that damnable smile of his. A smile that reminded her of how close he had been the other night, how she had grasped his shirt with longing, how he had almost swayed her into doing something that could have ruined her chance of ever being able to return to the convent.

Even a kiss was too much.

“What do ye say?” he asked, slowly drawing his fingertips away from the nape of her neck, somehow leaving an invisible imprint.

She gulped down another mouthful of her tea, the taste adding a note of bitterness to her tongue as she replied, “It is about time ye offered.”

“I’ll wait outside while ye prepare yerself, sweetlin’.” He flashed her a wink and departed at a leisurely pace, closing the door behind him.

Apparently, she had run out of time to remain hidden in her chambers. The ruse had begun, whether she wanted it to or not, and if she was to have a single hope of seeing her parents again, she needed to play her part, and play it well .

Three weeks and four days…

She had resisted the call of the outside world for eleven years; she could resist Camden for less than a month.

She had to, for though the convent had its flaws, it was the only place where she felt she belonged.

Just three weeks and four days left. If I cannae do that, I dinnae deserve to be a nun at all.

Camden would be her temptation in the desert, and she would not succumb.