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

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“Come in!” Paisley’s sweet voice called from the other side of the door.

Camden had just remembered to knock. He took a deep breath and entered, fully intending to inform her that he could not take her to Castle Morris after all. He was prepared to play the villain to spare her feelings, turning his charm into menace if he had to, to scare her back to the convent. Anything to prevent her from learning the truth.

There’s nay guarantee of better news. It might be exactly what it appears to be.

He had firmly planned to wait until Stobart’s return to make his decision, but doubt had set in more and more throughout the two hours he had spent bathing and restoring himself. This was no battle where he was confident of his success.

What if the news was worse? He would have delayed for no reason. In the end, he had decided that breaking her back out of the convent if good news did come would be simpler than waiting longer, only to break her heart and make her feel like she had wasted her time.

I’ll figure out another way to avoid a betrothal with Kenna. I’ll find another lass.

“Did ye nae hear me?” Paisley’s voice called out, more nervous than before. “Come in.”

Camden really had meant to be the reincarnation of one of his tyrannical forefathers, but the moment he stepped into the bedchamber, his scheme turned to dust.

An ethereal vision in emerald-green velvet greeted his eyes, a structured bodice carving out the most divine hourglass figure he had ever beheld. Full skirts gathered at her hips and swept downward in a mossy cascade, gold embroidery running along every edge and up the center of her skirts, where a hint of a pale green petticoat poked through. Gauzy, billowing sleeves cinched at the wrists, the neckline deep and breathtaking in more ways than one, considering that tight bodice.

It complemented her moon-pale skin, pretty freckles, and fiery red hair far better than he could have imagined. And he had imagined it, out in the woods where he had little else to occupy his mind.

I must kiss ye… It’s nay longer a want, it’s a need.

He took a step forward, his arms itching to embrace her, his hands eager to explore those delicious curves.

“Well?” A familiar voice killed his passion.

His alarmed gaze darted in the direction of the fireplace, where his mother sat in one of the two armchairs. Her eyes held the flicker of those flames, suspicion in the set of her lips.

“We arenae certain of this one, are we?” his mother said, turning a smile toward Paisley.

The novice nun clasped her hands together, lowering her chin to her chest in a shy gesture. It maddened Camden, for no woman who looked like that, no woman who resembled a Highland goddess ever needed to bow her head and lower her eyes.

Tilt yer chin up, sweetlin’, or I willnae be able to stop meself from doin’ it for ye.

Paisley cleared her throat. “The gowns are all too beautiful. I’m nae worthy of wearin’ them.”

“Nonsense. I cannae think of anyone who would wear that gown so well,” Olivia said, voicing Camden’s thoughts. “Do ye nae agree, Camden?”

Camden schooled his face into indifference, looking at the novice nun casually – or so he hoped. “Aye, it’s a fair gown, but I dinnae ken much of what’s fashionable. All ye need to ken is whether or nae ye can dance in it.”

“D-Dance?” Paisley stammered.

“It wouldnae be much of a cèilidh if there wasnae any dancin’,” he replied, relaxing into his usual manner.

His mother rose to her feet. “I’m pleased to see that ye bathed, at last. But might I ask what ye’re doin’ at Miss Nunford’s room?”

“I assumed ye’d be runnin’ around like a headless chicken, makin’ sure everythin’ is in order for tomorrow,” he answered without missing a beat. “Did Amelia nae find ye?”

“She did,” Olivia replied, “but she was tired, so she took to her chambers, and I had little else to do. So, I thought I ought to introduce meself to Miss Nunford and ensure she received her gowns.”

Ye waited ‘til I was indisposed, ye mean.

He bowed his head to Paisley. “Well then, I’ll leave ye to it.”

“Ye havenae answered me question,” Olivia reminded him.

“Because it didnae warrant a reply. I dinnae require permission to visit me guest of honor, nor to enter any chamber in me castle,” Camden replied with a warning smile. “Ye, on the other hand… Miss Nunford, is me maither botherin’ ye?”

Paisley gasped at the suggestion. “What? Nay, nae at all.”

“It doesnae hurt to be sure.” Camden’s gaze skimmed over Paisley’s figure more brazenly, relishing the sight of her curves. “I think that’s definitely the gown. I want the guests speechless, and that dress will do it. Now, if ye’ll excuse me…”

He left while he still had some of his wits intact, his window of opportunity for spiriting Paisley away closing swiftly behind him.

Perhaps it was a sign that he should wait for Stobart’s return, after all.

Paisley watched Camden go with a faint sinking feeling akin to disappointment. A nun was not supposed to care about her appearance or what manner of clothes she wore, which was why they all dressed the same, but putting on the green gown had felt rather nice.

But he had not responded as she would have liked. Now, she felt stupid for being excited.

This isnae me world—I cannae forget that.

“Me son was right about one thing,” Olivia said, walking over to Paisley. “Ye look radiant, lass. I wouldnae be surprised if ye have a thousand offers of courtship at the cèilidh tomorrow.”

Paisley kept her gaze lowered. “I’m nae interested in that.”

“Ye’re nae?”

She shook her head, ill at ease in the older woman’s company. Camden’s mother had been clever, choosing a moment when Rowena had departed to fetch luncheon to make her entrance. She had not knocked either, giving Paisley no time to hide.

Strangest of all, Olivia had not asked what it was that Paisley was doing there. She had introduced herself and gone immediately to the armoire, announcing that she would help Paisley select a gown for the following day’s festivities. The conversation in between had been careful—about the weather, the cook’s delicious meals, whether or not Paisley was sleeping well… that sort of thing.

Camden hasnae said anythin’ about the ‘betrothal’ yet. If he had, his maither would be interrogatin’ me… unless she has been bidin’ her time.

“Me son said he happened upon ye in the forest,” Olivia said, confirming Paisley’s suspicions.

“That’s right, M’Lady.”

“He said he was keepin’ ye safe, offerin’ ye protection here,” Olivia continued, standing right in front of Paisley.

Paisley, however, could not lift her gaze to the somewhat intimidating older woman. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on the hem of Olivia’s skirts as if the woman was Mother Superior.

“That’s right, M’Lady.”

“He also said he’d made a promise to ye. Might I ken what that promise is?”

Paisley hesitated, not wanting to lie to the lady. “That was the promise, M’Lady—to keep me safe and protected.”

For three more weeks until he takes me back to me family.

She balked as Olivia took hold of her hands, the older woman’s palms soft and warm. Her grip was gentle, with the mildest squeeze of reassurance—a gesture that Paisley had not expected at all.

“Ye dinnae need to be afraid of me, lass,” Olivia said. “If what ye say is true, then I have nay quarrel with ye. I welcome ye. Ye see, I thought me son was up to his old tricks when I saw ye come into the castle and he hid ye away, but, havin’ met ye, I can tell ye’re nae… anythin’ to be worried about.”

For reasons Paisley would not admit, that stung a little. Evidently, Olivia had assumed she was one of the many lovers that Camden made no secret of enjoying in private, and now understood that she was not—that she was not someone Camden would be attracted to.

I was annoyed that anyone would think I was one of his paramours, and now I am offended? What on earth is wrong with me?

“Ye’re different,” Olivia continued, oblivious. “Ye’re a good-natured, honorable, respectful lass. I suppose I should have believed me son when he said why ye were here, but it’s hard to believe him when it pertains to women. He thinks I dinnae ken about his reputation, but… I see and hear more than he kens. Maids gossip, and they’re nae quiet about it.”

Paisley stayed quiet, panic dredging up memories of lying in bed beside a shirtless Camden, Camden’s kisses on her neck in the garden, and his hands caressing her legs in that very room, kneeling before her, pressing a kiss to her healing wound. No one had seen—she was fairly sure of that—but she could not shake off the terror that it had still, somehow, reached Olivia’s ears.

“What I am tryin’ to say,” Olivia said, “ye should be careful around me son. I mean it when I say that ye’re different, that ye seem like a good and sweet lass, but ye must protect yer honor and virtue. It’s all a lass has, sometimes. Dinnae be alone with me son again. Dinnae put yerself in a situation that might be yer undoin’.”

“Of course, M’Lady,” Paisley replied, finally daring to look up.

There was no threat in Olivia’s kind expression, no real warning in her soft voice, no suspicion in her brown eyes—a warmer shade than the near-black of her son’s. It seemed more like friendly advice from someone who was genuinely concerned about Paisley’s welfare.

“Ye remind me of meself when I was yer age,” Olivia said, frowning a little. “Nae worldly like the lasses around me, but nae easily led astray either.”

Paisley squeezed Olivia’s hands in return, feeling a sudden kinship with the woman. She’d feared the Laird’s mother, but after meeting her, Paisley rather thought that she might be a useful ally.

If I were to tell her of me predicament, if I were to tell her the truth, I wonder if she’d help me get home.

But one thought of Camden swooping her up into his arms and setting her down on the tree stump, tending to her knee despite the threat of getting a kick in the chest, stole her words. He had rescued her when he had no reason to, before he had thought of a purpose she could serve. She owed him, whether she liked it or not.

“How is it that ye’re alone in the world, Miss Nunford?” Olivia asked, the question startling Paisley.

“I… dinnae ken, in truth,” Paisley replied haltingly. “I was young when it happened, and I’ve been… searchin’ for that answer ever since, I suppose.”

She kept her answer as honest as possible, choosing her words with care. In the omissions between what she said and what she could not, a stark truth of her own pierced through, stinging more than the idea that she was ‘nothing to worry about.’

I never understood why I was sent away. I was never told. Never written to. Never explained to.

For the very first time in eleven years, the most terrible possibility dawned on her—What if she had been sent away because she was not wanted?

Tears sprang to her eyes as a memory emerged from the fog of time, one that she did not like to think about very often—a bearded, cloaked figure sitting on the back of a horse, holding the reins of her beloved pony in one hand as the rain hammered down in sheets. She, but a young girl, terrified, with a solitary bundle of belongings under her arm.

“Go on,” the man had commanded in a harsh voice, like she was no better than a disobedient dog. “What are ye waitin’ for? Get inside, quickly!”

She heard herself reply, “But Papa, I dinnae want to. I want to stay with ye.”

“Dinnae make this more difficult, Paisley,” her father had said, glancing around as if he did not want to be seen there. “Get inside before the nuns have to drag ye in.”

“Will ye come back for me soon?”

He had not replied. He had bowed his head and turned the horses around, not saying so much as a farewell as he had ridden down the slope and into the night, leaving her to be hauled into the convent by the nuns. Soggy nuns who had not appreciated being forced to fetch her in the downpour.

It was as if her father had transformed into a stranger, devoid of the warmth and tenderness she had grown accustomed to throughout her childhood. But what if, for that instant, he had not been a stranger but the real him, revealed at last?

Nay… It’s nae possible.

But then she remembered her mother weeping in an upstairs window as the horses departed and was no longer sure.

“I’m sorry, Miss Nunford,” Olivia said, patting her gently on the shoulder. “I’ve upset ye. I didnae mean to. Serves me right for pryin’. Please, forgive me.”

Paisley put on a brave smile. “There’s nothin’ to forgive.”

“In that case, would ye like to have a dram with me, Miss Nunford?” Olivia offered, a hopeful smile on her lips. “Let us get better acquainted.”

Paisley would have liked that very much, but with her emotions running high, she doubted it would be wise. She might end up saying things she did not mean to say, creating a mess for Camden.

“I dinnae partake, M’Lady,” she said instead. “In truth, I feel a headache comin’.”

If Olivia was offended, she did not show it. “A respectable lass, indeed,” she murmured, almost to herself. “What a pity.”

“Pardon?”

Olivia blinked, confirming she had said aloud what she had meant to keep to herself. “I meant, what a pity ye willnae have a drink with me. I’ll leave ye to rest away yer headache, but I trust I’ll see ye at the cèilidh tomorrow?”

“Of course, M’Lady.” Paisley bowed her head, already dreading the prospect of the celebration.

Remaining peacefully in her room was one thing, but she had not been to any sort of gathering in over a decade. She had loved them once—Castle Morris beautifully decorated, music flooding the halls, feasting tables piled high with delicious delicacies, every face joyful, her mother and father standing proud at the head of it all. With her.

Olivia let go of Paisley’s hands and breezed elegantly to the doorway. She hesitated on the threshold, turning around with her hands clasped together as if she were about to lead Paisley in a prayer.

“I like ye, Miss Nunford, but I meant what I said earlier,” Olivia declared, her voice a touch harder than before. “Dinnae be alone with me son again.”

She left, closing the door firmly behind her, the thud of it sounding exactly like a warning.