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

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

I should’ve tossed it in the fire.

Camden cursed inwardly, unable to do anything but watch Paisley unfurl the wretched letter. Her eyes no longer gleamed with bliss, though they watered. Her cheeks, still pink with pleasure, turned a patchier red as her gaze flitted left to right, soaking up the harsh words Camden knew were written there.

I should have told her—let her make up her own mind.

“When did this arrive?” Paisley’s scratchy voice was an icicle to the chest.

“When Marcus came to fetch me from yer bedchamber,” he replied evenly.

“And ye didnae think I had a right to see it? Why did ye nae tell me?”

Camden would have preferred to hear anger in her voice, not the thin sound that came out of her mouth, as if it were taking everything she had to hold herself together. If she had needed to explode with fury, with hurt, with the betrayal of what was in the letter, he would have borne it rather than hear her heart break.

“Are ye incapable of tellin’ the truth? Did ye think this would stop ye from gettin’ what ye want?” she prompted, her hand shaking as she held out the offensive letter.

Camden sighed, reaching to take it from her.

She snatched it back, holding it to her chest like it was precious rather than poisonous.

“I didnae tell ye because I thought it was bizarre,” he replied calmly. “Aye, ye didnae tell me much about yer family, but ye gave nay hint that ye were unwelcome at yer family seat. It reeked of strangeness to me. So, I sent a scout back to investigate. I intended to wait for his return and to hear what news he brought back with him before I toppled yer world, sweetlin’. I didnae want ye to be hurt.”

Her expression softened, her glare thawing into a single tear that rolled down her cheek. She hastily brushed it away, and the softness with it. When she met his gaze again, there was no warmth in her at all.

“Say that I believe ye—that’s all well and good, but it isnae up to ye to make decisions on me behalf,” she chided. “I have never had the luxury of choice in me life, Camden. Me parents told me what to do, then the nuns, and now ye. It wasnae yer place to keep this from me, and though ye claim ye had the best intentions, let’s nae pretend there wasnae a part of ye that thought ye’d lose yer pawn if ye told me about this letter.”

Camden had expected the accusation. She was not entirely wrong, but there was a nuance she was missing: he wanted to keep her around because he wanted to be near her. It had very little to do with the marriage avoidance plan because he could have picked any woman to help him.

“I didnae want ye to return to the convent out of anger or resignation,” he admitted. “I didnae want ye to do yer faither’s biddin’ without kennin’ if there’s more to it than meets the eye. I was doin’ what I’ve done since I met ye—I was protectin’ ye.”

Paisley’s eyes flared, her hands curling into fists. “I’m nae so weak and feeble, Camden. I’m a novice, nae a damsel.” She pushed off the desk. “I dinnae need to be here anymore. Ye’ve gotten what ye wanted. I have nay purpose out in the world now, so I’ll be returnin’ in the mornin’. If ye willnae escort me, I’ll go alone, but I’m nae stayin’ here any longer.”

She skirted past him, heading for the door in a hurry, but he was quicker. Camden caught hold of her wrist and pulled her back to him, his arm sliding around her waist to keep her close.

Against the rules? Yes, but he did not care. He had never much cared for rules anyway.

“Ye cannae mean that, sweetlin’,” he said softly, peering down into her glimmering eyes.

In the pretty moss green of them, he saw the reason she had been trying to leave in such a rush. She was about to crumble; he could think of no better place for her to fall apart than in his arms, where he could put her back together again.

“Why nae?” she countered, pushing against his chest to escape him. “I was warned so many times about the temptations of the outside world. I was told again and again that there was nothin’ of merit out there, that I was only safe so long as I was inside the convent walls. I dinnae regret seein’ it for meself, or I would never have believed it truly. But the nuns were right—there is nothin’ for me out here. Nothin’ but a false betrothal to a dishonest man who cannae keep a promise, and a faither who wants nothin’ to do with me.”

She struggled against him with all her might, the shock of it prompting him to loosen his grip just long enough for her to make a dash for freedom. Wrenching herself away, she fled from the study, leaving him standing there with a throbbing foot, injured pride, and a strangely sore heart.

This is exactly what I was tryin’ to avoid. But why nae rebel against yer faither now? Why must ye lock yerself away?

If she was determined to leave tomorrow, he doubted he would ever find out the answers to those questions.

I pray ye dinnae regret it, sweetlin’. With all me heart, I pray ye dinnae.

That’s why he didnae embrace me when he took me to that place.

Paisley waited until she reached the secret garden before she let the tears come in heart-wrenching, inhuman sobs that the howling wind graciously swept away. If anyone in any of the glowing windows high above heard her, they would think there was a wounded deer bellowing its last breaths.

That’s why he didnae look back when he left me at the convent and me maither was weepin’ in the castle window.

She clenched the crumpled paper in her hand, torn between ripping it to shreds and tossing the fragments to the wind and burying it deep where she would never have to see it again. Not thinking about it, however, was a different matter entirely. If she lived to be a hundred years old, she would never forget what was written on that page.

“I have nay desire to see her,” she whispered, the words already half memorized. “It wouldnae be of any concern to me if I never saw her again. She is well aware that she isnae welcome here. Ye must take her back to where she belongs.”

She kicked a pebble, the smooth stone flying through the air and landing in one of the flowerbeds.

“I’m nae ‘well aware’ at all, Faither,” she hissed, storming through the serene, moonlit gardens with a fury that could have made the blooms wilt. “Does that make me a fool? Aye, I suppose it does. When someone doesnae write, doesnae visit, doesnae show any indication that they care, I should believe ‘em.”

She kicked another pebble, wincing as pain shot up her injured leg. It helped, briefly distracting her from the agony that twisted in her heart.

How stupid can ye be?

She had risked her entire future by fleeing the convent to see her parents one more time. Cecilia had a gift for weaving believable, sympathetic tales, and would have put all of her efforts into unruffling any feathers to smooth Paisley’s return, but that was not the point— she had thought of her parents daily for eleven years, while it seemed they had not thought of her at all.

“I thought maybe I belonged with ye. Back home.” Her voice caught in her throat. “I wouldnae have returned to the convent at all if ye’d asked me to stay.”

She halted, raising her gaze to the night sky, searching the face of the moon for clarity. She was not quite certain if she was talking about her parents anymore.

“Dinnae be so ridiculous,” she muttered, striding through the silky grass, following a path to a small structure at the farthest end of the garden.

She took refuge from the biting winds, ducking into the little whitewashed hut. It smelled of woodsmoke and earth, rickety shelves lining one wall, adorned with cracked pots and various gardener’s tools. A fireplace off to one side drew her attention, and her hands made quick work of the kindling and the tinderbox, igniting a spark that soon turned into a blaze.

Sitting cross-legged in front of it, listening to the roaring winds outside, she held her palms up to the fire and let it melt the ice of her heartbreak.

The crumpled letter sat beside her, boring a hole into her skull, tarnishing every happy memory she had ever had of her father.

If I’m nae welcome, then rest assured ye’ll never have to see me again.

There was nothing else to do; she picked up the wounding weapon of ink and paper and hurled it into the fire as the tears came. The edges caught, the flames blackening the crisp cream page, gobbling it up until it was naught but ash.

Only when it was gone, destroyed, falling like gray snow into the hearth, did she think of something Camden had said. “It reeked of strangeness to me.”

“Aye, well, if ye’d been abandoned for a decade, it wouldnae,” she mumbled as if he were there with her.

She would not have minded that, she realized too late. He had not deserved the full brunt of her anger, when the man it was truly directed at was miles and miles away, probably relieved that he would not have to lift a finger to send her back to the convent.

I would let ye touch me, but only an embrace. Yer arms around me.

Anything to fend off the creeping loneliness that slithered in through the hut’s slats.

She closed her eyes and imagined the study, concentrating on the details—the radiating heat of the fire, the smooth wood beneath her backside, the thrilling tickle of the pure white feather, the rumble of Camden’s voice as he guided her toward her very own paradise.

Did I really do that?

Touching the backs of her hands to her cheeks to cool them, she tamped down the embarrassment and encouraged confidence to rise to the fore.

True, it might have been better to explore the unknown realm of pleasure without an audience, but she could not forget the ravenous glint in Camden’s eyes. As if her pleasure had somehow been his, too.

“Nay.” She snapped herself out of her daze. “He shouldnae have kept that letter from me. He shouldnae have involved me in his plan with Kenna without givin’ me all the details. I willnae forgive it so easily. I will go back to the convent tomorrow, I will take me vows, and I’ll never have to see any man but the abbot again for the rest of me days. Men just cause trouble.”

A sound outside the hut rendered her silent, eyes wild as her head whipped toward the noise. It was dark beyond the thin panes of glass, the moonlight hiding behind clouds.

She jumped up and grabbed the poker beside the fireplace. Gripping it in both hands, she approached the door and pushed it open with her shoulder, squinting into the gloom.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

The wind whistled back, carrying another sound—familiar, somehow. The sound of rocks falling.

Her eyes darted toward the sheer rock face behind the garden, just in time to see a muscular back and Cairn tartan disappear over a stony lip. Camden had followed her, perhaps to offer comfort or perhaps just to watch and make sure she did not disappear before the morning.

But wherever he had gone, Paisley could not follow to find out.

Come back… If this is to be me last night in the outside world, come back.

She waited for a moment, but he did not reappear. Relief and disappointment mingled in her stomach, compelling her back inside the warmth of the hut.

It’s for the best. The last thing I need is somethin’ else to regret.