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

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

“Yer maither is beside herself,” Marcus rasped in the gloom of the stables, the nearby horses snorting plumes of breath into the frigid dawn air.

Whether they were agreeing with Marcus or they were declaring their favor for their Laird, Camden did not know. He liked to think they were on his side.

“Me maither is always beside herself. In her older years, it appears to be her natural state,” Camden replied with a dry chuckle.

Marcus shot him a disapproving look. “Ye cannae ride off now, M’Laird. There’s too much upheaval here. Aye, ye and Lady Kenna dinnae want to marry, and when all’s said and done, ye’re the Laird—ye dinnae have to do anythin’ ye dinnae want to. But ye cannae just leave without appeasin’ Laird MacLean!”

“I’ll be gone for two weeks at most,” Camden said. “If ye and me maither cannae keep him sweet for a fortnight, then ye’re nae the man-at-arms and the mistress of hospitality that I thought ye were.”

Marcus swept a stressed hand through his hair. “Ye’ve taken leave of yer senses. It’s finally happened—ye’ve gone mad. What could there possibly be that’s more important than avoidin’ a conflict, that’ll take ye two weeks to accomplish?”

Footsteps on the flagstones heralded the arrival of that very person.

A weary complexion cast a ghost-pale pallor on Paisley’s face, crescents of purplish blue underneath her dull eyes.

He knew she had slept—he had seen her through the narrow windows of the hut on his way back from a two-hour swim in the corrie loch. A swim that had not cooled his ardor for the novice nun, his mind ablaze with the memory of her pleasuring herself, but it had offered him some clarity about what to do with her.

“I trust ye have a horse prepared for me?” Paisley asked, pulling her shoulders back and straightening her posture. “A map, at least.”

Camden leaned against the nearest stall door. “Ye dinnae need a map. I ken where to take ye.”

“ Ye are goin’ to escort me?” Paisley’s stoic mask cracked. “Nay, I dinnae think so. I would prefer someone else. Uh… this gentleman, perhaps?”

Camden glanced at Marcus, who stared at Paisley as if he had just realized, years too late, that what he had thought was a casual conversation with a pretty young maiden was actually an invitation to the said maiden’s bed. A puzzle solved.

It’s nae what ye think, Marcus, so close yer mouth before ye catch a gobful of flies.

“I cannae spare me man-at-arms,” Camden said instead. “He needs to be here to tend to the delicate matter of Laird MacLean, though I dinnae reckon there’ll be much bother.”

Paisley clenched her jaw. “Very well. In that case, I should like to leave now.” She hesitated, gaze flitting between Camden and Marcus. “I hope ye still have the saddlebag with me belongings in it? I cannae depart without it.”

“I have it,” Camden replied with a smile, just as eager to get on the road.

Clearing her throat, Paisley dipped into a polite curtsey. “I apologize for the part I’ve played in the trouble ye must tend to,” she said to Marcus. “And, if it’s nae too much trouble, could ye please thank Her Ladyship for being so… kind to me, when she didnae have to be. I have left the beautiful gowns in the armoire, as it… didnae feel right to take them with me.”

Even now, it appeared that Paisley was being careful with what she said. Maybe she did not realize she was doing it, but it would make Camden’s life easier, inviting fewer questions about where he was going and why.

“Aye, Miss Nunford.” Marcus bowed his head courteously. “There’s nay need for ye to apologize.”

He turned his beleaguered eyes on Camden, saying everything without saying anything at all. It’s ye who I blame for this. I told ye to keep me informed of yer plans, whatever they may be, and ye didnae.

It was not in Camden’s nature to leave others to clean up his mess. But he had faith that Laird MacLean would not cause a fuss. He had faith that the promise of an alliance, without marriage, would still be plenty to appease the older man. No one turned down the chance to have the support of the most feared army in the Highlands.

“Nevertheless, I would like to,” Paisley said with an awkward smile, before fixing Camden with a cold look. “Is the gray mare outside mine?”

Camden moved to offer her his arm. She refused it and turned on her heel, heading back out the way she came. He did not follow immediately, a half-smirk curving his lips as he heard her huff and puff. The horse he had chosen—Lux—was a sturdy mount, but almost as stubborn as Nyx when it came to strangers.

“That’s what is more important?” Marcus said, confusion etching lines on his forehead.

Camden nodded. “I have a promise to keep.”

“But… what do I tell yer maither?”

Clapping Marcus on the back, Camden leaned in and whispered, “That I’ve gone to ask Miss Nunford’s faither for her hand in marriage.”

“What?” Marcus gasped, but Camden was already striding out with a grin on his face.

Dinnae worry, I willnae be returnin’ with a wife.

He kept that part to himself, content to play a game or two with those who needed to be taught a friendly lesson about who decided his fate.

Goodness, I’ll miss this…

A gossamer veil of mist rolled across moorland of a thousand shades of green, the palette shifting with the coming sunset. Caught in the glow, the mist sparkled and revealed hidden rainbows—a beautiful display before early evening tipped into darkness.

Paisley savored every sight, every scent, every detail, every moment that she would not experience again—the soporific sway of the mare beneath her, the perfume of good leather and sweet hay, the kiss of the light wind on her face, the view of broad shoulders and a rippling back just ahead of her, and silky black locks that she wanted to run her hands through.

“Will we be there soon?” she asked.

It had been hours since either of them had spoken. When they had, the conversation never veered from safe topics. Surprising, in truth. She had expected Camden to behave as if nothing had happened the night before, so his uncharacteristic silence was unnerving.

“Nae for several days yet,” he replied, dropping back to draw parallel with her.

“Pardon?”

Is he testin’ the waters with his jokes?

“We willnae be there for several days,” he repeated, staring ahead, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

She blinked. “I dinnae understand the jest, Camden.”

She did not know when she had started to call him by his name, but referring to him as ‘M’Laird’ seemed wrong. Too much had passed between them.

“It’s nae a jest.” He turned to look at her. “Ye can rail and yell at me all ye like for indulgin’ in a bit more of me omissions, but we’re nae ridin’ to the convent.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re ridin’ to Castle Morris,” he replied firmly. “It’s me hope that we would meet me messenger, Stobart, on the way so we have an idea of the situation. But either way, I’m takin’ ye to yer faither and maither. I dinnae care what he wrote. I dinnae trust it.”

The gentle breeze could have knocked her over, she was so shocked. Without a map, she had put her faith in Camden, not thinking for a second that he might be guiding her away from the right path.

“Turn us around, now!” she yelped, bringing her mare, Lux, to a standstill.

Camden and Nyx stopped with her. “I willnae do that.” He stretched his back, infuriatingly blasé. “Ye deserve to ken what’s goin’ on, sweetlin’, and ye deserve to find out before ye shut yerself in a convent forever. Ye’ll regret it if ye dinnae. Then, if ye decide ye still want to be a nun, I’ll take ye there—and I swear I’ll do it without a single wrong turn to keep ye close to me a while longer.”

She gaped at him, part furious at his audacity, part chastened that he was able to see right through her. Last night, when she was in the hut with blankets around her and a fire to keep her warm, she had thought the same thing—that she was making a terrible mistake by being so hasty.

The cruel words in her father’s letter were still an icy blade to the heart, but the more she contemplated it, the less she could reconcile the letter with the father she had known. Yes, he had left her at the convent without a hug or a farewell, but that was one awful moment among millions of joyful ones.

“Unless ye can give me one good reason for turnin’ around,” Camden continued, “I willnae consent. And the letter doesnae count.”

Paisley floundered, searching her memory for another hint that her father had never loved her or wanted her in his castle.

“Before ye went to the convent, how did he treat ye?” Camden asked when she could not answer.

A rabbit popped up from the dense grass of a nearby field, catching Paisley’s eye as she replied, “In the thirteen years I spent by his side, he was nothin’ but attentive and adorin’ and sweet-natured.” She paused when the rabbit ducked down again. “There were two versions of him—the one he showed to the clan and the one he showed us—me and me maither.

“He’d bring us flowers whenever he went away, a bunch for each of us. He taught me how to ride and never lost his patience, though I wasnae a natural. He never lost his patience with me over anythin’, in truth. He’d tell stories by the fire each night and sing to me when I was younger, and he’d blow on me cup of bedtime tea until it was cool enough to drink. He was always doin’ things like that, small gestures to let us ken he loved us.”

A bittersweet smile graced her lips, her heart full but heavy with the weight of the hope that had not quite died. She longed to believe she was mistaken about her father, praying that Camden was right—that there was more to this unpleasantness than met the eye.

Camden leaned over in his saddle and took Paisley’s hand in his, raising it to his lips and placing a tender kiss on her knuckles. “And that is why I’m takin’ ye there—nay arguments. Like I told ye before, it reeks of somethin’ unsavory, and I intend to uncover the stink.”

“What a charmin’ tongue ye have,” she muttered, peering down at the spot he had kissed. She half expected it to bear a mark.

“Och, ye have nay idea.” He smirked. “And ye willnae find out either, since I’ve got me orders nae to touch ye.”

Despite herself, she took the bait. “Yer kissin’ me hand without permission isnae touchin’ me?”

“Ah, that was for reassurance, so it’s nae the same. What I cannae do is touch ye for the pure purpose of pleasure.”

“Is that so?” She fought against the smile that tried to tug at her lips. “I dinnae remember mentionin’ exceptions.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I took the liberty of addin’ some. After all, if we should cross paths with some ruffians, ye’d want me to swoop ye up into me arms and get ye to safety, would ye nae?”

“I suppose so.”

“Or if we should find ourselves in the woods at night, and a storm rolls in, ye’d nae argue with sharin’ the heat of our bodies to keep ourselves alive, would ye?”

She raised a dubious eyebrow. “I think ye’re stretchin’ yer made-up rules a little.”

“We’ve got days of ridin’ ahead of us, sweetlin’. There willnae always be a pleasant inn with just one bed.” Mischief glittered in his dark eyes, the Camden she had grown fond of coming back to her. “There’ll be at least one night where the moss will be our bed, the stars our blanket, the forest our shelter.”

Mischievous or not, there was no jesting in his tone. Vaguely, she remembered him saying that Castle Morris was a week’s ride away from Castle Cairn, and that was on swift mounts in good weather.

What if they really did have to spend several nights outside together? What if a storm did roll in? What if the first snow came while they were in the middle of nowhere? Even without the first snowfall, they would surely freeze when the temperature dropped with nightfall.

“If it is a matter of life or death, I agree to the exception,” she said with dread… and just a smattering of inexplicable excitement that caused goosebumps up her spine.

She was going home. Not in three weeks, but now. Meanwhile, she’d get to spend at least a few days with Camden. If her father really did not want to see her, it would not be an entirely wasted journey.

When I see Cecilia again, I’ll finally have some stories of me own to share.

She leveled what she hoped was a firm look at her handsome guide. “Tell me this is the last time ye’ll omit important details.”

“I promise.” He held up his hands. “And I’m sorry I didnae tell ye about the letter. Truly, I am. It wasnae right of me to decide whether ye should see it or nae. I apologize for takin’ the choice from ye because, believe me, I am nothin’ like one of yer nuns.”

She swallowed down a sneaky laugh, imagining how Mother Superior’s face would twist into a grimace if she heard even a smidgen of the things Camden said.

“I’m sorry too,” she said once she had composed herself. “I shouldnae have taken me anger out on ye like that. I shouldnae have called ye a dishonest man, or a man who doesnae keep his promises. This is ye keepin’ yer promise. Earlier than I expected, granted, but I cannae complain about that.”

He smiled at that, not with mischief or enticement, but a soft, genuine smile of delight.

“And I apologize for suggestin’ that ye had selfish intentions when ye kept the letter from me,” she added. “I am choosin’ to trust that ye really did want to wait for news and protect me ‘til then, but if it turns out that I’m wrong, I’ll touch ye one last time—with me knee between those handsome legs of yers.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. A moment later, he burst out laughing, the sound so rich and lively that she could not help smiling herself.

Savor this. Savor every morsel of this happiness.

She had forgiven Camden, but she had not yet forgiven her father. She could not forget that what lay ahead of her, what awaited her at Castle Morris, might very well dash her hopes and this fragile joy in one crushing blow.