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

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

“I cannae believe it!” Annie Callum ran toward her daughter with her arms open wide.

Tears were streaming down her face, which was still beautiful but so much older than Paisley remembered.

Paisley was vaguely aware of Camden letting go of her, but the absence of him was swiftly filled by the tight embrace of her mother. Annie held onto her with the ferocity of someone who had hoped and prayed for that moment, and as Paisley embraced her with equal urgency, she felt her shuddering sobs.

“Ye grew up,” Annie murmured miserably into Paisley’s shoulder. “Och, but I’d ken ye anywhere. I’d ken ye if ye come to this castle gray and old. I’d ken ye if ye are masked and cloaked. Me heart would ken ye without a single doubt. Me sweet girl. Me darlin’ girl. Me heart is full, angel of mine. So full.”

Bewilderment clouded Paisley’s mind, her heart forcing her to concentrate on the relief of being welcomed by at least one of her parents. She closed her eyes and held onto her mother more tightly, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and rosewater.

That scent had such power, with one whiff transporting her back to the Morris library on a winter night. She saw her younger self leaning against her mother, who had her arm around her while her father read from a book of myths and legends, picking up where they had left off the night before.

Why would Faither write such a letter to Camden if ye’re weepin’ with joy, Maither?

“I’ve missed ye,” Annie whispered. “Goodness, how I’ve missed ye. There hasnae been a day where I havenae thought of ye and wished ye were with me.”

“It has been the same for me,” Paisley admitted, finding her voice. It trembled.

Pulling back, lifting her cold hands to brush the wild hair from Paisley’s face, Annie smiled the most tragic smile. She cradled her daughter’s face for a moment, looking at her as if she was trying to put every freckle and feature to memory, to replace the old memory of the girl who had left this place eleven years ago.

“I always said ye’d be a beauty,” Annie said quietly. “Come, let’s go to the library and talk awhile. I want to hear about everythin’ I’ve missed.”

The older woman, with her graying cascade of summer blonde hair, took Paisley by the hand and led her toward the hallway on the left.

It was only then that Paisley noticed the man standing there, his eyes joyless. Just as it had been a decade prior, her father made no move to embrace her. He stared at her as if she were a wasp that had managed to sneak in through a window, disturbing his peace.

“I dinnae think this is wise,” her father said to her mother in a low growl.

Annie waved his remark away. “Ye follow me, Paisley. Whether yer faither wants to join us or nae, that’s his decision.”

Paisley allowed herself to be tugged down the hallway, away from the displeased changeling that used to be her father. Her thoughts, however, lingered on him, wondering what on earth she had done wrong to make him hate her so much.

Camden moved to follow Paisley down the gloomy hallway, but a rough hand caught him in the chest before he could take a step.

Any other man would have received an eye-watering punch to the nose for daring to stall him like that, but Camden maintained an air of stern calm as he fixed a sharp look on Laird Morris. He would not upset Paisley further by injuring her father, whether the man deserved it or not.

“I told ye to take her back where she belongs,” Laird Morris snarled. “I warned ye nae to bring her here.”

Camden plastered on a saccharine smile. “And I dinnae obey orders blindly, nor do I decide for Paisley. She read yer letter and still wanted to come.” He clapped Laird Morris hard on the shoulder, and the older man stumbled at the force of it. “I think we both hoped—she and I—that it wasnae quite what it seemed. I’d say we were half right, considerin’ yer wife’s reaction.”

“Me wife doesnae understand.” Laird Morris took a cautious step back. “She’s actin’ like a fool and so are ye for bringin’ me daughter here.”

Camden closed the distance between them, getting as close to Laird Morris’s face as he could. “Careful, Laird Morris. It’s me intention to be tolerant with ye, for yer daughter’s sake, but I dinnae appreciate insults.”

“She needs to leave,” Laird Morris urged in a harsh hiss, though he had the decency to lower his gaze.

“Why?”

A flinch tightened the muscles in Laird Morris’s weathered face. “Because I dinnae want her here. If I did, do ye nae think I would’ve fetched her from the convent meself? I told yer messenger that when he came back.”

“Aye, well, it wouldnae have mattered if I’d heard that message. As I said, it’s nae yer choice or mine to decide where Paisley should and shouldnae be,” Camden replied, still curious. “If ye think I’m goin’ to be yer messenger, tellin’ her that she’s nae wanted or welcome here, then ye’re mistaken. Ye can tell her yerself. But the truth is, I dinnae think ye will.”

He breezed past the older man and followed the sound of Paisley’s voice, aware of Laird Morris traipsing a distance behind him.

Could the man not just let Paisley have a moment to enjoy the reunion with her mother? If he was so appalled by it, why did he not go elsewhere?

Halting at the threshold of a warm, spacious room bursting with packed bookcases, Camden smiled at the sweet scene before him.

Paisley and her mother had ignored the armchairs by the fireplace entirely, both of them sitting on the sheepskin rug and holding their hands up to the heat of the hearth. They were talking in quiet voices, both wearing nervous smiles, both wiping tears from their eyes. The crevasse of eleven years was not remotely bridged, but both were seemingly determined to overcome it.

“Now, who is this fine gentleman who has brought ye back to me?” Lady Morris asked suddenly, like an invitation for Camden to step further into the library.

Paisley glanced up at him, gratitude shining in her enchanting eyes. “This is Laird Cairn.”

“Laird Cairn?” Lady Morris gasped, her own eyes brightening. “And is he… yer betrothed, perhaps? Is he the reason why ye left yer aunt’s keep to come back to me? I confess, I always wanted to visit ye or write to ye at least, but Bruce said I shouldnae. That ye wouldnae want to be reminded, that it was yer choice to live by the sea instead of remaining here in the miserable moorland.”

Paisley frowned at her mother, mirroring the expression on Camden’s face. But it was Bruce himself who hurried in to put an end to the confusion.

“She wasnae at me sister’s keep,” he said curtly, shooting Camden a nasty glare.

Lady Morris’s bewildered gaze flitted between the three others in the room, putting together a few more pieces of the puzzle for Camden—she had not known where her daughter had been all this time.

He felt he ought to pity her, but he could not quite do it—if it had been his own mother missing her child for years on end, she would not have rested on her laurels. She would not have allowed any man to tell her she could not visit or write. If any man had tried to insist, she would have departed without delay, turning Scotland upside down until she was reunited with her child.

“What do ye mean?” Lady Morris asked tremulously.

Bruce sniffed. “I took her to a convent. That’s where she belongs.”

“A convent?” Lady Morris half-shrieked. “Does this mean ye’re a nun, Paisley?”

“Nae yet,” Paisley replied stiffly. “I left the night before I was supposed to take me vows. I told meself that I couldnae pledge the rest of me life to that order until I’d seen ye one last time. I… thought ye kenned where I was? When I left, ye were weepin’ in the window. Before that, ye hugged me like ye kenned ye wouldnae ever see me again.”

Lady Morris shook her head, narrowing her teary eyes at her husband before reaching for her daughter’s hands. “I thought ye were goin’ to the far north, at yer own behest. I didnae think I’d see ye again for a long time, but to a maither, even a few months is a long time. That’s why I was weepin’. That’s why I held ye like that. I thought ye’d be free to return in a year or so, but… yer faither said ye were happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for ye.”

Ye wicked scoundrel. Ye wretched beast.

Camden clenched his hands into fists, letting the dig of his fingernails into his palms divert some of his anger. Bruce Callum had tricked his daughter and lied abhorrently to his wife for reasons that were still not clear.

How could someone harbor so much hatred for a child? Camden could not fathom it.

“Ye shouldnae have left that convent at all,” Bruce muttered, visibly uncomfortable beneath the glares of his daughter, his wife, and his daughter’s formidable escort. “Ye should have taken yer vows and stayed there, out of sight, out of the real world. Ye’ve disobeyed me, and I willnae stand for it.”

Paisley got to her feet, bringing her mother with her. “But why did ye take me there? What did I do that was so wrong that ye never wanted to see me again?”

“Of course, he wants to see ye again,” Lady Morris interjected. “This has to be some terrible misunderstandin’. Tell her it’s a misunderstandin’, Bruce. Tell her there’s a reasonable explanation.”

A crease of pain appeared between Paisley’s eyebrows. “Ye’re defendin’ him after what ye’ve just heard? He lied to ye, Maither. He lied to us both, in different ways. He made me believe I was loved, and he made ye believe I was happy in some faraway place!”

“Did ye never stop to question why I put ye in a convent?” Bruce said, his expression implacable. “Why would any faither who loves his daughter put her in a convent? I kenned when ye went in there that ye were never leavin’, and I’d have thought ye understood the same.”

Paisley made a strange sound that was both a cough and a gasp. “Why, though? Tell me why ye did it! Answer me question—what did I do that was so wrong that ye’d put me there and never want to see me again? What did I do to lose yer love so… suddenly?”

Camden’s heart broke for her, his arms desperate to encircle her as if they might protect her from the situation. He at least wanted to take her hand to let her know that he was there and ready to fight for her if she asked him to, but he stayed back. This was not his argument, and Paisley would not be satisfied until she had her answers. Knocking her father out would hinder that somewhat.

So, it came as a curious surprise when Bruce’s callous mask cracked. It started with the furrow between his eyebrows. His lips thinned next, as if he did not trust the words that might come out.

Has it been a misunderstandin’? Is there somethin’ ye’re nae sayin’?

Despite all of the unkind things that Bruce had said, the situation still rankled. It was akin to eating a favorite dish and noticing that an ingredient was missing, unable to figure out what it was.

“Nothin’, Paisley,” Bruce said less coldly, his shoulders sagging. “Ye did nothin’ wrong. But I meant it when I said ye werenae welcome here. If ye dinnae return to the convent in the mornin’, I’ll take ye there meself, same as I did eleven years, two months, and nearly three weeks ago.”

He has been countin’. He didnae forget her for a moment.

The revelation bemused Camden all the more, almost like Bruce was hiding a jewel of affection beneath the crushing pile of hurtful rocks. An admission, too well hidden to decipher.

“Nay need to wait until mornin’,” Paisley said sadly, her voice catching. “I’ll take meself back now. I got the answers I came here for.”

But did ye?

Camden had a feeling he would be asking that for a long time to come.