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

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

What am I missin’? Come on, man, think!

If there had been an hourglass in Camden’s hand, the sand would almost be at an end. He was running out of time to make this right, and he was not the only one who realized it.

Lady Morris let out a devastated wail, shaking her head wildly as she reached for her daughter, trying to pull her back into her arms. “Nay, me sweet girl, ye cannae leave. I willnae let ye. I willnae have ye depart again now that I have ye back.”

“I cannae disobey, Maither,” Paisley murmured, hugging her mother back, clearly doing her best to be brave. “And I willnae stay in a place where I’m nae wanted, only to be dragged away again. If I leave of me own accord, I’ll keep me dignity.”

“Paisley, please,” her mother begged.

Paisley kissed her mother’s cheek and buried her face in the older woman’s shoulder, clearly savoring the moment for as long as she could. “I’m sorry, Maither. It’s nae what me heart desires, but… I have to go.” She raised her head and peered over at Camden. “Might ye take me home?”

“Aye, of course,” he replied, feeling uneasy.

“But this is yer home!” Lady Morris continued to plead. “Ye cannae leave. Bruce, what are ye doin’? Why would ye tell her to go? Ye must tell her to stay! I shall never forgive ye if ye dinnae.”

Bruce stood firm, the momentary crack in his pitiless mask gone. “Then ye’ll never forgive me.” He cast a hard look at his daughter. “The sooner ye’re away from this castle, the better. Aye, better that it’s tonight than in the mornin’.”

“Bruce, nay! Dinnae do this!” Lady Morris’s voice became a desperate whimper, her arms tightening around Paisley like a vise.

“Must I come and wrench her from ye?” the gruff Laird threatened.

His manner was too vicious, his demeanor too practiced—everything about the situation was wrong. It was as if Laird Morris had read on how to be a villain, rather than it being ingrained in him.

Hating what he was about to do, Camden swooped in, wedging his hands beneath Lady Morris’s to loosen her intense grip on Paisley. He pried the older woman’s fingers away as gently as he could while murmuring soothing apologies.

“She’ll write to ye,” he said, though he doubted it would be allowed for either woman. “This isnae a farewell like before. Ye ken the truth now, and ye willnae have to endure another decade of silence between ye.”

The brokenhearted mother fell to her knees, hitting the sheepskin rug with a faint thump. She hunched over and held her head in her hands, rocking slightly as she wept—another victim of Bruce Callum’s commands.

“Take me home, Camden,” Paisley whispered, holding onto Camden’s arm as if it were driftwood in a raging ocean, the only hope that kept her from drowning.

“Ye’re sure?”

She nodded, turning to wipe her tears on the sleeve of his léine.

“Ye walk on ahead,” he told her softly. “I have somethin’ I need to do first.”

She gripped his arm tighter for a few seconds, fearful hesitation etched on her flushed and tear-streaked face. He held her worried gaze with calm reassurance and gave her an encouraging smile, hooking his fingers beneath her chin. The gentle brush of his thumb against her jaw seemed to soothe her enough to agree.

“I’ll wait for ye beside the horses,” she said, at last. “I could use a moment or two alone to remove this knife from me back anyway.”

Head bowed, Paisley walked out of the room, pausing only to murmur a goodbye to her mother before vanishing into the hallway beyond.

Camden was proud of her for that, for not running or slamming the door behind her, as she would have had every right to.

“A word of wisdom for ye.” He sauntered toward Bruce, resting an intimidating hand on the man’s shoulder. “Dinnae leave this life with regrets. Whatever yer reason for doin’ this to her, I pray that ye can live with it. I pray that it’s worth it, and I’m just missin’ somethin’.”

Bruce would not look him in the eyes. “Ye should leave now.”

“I have nay relation to ye, I dinnae ken ye, so perhaps that’s why I can see ye more clearly than yer daughter or yer wife can,” Camden continued, his voice so low that only Laird Morris would hear. “Ye’re nae what ye’re pretendin’ to be.”

“If ye dinnae go, I’ll have ye removed,” Bruce hissed, but anger did not burn in his eyes as he raised them—rather, it was fear.

Camden released the man. “I hope ye ken what ye’re doin’.” He tutted quietly under his breath. “Me own faither once did somethin’ foolish in the name of protection, believin’ his reasonin’ was right. Shall I tell ye what happened to him?”

The older man fidgeted with the coarse tangle of his ginger and white beard. His wary silence was all the permission Camden needed.

Camden leaned in and hissed, “He got run through with a sword and sent back to the woman and son who loved him like he was no more than a deer shot in winter, thrown over a horse.”

“Is that a threat?” Bruce rasped.

Rolling his eyes, Camden pulled back. “If ye’ve any soap, I’d suggest washin’ out yer ears. It wasnae a threat but a warnin’—that what ye think is right might nae be, and there’s very little in this world that’s worth hurtin’ those ye love most. Think on that, eh?”

Delivering one last, resounding clap to Bruce’s arm, Camden strode out in search of his own purpose.

“There’s an inn up ahead,” Camden’s rumbling voice cut through the mire of Paisley’s thoughts.

Fatigue weighed heavy in her cold bones, her eyelids dragging down over her scratchy eyes, the sway of Lux’s muscular body not helping her to stay awake. She reckoned she had fallen asleep a couple of times already, jolted back to consciousness by a full-body sleep twitch.

“I dinnae mind carryin’ on,” she said, hiding a yawn.

“Ye might nae, but the horses will. They thought they were beddin’ down for the night at Castle Morris, with a nosebag of oats to chew on to their heart’s content. I’m surprised they agreed to let us ride at all, since we took that luxury from ‘em.”

He’s tryin’ to make me laugh.

She wished she could, but she was too numb, her heart sore with the realization that what had happened in her beloved library was the last memory she would have of her parents.

Perhaps it was because it was newer, perhaps it was because it had hurt so much, but that unpleasant encounter had swept away all the good memories she had collected and stored with care, as if her father had set the library of her mind alight, razing it to the ground.

“Very well,” she mumbled.

They had been riding for several hours, no racing, no rushing, no jests or japes. In fact, Camden had not said anything; he had not asked how she was feeling or if there was anything he could do, as Cecilia might have done. Instead, he seemed to be giving her the space to just… be.

“What was it ye did when ye asked me to leave ahead of ye?” she asked, deciding that she had had enough of silence.

Camden tapped the side of his nose. “It wouldnae be lairdly of me to say.”

“Did ye hurt him?”

“Is that what ye would’ve wanted me to do?”

She stared ahead, drawn to the glow that spilled from the crooked windows of the roadside inn. “I… dinnae ken. I dinnae think violence actually makes anyone feel better.”

“Says the lass who hoofed me in the chest and definitely felt better for it,” he teased lightly.

“That was different. Ye were a stranger back then. A rude one who deserved a swift kick for touchin’ me without permission.”

Camden tilted his head to the side, observing her. “Yer faither wouldnae have deserved a smack?”

“I didnae say that. I said it wouldnae have made me feel better.”

She squinted at the amber lights, her vision blurry with salty tears and exhaustion. Four days of traveling had caught up to her, and she faintly regretted not spending one final night in her childhood bedchamber. The bed had always been the most comfortable, especially compared to the thin mat that had replaced it at the convent.

“Ye’re doin’ it again,” she said presently.

“Doin’ what?”

“Distractin’ me from me question, avoidin’ the answer by makin’ me forget I ever asked anythin’,” she replied. “Ye’re too wily for yer own good.”

He chuckled. “I didnae do anythin’, sweetlin’. I gave him some partin’ words, that’s all.”

“Do ye swear it?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“Mercy, what a weirdness.” She rubbed her eyes, hoping it might revive them. “If ye had told me a few days ago that ye’d become the most trustworthy person I ken, I would’ve laughed so hard I’d have broken a rib. Still… thank ye for takin’ me there and thank ye for takin’ me away from there so quickly.”

His athletic figure swayed rhythmically with Nyx’s movements. “Ye dinnae wish ye’d never gone?”

“Nay. I… I think I needed it. I needed to… close the door on it once and for all, or else I’d have always wondered. Does that make any sense?” she answered, blinking slowly as the inn neared, the hazy lights suddenly too bright.

“It makes perfect sense.”

She blew out a relieved breath and expelled the worst of her heartache into the chilly night air. She liked to think she could hear it whistling toward the towering trees that flanked the road, rustling the branches to relay the message; the ancient forest taking her secrets and her pains for her, freeing her of the miserable burden.

Half an hour later, the pair were fed and watered, alone together in the only bedchamber the innkeeper could offer. Although to call it a bedchamber was rather generous, it being nothing more than the cramped, empty space between the rafters and the roof.

Creaky boards masqueraded as a floor, the thin gaps between them offering a stomach-turning view of the inn below. If those flimsy boards broke under Paisley or Camden’s weight, there would be a bone or two broken as well.

Pausing to peer down after she had splashed her face with icy water, Paisley noted that there were not many other customers seated at the rickety chairs and tables. The atmosphere was less raucous and more somber than she had expected, though she was not about to complain.

“I wouldnae have suspected ye to be a peeper.” Camden’s amused voice snapped her curious gaze away from the oblivious people below.

“I wasnae doin’ any such thing!”

He came to stand beside her. “Anyone worth peepin’ at?”

“Nae really.”

She looked again, pondering over their lives. Two women and a man sat around one table, stifling yawns and sharing one bowl of stew. A man and a boy sat close to the fire, more cheerful than the rest. The others—three solitary men—sat at their respective tables. One was young with red hair, the second was older and definitely drunk, and the third was… strange.

Tucked away in the far corner, with no food or drink, sitting completely rigid, he resembled a statue. A statue in a black cloak, the lip of the hood hiding everything but the lower half of a bearded face.

“Do ye think me faither would send someone after me?” Paisley spoke her fears aloud, tearing her gaze away from the odd man.

Camden raised an eyebrow. “To do what?”

“I dinnae ken. To… be rid of me, I suppose.”

“Nay, nae even a little bit.” Camden held out his hand. “Ye need rest, sweetlin’. A lack of sleep can make ye as drunk as chuggin’ down a whole bottle of whiskey, and although it’d be fascinatin’ to see ye intoxicated, I dinnae fancy chasin’ a madwoman around the room. Another day, maybe, when ye’ve had less of a tryin’ time.”

She mustered the ghost of a laugh and went behind the privacy screen to undress.

Emerging a short while later in her ankle-length shift, grateful to be out of her stays and the borrowed light-green dress from Castle Cairn, she came to a surprised halt beside the bed.

She had assumed that Camden would seize the opportunity to claim the side he wanted, stripping down to the waist, ready to torment her dreams just by lying there. Instead, he seemed to be creating a makeshift bed in front of the suspect fireplace, arranging a ratty cushion for his pillow and a sheepskin rug for his mattress.

“Camden?” she said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

He turned with a smile. “Aye, sweetlin’?”

“If I ask ye somethin’, will ye promise nae to tease me about it?”

He made a show of considering her request, tapping his plump lips with his forefinger. “Very well. Ask away.”

“Will ye hold me tonight?” she murmured, hoping the heavens would not damn her for it. “I dinnae want to be alone. I want to… feel safe again.”

Camden was up and walking over to her in a moment, but his expression bore no mischief or satisfaction. Strangely, he looked proud, as if her request was more of a welcome accolade.

He flopped down onto the bed and pretended to stretch before reaching out his arms. “Come to me, sweetlin’. These arms of mine are ready to hold ye all night if that’s yer desire. Even if they lose all feelin’, I willnae relinquish ye to loneliness.”

“Ye’re such a gooseberry,” she muttered shyly, climbing into the bed regardless.

She slid beneath the coverlets and draped her arm around his waist to pull herself closer to his side. Curled up in that warm, protected bubble of his solid muscle and willing embrace, she left her arm where it was, loosely anchoring herself to him.

His arm curved around her, while his other hand closed over her forearm, subtly adding to the feeling that she was secure in that sleepy embrace.

“I’ve got ye,” he whispered, his thumb gently brushing the dip of her waist. “Rest now, sweetlin’. Nothin’ will seem as bad in the mornin’.”

She closed her eyes and snuggled into him, murmuring a “thank ye” against his chest.

But as she drifted off, it was not his face that greeted her in the land of dreams. She had veered off the path and wandered into the land of nightmares instead, where a man in a hooded cloak awaited her with a leering grin on his face.