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

Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

Give me a sign.

Paisley wandered the avenue of comforting greenery, pausing to touch the hardy, unique flowers that managed to bloom in such adversity.

She had tried to make her final moments, warm in bed beside Camden, last as long as possible, but sleep had evaded her. She had grown restless, and, not wanting to wake him, she had sought the wisdom and peace of the garden, hoping beyond hope that a snowdrop or a clematis might make her decision for her.

“Maybe ye’re nae answerin’ because it’s already obvious,” she murmured, watching a woodlouse clamber over a fallen ivy leaf.

She could have put on any number of dresses that had been purchased for her before coming down to the garden. She had chosen to find the saddlebag that held the uniform of her former self, and she had decided to put it back on.

Part of her had expected it not to fit anymore, considering so much had changed since she left the convent, but it was as comfortable and snug as ever.

“It’s better to be a nun,” she whispered determinedly, picking a purple aster from the colorful congregation of blooms. “It’s better to live in certainty. I found out what I wanted anyway, did I nae?”

She glanced up at the castle, but she could not find the window to her bedchamber. She could imagine Camden fast asleep, his bare chest rising and falling, inviting her touch, inviting her to come back to his side, to rest her head there.

Should I go now, before he wakes up?

She had toyed with the idea, but something about it felt cowardly. If she was going to make her decision to return to the convent and become a nun, then she had to do it boldly. She had to leave behind any doubt that she was not doing the right thing, and that meant facing Camden and saying farewell to him.

Just then, she heard shouts from high above, which drew her gaze to a small band of soldiers in Cairn colors climbing upward. They had bows and quivers of arrows slung over their shoulders, none of them noticing her as they made their ascent.

I hope they’re nae huntin’ for venison for a weddin’ feast.

Paisley smiled ruefully, realizing there was one other person she needed to say goodbye to. Two, actually. Olivia and Rowena, the two women who had shown her such kindness in her time at Castle Cairn, who might be sorry to see ‘Miss Nunford’ go.

I shall miss Miss Nunford. Goodness, I shall miss her dearly.

Without her, Paisley doubted she would have ever learned what it felt like to truly be alive.

Camden burst out into the crisp cold, his hot breath pluming, the sun not yet high enough in the sky to temper the frosty bite of the winds and the latent chill. Taking a moment to steady his breathing, wondering if it was just the twisting, endless descent that had his heart racing, he straightened up and strode toward the secret garden.

He found Paisley at the farthest end, perched on the steps that led into the sheltering hut. She had a purple flower in her hair, tucked behind her ear—it was a fluffy-looking thing, with tightly packed, thin petals and a vivid yellow center.

“If ye’re still plannin’ to leave,” he said as casually as he could, “then I might consider takin’ flowers from me garden theft.”

Paisley gently touched the bloom. “I cannae have a keepsake?”

“Ye could have the whole garden if ye stayed.” He fought to keep his voice even. Indifferent.

Inside, it was an entirely different story. If he was another sort of laird, perhaps like his tyrannical great-great-grandfather, he might have tied her up again until she vowed not to go back to that convent—a prison by any other name, where she would never be permitted to be the fiery, passionate woman he knew her to be.

Paisley peered up at him, her beautiful eyes soft with sadness. “Ye kenned that last night was a goodbye, Camden. We both got what we wanted.”

“Nay, sweetlin’. If I’d kenned it was a goodbye, I’d have made yer bliss last ‘til mornin’.”

It should not have been that difficult to sound cavalier. He had never struggled before, never cared if a lass snuck out in the middle of the night, never bothered to chase or ask them to stay. Those were ephemeral enjoyments that he did not think about again.

Now, all he could think about was her . Not just the sight of her heavenly figure stripped bare and glorious, not just the sighs and moans he had coaxed with his touch, but every moment they had spent together—the good and the bad, the nights curled up together, the evolution of their bond, from the first meeting in the woods to him standing there at that moment.

The slight mark on his chest where she had kicked him during their first encounter had long faded, but if she left now, there would be a greater bruise to bear. One that would not heal so quickly.

Paisley’s cheeks pinkened, a nervous smile appearing on her ripe lips, so recently kissed. “Ye were the best false betrothed I could’ve asked for, and I’m glad I got to experience the feelin’. All the feelings.” She cleared her throat, pulling back her shoulders. “But ye were just that. It was just that. Pretense.”

“That doesnae mean ye should lock yerself away,” he pointed out, secretly stung by that barbed word ‘pretense.’

He would not have called it that. In truth, he did not know what to call it.

“Me whole life is in that convent. Me real life,” she replied with growing confidence. “I realized it last night when I was in yer arms. I felt safe there, aye, but it was a false security. The convent—there’s nothin’ false about it. That is the real world to me. It doesnae pretend to be anythin’ it’s nae.”

Neither do I.

He had never hidden his true nature from her. From the very beginning, he had been himself. It was Paisley who had tried to hide her true self, and she would not know half of it if it were not for him.

Was it not she who had insisted he should not touch her, then touched him shortly after? Was it not she who had given in to her curiosity, setting aside the unnatural dogma of the convent?

Camden wanted to make a point of that, but Paisley got to her feet and closed the gap between them, rising on tiptoe to press a bittersweet kiss to his cheek. That light farewell snatched away any revealing remarks he could have made.

“Perhaps ye should consider marryin’ Kenna, after all,” Paisley said, pulling back. “She seemed nice, and although I dinnae wish to sound like yer council, the clan will be happier if ye’re wed. Legacy is important for a laird.”

Camden laughed humorlessly. “I think that ship already left the harbor, sweetlin’. And I’ve nay inclination to sail after it.”

But I’d hoist every sail to race after ye.

“I thought last night would be enough to make ye burn that blasted habit of yers, but I misjudged how stubborn ye can be.” His tight smile was equally devoid of amusement. “There’s nothin’ more I can do to change yer mind?”

Her smooth brow furrowed, her hand closing over the cross that hung from her scapular. Her eyes were not defiant anymore but perplexed, her lips clamped together as if she did not trust what might come out.

“That depends,” she said quietly.

“On what?” He put on what he knew to be one of his most disarming, flirtatious smiles, but it felt misplaced, like a jaunty tune at a funeral.

She took a shaky breath. “Can ye offer me a real life? A real… betrothal, and a real marriage after that? Can ye make this fantasy as real, as stable, as secure as what I have at the convent?”

Camden blinked, struck speechless for maybe the first time in his life. He had thought she would ask for assurances that she would have a place at Castle Cairn—employment, chambers, that sort of thing. He had thought she would ask if they could share some manner of life together, similar to what they had already shared.

He had not anticipated a request for something he could not give. Something she knew he could not give.

It’s nae for a lack of feelin’.

He urged his mouth to cooperate, to say so out loud, but nothing would come out. Instead, he saw a memory of his mother and father dancing in Cairn Hall, unaware that they were being watched by their son. A couple so ferociously in love that he used to think marriage was like that for everyone.

The memory shifted to another one of his mother refusing to get out of bed for months, wasting away, pining away, transforming into a ghost while still living and breathing. Broken by the loss of a love like no other, possessing no desire for anything other than joining her husband.

“Paisley, I…” Camden ran a hand through his hair.

If he was already feeling so much, his heart sore at the notion of her being just a day’s ride from his castle, he could not imagine what he would feel like if he lost her forever, like his mother lost his father. To marry a laird was to put oneself in full view of enemies, hidden and known.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe she would be safer in the convent.

The last thing he wanted to be was selfish, and with MacDunn roaming closer and closer to Cairn lands…

He did not like the thought. He liked it far less than the thought of Paisley retreating into the convent, never to be seen again, where he could at least know she was all right.

Paisley seemed to take his silence for a simpler answer. “I thought so.” She sighed, her breath clouding the frigid mountain air. “Dinnae feel bad. It’s what I expected, and… thank ye for makin’ this easier.”

She kissed his cheek once more, the warm touch of her lips feeling ever more like a final goodbye. “I’ll say farewell to yer maither, and then I’ll be on me way.”

She walked past him, her head bowed. Every instinct yelled at him to grab her by the hand and turn her around, to kiss her properly if it was the last chance they would get, or to make promises that the fear of losing her would not allow him to keep.

He swallowed those thoughts and watched her go.

Better to be safe than sorry…

It was a common enough phrase, but no one had ever told him that ‘safe’ could sometimes hurt as much as ‘sorry.’