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

Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

Camden woke up to someone shaking him roughly by the shoulders. His hand reached discreetly for his sword as he stirred from an already restless slumber, annoyed to be so rudely awoken.

“Laird Cairn?” Annie’s sweet, nervous voice stayed his hand.

He cracked open one eye, the sky still dark outside. “What are ye doin’ down here? Ye’re supposed to be in yer chamber.”

Annie did not need to answer. Camden saw the reason before he had opened his other eye—a gloomy-faced figure with graying red hair was standing a half step behind her. Not at all the person Camden wanted to see, with his mood and temper already balancing on a knife’s edge.

“If ye’ve come to haul her back to the convent, ye’re too late,” Camden growled, heaving himself up into a sitting position.

His spine felt every minute of the brief hours he had spent trying to sleep on the narrow bench off to the side of the inn’s main area. There had only been one room available, and being the gentlemanly laird that he was, he had insisted on Annie having it. The aches and knots in his back were doing nothing to improve his mood.

“She took herself back there because of ye,” Camden continued, shooting the man who did not deserve the title of Paisley’s father his coldest glare.

And because of me.

He flinched at the truth, hating it.

“Honestly, I hoped I’d never have to see yer unworthy face again, but now that ye’ve seen fit to intrude on me sleep, let me ask ye this—why did ye do it?” Camden’s voice thrummed with anger. “How could ye do that to someone as… as special as her? Lockin’ her up, hidin’ her away. A rare bird like her, never permitted to fly. Why would ye ever send someone like that from yer side?”

He had been asking himself the same question.

“Ye think I wanted to?” Bruce Callum hissed, his body rigid.

“When ye tell someone that ye never want to see them again, that they’re nae welcome in their own home, that they cannae stay and ye dinnae want them to stay—aye, it reeks of wantin’ to be rid of ‘em,” Camden countered, closing his hand over the hilt of his broadsword. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Bruce’s eyes twitched as he lowered his chin to his chest. “Ye’re wrong.”

“Ye might want to say that louder—I didnae hear ye.”

Bruce coughed out his cowardice. “I ken how it looks, but ye’re mistaken.”

“Ye should listen to him,” Annie said softly, her hands clasped together in a plea. “The innkeeper told him where I was, and when he woke me, I demanded to ken the same thing as ye. I prayed there was a reason for what he did. There was, Laird Cairn. Mercy, there was.”

Camden stood up, leaning on his broadsword. “I’ll listen for yer wife’s sake, but I should warn ye, I dinnae have much patience left.” He gestured for Bruce to sit. “Begin at yer leisure.”

The older Laird perched awkwardly on a rickety chair, his hands pressed together between his clamped thighs, taking Camden’s words too literally. For several minutes, he did not say anything, and Camden would be damned if he was going to break the silence first.

“Have ye heard of Laird MacNally?” Bruce said, at last.

Camden frowned. “His name keeps poppin’ up, aye, but I dinnae ken much of him.”

“Clan Morris and Clan MacNally have been on the brink of war for generations,” Bruce continued. “With Laird MacNally’s faither, it had been more of an annoyance—he’d attack a village, we’d attack one of his villages in return, then it’d be quiet for a year or so. When the old Laird died and his son took over, I thought we could end the feud once and for all, so our border villages wouldnae be forever waitin’ for the next attack, wonderin’ if it’d be them this time.”

Now that Bruce mentioned it, Camden vaguely remembered learning something about the feud when he was a boy. It had begun with a bloody battle a long time ago, but that was where his knowledge ended, the clans too far north for them to be of any grave concern to him.

“I made the mistake of invitin’ him to a gatherin’, to seek peace,” Bruce said, shaking his head slowly. “I lost sight of him for a moment. It couldnae have been longer than that. Then, I heard Paisley scream.”

Icy fingertips tickled the ridges of Camden’s spine, his posture straightening at the mention of her name. Dread pooled in his stomach, his heart seeming to stop as he listened intently.

“Laird MacNally had cornered her,” Bruce continued haltingly. “To this day, I dinnae ken what happened, but she was shouting for help, and Annie’s guards were swarmin’ in. They dragged Laird MacNally away, and I was able to put the pieces together later, when he made a foul request.”

Camden’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. “What request?”

“He wanted to marry her,” Bruce replied with a crushing sigh. “He said he’d keep tormentin’ us, keep ravagin’ our lands, keep us from flourishin’, unless I gave her to him. She was three-and-ten—I couldnae do that to her.”

Camden might not have met Laird MacNally, but he immediately wanted him dead. If it was a choice between Laird MacNally and Laird MacDunn, he would have taken the option to run the former through with his blade without hesitation.

“I didnae ken what to do without causin’ a devastatin’ war. If I refused, there would’ve been swift and merciless retribution. If I accepted, I would’ve given away me only child, me beloved daughter, to a monster.”

Bruce’s shoulders shook faintly as if he was reliving the torment of that decision.

“An idea came to me, but it had to be done quickly. So, I sent her away, to a convent where she’d be safe and hidden. I told nay one, reducin’ the chance of Laird MacNally ever findin’ her. When he asked again about marryin’ her, I told him that he would never get his filthy hands on her, that I had sent her to England.

“He’s a cruel and uncanny man, Laird Cairn. He went back to his lands, and for a while, there was an uneasy peace. I didnae ken that he was just bidin’ his time. He’d come in the night with men and take just one of me people. He’d keep ‘em for weeks and then send ‘em back, none of them as they were before. Tortured and tormented. For information, I suppose, which nay one ever had but me.”

Breathless with rage and disgust, Camden sank back down onto the bench, twirling his broadsword as he absorbed what he had just heard.

“How have I never heard of this?” he asked bluntly.

Bruce shrugged his burdened shoulders. “I couldnae say anythin’. I had to bear the decision I made.” He looked up, his eyes burning. “But dinnae ever think that I havenae missed Paisley every day of these past eleven years. There was nay other way, but that doesnae mean I dinnae care. Bein’ apart from her was the cost of keepin’ her safe, and I’d pay it again and again if I had to. Aye, I would have gone to me grave without ever seein’ her again and been glad of it, rather than have her fall into Laird MacNally’s hands.”

Twisting the broadsword back and forth, Camden observed the older man closely, watching for any sign of deceit. But Laird Morris looked utterly broken, dark circles bruising the underside of his eyes, his complexion ghoulish, his lips bitten into peeling cuts.

“Then why are ye here now?” Camden asked, trying to make sense of it.

Bruce sank back in his chair. “When I first set out, it was to ensure that nay harm befell me stubborn, beautiful wife. As I rode south, followin’ her trail, me purpose changed somewhat—I realized that I wanted to tell Paisley what I’ve just told ye. I want her to ken that she’s loved. I want her to ken that I’m sorry, and that I care, and that I had to make an impossible choice. I want to undo as much of the hurt that I caused with me letter as I can, so I dinnae go to me grave with regrets.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, cursing the day he received that letter, Camden expelled a slow, measured breath. He could not fathom why Bruce had not explained all of this at Castle Morris, where the course of things could have been altered. He also hated that Bruce and Annie had shown up now, when Paisley had already closed the door on the outside world.

If they had been just a little bit quicker, Paisley might still be with him. She might have chosen to be where he could reach her.

But it has to be better late than never, does it nae? There might still be time.

His eyes opened, and he stood up sharply. “We’re leavin’.” He balanced his broadsword across his shoulders. “I took her to that convent, but if there’s a chance that ye can make her reconsider, then I’ll seize it.”

“But that’s nae why I’m here,” Bruce said, frowning. “I want to tell her the truth, aye, but it doesnae change the problem. She’s safer there than she’d be anywhere else.”

Camden stepped forward and loomed over the older Laird. “Aye, well, that’s her decision, nae yers, and I willnae let her make a permanent choice without all the information.” He clenched his jaw. “Either ye tell her or I will. That is yer only choice today.”

“She’s old enough now,” Annie piped up meekly. “It should be her decision. Laird Cairn, I havenae come all this way to nae see me sweet girl again. I’ll come with ye. I’ll tell her everythin’.”

“Thank ye, Lady Morris. I’m glad one of ye has some sense.” Camden put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the stables, not wanting to waste another moment on a fruitless debate.

If I get there and she’s a nun already, and I see regret in her eyes when she hears the truth, I’ll make ye wish ye’d stayed in yer dismal wee castle, Laird Morris.

“Are ye so eager to die?” That awful voice chased Paisley through the labyrinth of corridors and passageways, taunting her at every breathless turn.

Smoke thickened in the halls, stinging her nose and eyes until she was running blind, uncertain which way would lead her to safety and which way would lead her into Laird MacNally’s jaws. She paused only briefly, listening for the sound of him approaching, but the dense smoke and solid stone walls deadened everything.

“The fire is growin’, me wee blossom,” he called out. “All ye have to do is come to me, and I will spare ye. I dinnae want ye dead, lass. I want to make a wife of ye. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Do ye nae remember?”

She was three-and-ten again, terrified out of her wits in one of the annex rooms of Castle Morris.

She had gone there to escape the noise of the party her mother and father were hosting, hoping to find a quiet spot to read her book until someone noticed she was missing and dragged her out again. Vaguely, she remembered hearing the door click and looking up to find Laird MacNally walking toward her.

“There ye are, me wee blossom,” he had crooned, just as he had done earlier. “I wondered where ye’d scurried off to.”

She had gotten to her feet, fumbling to make excuses. At that moment, she had been more concerned about hiding her book than what a grown man was doing—seeking out the company of a child .

Her heart thundered as if she was back there, in that annex room, trying to skirt past him to get to the exit. He had grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her into the corner, looming over her. She had dropped her book, staring up at him wild-eyed.

“Dinnae run from me!” Laird MacNally taunted now, and the same words from a lifetime ago echoed in Paisley’s mind.

She remembered him stroking her cheek, his paw of a hand still clenched around her wrist. The fear had been ferocious and instant, panic driving a scream out of her throat… that he had quickly tried to smother. She had fought him, gulping in just enough air to keep shouting for help, but she knew that she did not have long before his giant hand stopped her breath altogether.

“If ye willnae wed me, ye’ll wed nay one,” he had snarled and snapped, like the beast he was.

Then, guards had flooded in. They had seized Laird MacNally and, as far as she knew, had thrown him out. Shortly afterward, she was taken away to the convent, her memory of that night fading year after year. As it did, she realized it had altered the events to be more palatable to her young mind, putting her mother in her place, hiding the fact that it was her who had been petrified, screaming for help.

Is that why it took me eleven years to decide to escape the convent? Deep down, did I ken that there were things to fear in the outside world?

The scuff of a foot on the stone floor made her freeze. The sound could not have been more than a few steps away.

Shaking violently, she managed to gain enough control of herself to pull the knife out of its sheath, wondering if the heavens had put the blade into her hands for this exact purpose. Divine intervention, channeled through Camden and the gift he had insisted she accept.

“Now, now, there’s nay need for that,” Laird MacNally said in a mocking tone as she slowly turned to face him. “Finally, I’ve found ye. Yer wee knife willnae do anythin’ to prevent me from havin’ ye now. Och, what a chase ye’ve been.”

Paisley held up the knife, gripping the handle with two trembling hands. “Stay away from me.”

“I cannae, lass.” He smirked, moving closer. “If ye hadnae come back to Castle Morris, I might never have found ye. But here ye are, at last, hidden away in this unworthy place, far away from me. Nay more. And I promise I’ll make yer maither and faither regret stealin’ ye away from me.”

“Nay, ye’ll regret comin’ here and tryin’ to take what’s mine,” a deep voice growled behind him as the shadow of a broadsword swung out of the smoke.