“I’ll have another caretaker with her by the morning.” My heart sinks. I like being with her.
We walk in silence up the steep incline, and when we enter the house, he still doesn’t put me down until I tap his shoulder and point to the floor.
“Don’t want me to carry you anymore?” he asks, and I swear his eyes dance a little. Is he amused by me? I shrug, my cheeks flushing pink. No, I want to tell him. I very much want to be carried by you.
I know I shouldn’t let my imagination play these games on me. The more deeply I sink into daydreams and make-believe, the harder it is for me to face reality. I know this from years of experience, and yet it’s still my go-to to relieve stress and help me cope.
“Ah, Cairstina, there y’are.” Islan stands in the hall, and she’s got Bailey on a leash. “Someone’s been looking all over for you.”
Bailey strains at the leash, yearning to see me. Islan looks to Leith, and he nods. She lets him go, and Bailey runs to me. I drop to my knees and gather him up in my arms, burying my face in his neck while he laps my cheeks.
“Someone loves you,” she says with a smile. “Leith, we put the things you asked us to buy upstairs.”
Honest to God, maybe Nan is right. Maybe he should—Oh, God, no. I don’t look at him, though, but bury my heated face in Bailey’s neck again, as if he’d read my thoughts if he could see me.
“The guest room,” he says. “Where Cairstina’s staying?”
She snorts. “You mean that cell of a room where you damn near gave her hives? Hell no. The nicer one on the second floor.”
“Islan...” he warns. I know that look of his, how he gets all broody and angry. I get to my feet and reach for his hand, tugging him toward the steps, then remember my mobile. I text him.
It’s fine, I don’t want to stay in your room anyway and would much prefer the secluded one, please. I’m happy to take my own things up.
I give him what I hope is a haughty look.
He reads the text and growls. “I’ll bring them myself.”
You will not.
“I will, too, and don’t you dare —”
Fine.
He scowls. “Fine!”
Islan blinks, looking to the mobile in my hand and back to Leith.
“Oh my gosh,” a voice says, as Paisley rounds the corner and enters the hall. She’s staring at a book in her hands, so intently she doesn’t see me and Leith at first. “Islan, you must read this!”
“What is it?” Leith asks. Paisley nearly drops the book, as she jumps, her wide eyes looking from me to him. She actually puts it behind her back, like a little child hiding a stolen cookie, as if that will stop him from seeing it.
“Oh, nothing,” she says, her cheeks coloring. She turns to me. Islan snorts, and Leith is not amused.
He crosses his arms on his chest, not letting her change the subject, though I’m relieved to know Bailey’s doing well.
“What are you hiding, Paisley?”
She brushes him off. “It’s a romance novel, Leith. Nothing you’d be interested in.”
“Then why are you so eager to hide it from me?”
Her lips twitch, and then a giggle bursts forth as if she can’t contain it anymore.
“Welll…” She bites her lip and her eyes quickly flit to Islan.
Islan rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath. “Oh, for the love of God, it’s because the cover model looks like you, brother, but don’t fucking flatter yourself.” She yanks the book out from behind Paisley’s back and shows him.
Oh my. It does look like him. It’s almost uncanny. I look from the book back to Leith, then back again. I think I’m the one that needs to read that one.
Leith rolls his eyes heavenward. “I take back what I say about you two getting jobs,” he mutters. “Perhaps it would be a good thing after all. Cairstina, let’s go.”
“Oh, Cairstina, I’ll drop this off when I’m done later!”
“Have at it,” he mutters.
I can hear Islan talking to Paisley as we go upstairs. “Should’ve seen the two of them text-fighting.”
Is that what we were doing?
We get to the landing, and instead of going up a second flight of stairs, he points down the hall. “This way.”
He opens the door to a room, and I blink in surprise. It’s several rooms, a suite of sorts, and when we enter the room, the first thing I see is piles and piles of boxes and bags.
Are those… for me?
I don’t remember the last time I’ve had something new to wear, or to own. There’s no way everything in this pile is for me. Just one person? The Scots are known for being frugal, and my family is no exception. We use our possessions until they practically fall apart, and nothing ever goes to waste. My mother prides herself on making food last, and not throwing a thing out until she’s used every drop or scrap. How could one person own all of these things? And why would he give them to me if I’m to be a prisoner?