Chapter 7
The corridor leading toward the kitchens was warm and fragrant with the scent of baking bread and herbs. Ariella carried a basket of linens she meant to return. Isla had insisted on doing it herself, but Ariella wanted an excuse to explore the keep with purpose.
She rounded the corner and stopped short.
A heavily pregnant woman struggled down the hall, balancing a load of firewood on one hip and two baskets on the other. Her face was red from the strain, her breath coming sharply.
Without thinking, Ariella hurried forward. “Let me take that, please.”
The woman startled and nearly dropped everything, wide dark eyes snapping up. She was round faced, rosy cheeked, with a loose braid falling toward her shoulder and a belly so beautifully full it looked as if she might birth right there on the rushes.
“I am managing fine,” the woman puffed.
“Ye are nae,” Ariella said, already ushing forward. She took the firewood from her. “Please ye should nae be lifting so much.”
The woman blinked at her, but then smiled warmly. “Ah. Ye must be the new Lady McNeill. Word said ye were pretty. They did not say ye were fierce.”
“I am nae fierce,” Ariella said, though she suspected Maxwell might disagree.
“Aye, me husband says the same about me,” the woman laughed. “I just never listen to him either. I am Mairi Hendry. Cook.”
Hendry. Ariella paused, thinking. “Isla and Ewan’s maither?”
“Aye. Those two devils,” Mairi said fondly. “Callum, me husband, is the blacksmith.”
Ariella stared at her, shocked. “Ye have two children already?”
“And one more here,” Mairi said, patting her belly proudly. “Though between ye and me, this one feels like two.”
“But ye look so young,” Ariella blurted.
Mairi’s face lit with delight. “Bless ye, me lady. I shall hold that compliment in me heart for months. The Hendry family have been in the service of the keep for generations, me lady. I have every intention to continue that tradition here,” Mairi said smiling proudly.
Ariella giggled and took the second basket. “Good. We’re lucky to have yer loyalty, Mairi — Where shall I set these?”
The woman nodded toward the kitchen door. “Down in the kitchens. Mind the threshold, it catches.”
Ariella carried the baskets in. The kitchen was enormous, warm, and alive with sound. The cook followed, setting the firewood by the hearth and straightening with a wince.
“How much longer until the bairn arrives?” Ariella asked over her shoulder.
“Arrives this spring, me lady,” the cook responded, nearly out of breath and Ariella instantly
A springtime bairn… the thought soothed something that had been on fire inside of her… something she hadn’t realized was on fire.
The kitchen was a warm, bustling den of heat and clatter. Copper pots gleamed along the walls, bread baked in the great oven, and several women stirred pots large enough to feed an army.
“Oh, this is lovely. I had nay idea we had this kind of support down here,” Ariella said, hands coming to rest on her hips.
Mairi huffed. “It is chaotic, is what it is. But it makes sure the clan is fed. And the clan keeps the laird alive, so one could say our work is rather important.”
Ariella felt something soothe inside her. This was familiar. Women working, moving around one another with ease. The sounds of chopping, the scent of herbs, the hum of conversation. She found a spare apron and tied it around her waist.
“Put me to work,” she said eagerly. “Please.”
Mairi looked her over as if appraising a new kitchen tool. “Can ye chop onions without crying yerself blind?”
“I can try.”
“Good enough. Fetch that knife.”
She worked happily for the next half hour, cutting vegetables, learning how to knead dough, and even took a turn at the hearth, stirring the stew.
She liked the feeling of being useful. Of stirring something instead of worrying something. Of helping instead of being helped.
“Ye have a knack for this,” Mairi said approvingly. “Most ladies poke at stew like they expect it to bite.”
“I enjoy work when I can do it,” Ariella said. “I was kept from most tasks at home.”
Mairi nodded, understanding in her eyes. “Then ye have come to the right place. We never have enough hands. While I’ll never expect it, ye are most welcome, anytime ye wish to spend time down here in the kitchen.”
The women shared a laugh, and then returned to their tasks.
As they worked together, Ariella fetched herbs, chopped carrots, folded napkins, and tied bundles of dried rosemary.
She had not felt so alive in days. Isla popped in twice to relay messages, and Ewan burst through once only to be swatted back out by Mairi for tracking mud.
Ariella laughed so hard she nearly dropped her spoon.
“Ye fit well here,” Mairi said, wiping flour from her cheek. “The keep has nae had a lady in many years. It shows.”
“The curtains…” Ariella let slip, caught herself, then sheepishly looked up in time to watch Mairi’s face completely change. One second she was timid, the very next, she was bursting at the seams with laughter and wiping her eyes.
“The curtains! Utility over aesthetic to be sure!”
A knock on the threshold of the kitchen startled both of them, and they faced the young boy standing there.
“Miss Mairi, the potatoes have just arrived.”
“Thank ye, laddie. And the count?”
“Eight barrels, as ye’ve requested.”
Ariella paused, glancing around the kitchen. Eight barrels of potatoes? The stores were full of dried meats, barrels of ale, baskets of apples that looked fresh from the last harvest.
“I am surprised we have room in the store room for eight barrels of potatoes! Ye’ll have to show me!” Ariella said lightly, returning to her stirring, but curiosity pulling on every syllable.
“Oh, aye. The store room is vast, indeed, but we’ll mostly prep this order.”
“Oh! Are ye preparing for a feast?” Ariella asked lightly. “It seems ye have more food than needed for the usual winter meals.”
Mairi brightened. “Aye. A feast. Tomorrow.”
Ariella’s stirring stopped abruptly.
“A feast tomorrow?”
“Aye,” Mairi said. “Tomorrow.”
Her heart fluttered. “Oh. Did the laird tell ye what we are to be celebrating?”
Mairi blinked. “Oh aye, and then he told me precisely what he wanted to be prepared. Ye ken the laird. I had to get the order out same day, and pray the vegetables could be sourced on short order.”
It would make sense if he were to throw a feast for his clan to celebrate our wedding, I guess.
Ariella murmured just as much, and Mairi’s brows lifted high. Then she coughed delicately into her fist. “Ah… well… nay. It is for the O’Douglas visit.”
The spoon slipped from Ariella’s hand and clattered against the pot.
“Me lady,” Mairi said, startled, “are ye unwell?”
Ariella barely heard her. Her stomach dropped into her boots. Hot anger surged up to replace the cold shock.
“Oh,” she said faintly. Then again, louder, “Oh.”
He did not tell me. He gave his word. Our rules were clear. He promised truth.
“Tomorrow,” she repeated. “Laird O’Douglas arrives… tomorrow.”
“Aye, I remember now. I had forgotten,” she lied to the cook. No need to show strife in the marriage between the laird and lady to the staff. She knew better than that.
Still. A pulse of hot anger shot through her. Not fear. Anger. Fiercer than anything the curtains had stirred.
He broke her one rule. The one he agreed to. Truth. No more keeping her in the dark like a child.
Ariella wiped her hands on a cloth, tore off the apron, and strode toward the stairs.
“Forgive me,” Ariella said stiffly. “I must away to speak with the laird at once about the visit.”
She did not walk.
She stormed.
She did not knock when she reached his chamber door.
She did not even think. She simply pushed it open, strode in, and froze as if turning to stone.
Maxwell was in a steaming bath.
Not just a bath.
A large, copper tub filled with water that glistened against his skin.
His very bare skin.
Ariella spun around so fast she almost tripped. Her face went up in flames. Her ears burned. Her thoughts scattered like frightened birds.
“Good God,” she whispered to herself. “Good God, good saints, good everything —”
Behind her, Maxwell’s voice came, maddeningly calm. “If ye meant to knock, ye missed the moment.”
She covered her face with both hands. “I did nae expect ye to be… bathing.”
“It is me chamber,” he said.
“Still,” she hissed.
Water sloshed. She heard him stand. Heard the quiet drip of water sliding from him.
Her imagination betrayed her. Scars. Strength. Broad shoulders. The deep cut of muscle along his waist. The sheer, rawness of him.
She squeezed her eyes shut harder.
“Ye may turn around now,” he said.
She did.
And immediately wished she had not.
He was decent, mostly. Trousers were on. Bare chest still bare. Wet hair pushed back. Water beaded along his collarbone and slid down the ridges of his chest, disappearing where she absolutely should not be looking.
Her voice came out strangled. “Ye broke our rule.”
His brows drew together. “What rule?”
“Me rule. Our agreement,” she snapped. “Ye promised nae to keep me from the truth. Ye promised to treat me as an equal. Yet I had to learn from Mairi in the kitchens that a feast is being prepared for O’Douglas.”
A darker shadow moved through his eyes, but his voice stayed maddeningly steady. “I intended to tell ye tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” she repeated sharply. “When he is expected? Ye expect me to believe that?”
His arms folded across his chest, muscles shifting. “I believe the O’Douglas will nae be arriving until later this week. His men will arrive before him, as will ours.
She stared at him. “Ye are lying. Ye were nae going to tell me tomorrow.”
He frowned. “I daenae lie.”
“Then ye avoided the truth,” she said. “Which is the same thing by a different name.”
His jaw flexed. “Ariella.”
“Do not Ariella me,” she cut in, fire sparking again. “Ye said ye wanted an equal. Someone to stand beside ye. But ye treat me like someone who ought to be informed only when it suits ye. That is nae equality. That is courtesy for a favored servant.”
His gaze cooled.
“Ye ought to trust yer husband.”
“Me husband,” she returned, “does nae trust me.”
Silence.
The air went thick.
His eyes moved over her slowly, assessing. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
“That’s nae how this works.”
“How does this work?”
“I act in the clan’s best interest as it’s laird, first. And then in yer best interest second, as yer husband.”
“Ye are nae, though!” Ariella shot back before she could stop herself.
His head tilted slightly. “Nae what?”
Her breath stilled. The words slipped out before she could bite them back. “Ye are nae me husband, in truth.”
His expression changed.
Not softened.
Darkened.
“Nae in truth,” he repeated, his voice low. “Because I have nae claimed ye?”
Heat shot through her in a violent rush. “That is nae what I meant.”
“Is it nae?” he asked softly, stepping closer. “Ye speak as if it is.”
She took a step back, and then another. “I did nae — ye are twisting me words!”
He stepped even closer. “I am nae twisting anythin’… yet.”
Ariella’s spine hit the wall. He stopped a breath away, enough heat from him to melt snow.
Maxwell was so close now that she had to tilt her head back. “If ye wanted to be claimed, Ariella, all ye needed to do was ask.”
Her breath crashed out of her.
“What?” she whispered.
“Just ask me, lass. I will nae deny ye,” he murmured, eyes falling to her mouth. “I will gladly show ye the difference between a husband in name and a husband in truth.”
The room tilted toward him.
Someone made a sound.
It might have been her.
He reached for her.
She did not move.
His mouth found hers.
Her gasp opened her to him, and the kiss deepened instantly. His hand slid to her waist, fingers curving around her as if he meant to pull her into him. His other hand cupped the back of her neck, steady and warm.
Her knees nearly gave way.
His touch burned through her gown, scorching and soft at once. His mouth was devastating. She clung to him, hands in his damp hair, letting herself drown in the taste of him.
He kissed her like a man long starved.
He kissed her until she forgot her anger.
Forgot everything but him.
His hand slid down her back, cupped her hip, then skimmed forward across her stomach, and she snapped back to herself.
She tore her mouth from his. “I— wait— I cannae— I am on me monthlies,” she blurted.
Silence.
Maxwell stared at her.
Then, slowly, inexorably, and his mouth curved into a smirk.
A smirk.
At her.
“Are ye now?” he asked.
“Yes?” she squeaked.
He stepped closer again. She stumbled back.
“Ariella, are ye lyin’ to me?” he asked, voice low and amused.
“I am nae.”
“Ye did nae smell of blood. And ye forgot to flinch when I touched ye low.”
Her mouth fell open. “Maxwell!”
He chuckled under his breath, but he braced a hand on the wall beside her head, not trapping her. Not exactly. “If ye wished to stop, ye could have said so plainly.”
“I do wish to stop,” she lied again, mortified.
“Very well,” he murmured. “Then I will wait.”
“Wait?” she repeated weakly. “Daenae look at me like that,” she whispered.
“How am I looking at ye?” he asked.
“Like ye ken things.”
“I do,” he said. “At least two things to be true.” He leaned in, lips brushing her temple. “One: I ken that ye want me to claim ye.”
Her breath stuttered.
“And Two: I ken,” he continued, voice dropping to a sinful murmur, “that ye are afraid of wanting me.”
“That is nae true,” she protested.
His hand slid along her jaw, gently turning her face toward him again. She resisted for only a heartbeat.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “It is. Both are.”
She swallowed hard. “It’s just… Ye said ye didnae want an heir.”
“Aye,” he agreed.
“Then why? Why are we even —”
He leaned down, his breath hot on her ear.
“There are ways,” he whispered, his teeth grazing her earlobe, “to claim a wife without risking an heir.”
Her entire body went hot enough to melt stone. She gasped, her entire body jolting. “Maxwell —”
“Ariella.”
He drew back slowly, eyes dark and fixed on her.
Ariella made a strangled noise, gathered her skirts, and fled.
She did not stop until she reached her own chamber, slammed the door, and pressed her burning face into her hands.
Her heart refused to slow.
Her breath refused to steady.
And her lips still tingled.
She had come to confront him about trust. Instead, he had showed her precisely how capable he was to dance around it.