Chapter 10
The clatter of hooves echoed sharply across the courtyard not twenty minutes after they arrived from the village.
Ariella, halfway down the steps toward the hall, paused and turned. A lone rider approached at a brisk, angry pace. Mud splattered the horse’s legs and chest, and the rider’s cloak was darkened with rain and hard travel.
Maxwell drew his pistol and place himself between her and the rider until finally he heard one of his tower guard yell out.
McIntosh arrives!
The rider swung down before the horse even fully stopped. The hood fell back.
“Frederick!” Ariella called out, pushing herself past Maxwell.
She rushed down the steps, her heart leaping. Her brother caught her mid-run, arms closing around her with such force that it nearly knocked the air from her lungs.
“Thank God,” he muttered into her hair. “Ariella, I have been sick with worry.”
Her smile faltered. “Worry? Why?”
He pulled back, hands gripping her shoulders, scanning her face. “Because I received nay word from ye. None. Nae a single message since the wedding!”
Her stomach dipped. “It has only been days, Frederick. Laird McNeill and I have only just gotten into a rhythm.”
“Exactly,” he said sharply. “And not a single word. Nae from him. Nae from ye.” His gaze swept the courtyard, sharp and assessing, lingering on guards, walls, details he did not trust.
Ariella opened her mouth to reassure him, but Frederick’s eyes had already moved.
Maxwell stood in the entryway, cloak thrown over one shoulder, expression unreadable.
Frederick’s body straightened as if preparing for battle.
“Laird McNeill,” Frederick called out, his voice clipped.
Maxwell walked toward them with slow, deliberate steps, stopping a respectful distance away. “Laird McIntosh.”
The air between them chilled, and Ariella felt it like a pressure in her ribs.
Frederick’s jaw clenched. “I trust ye have a reason for keeping me sister from sending so much as a message.”
Ariella stiffened. “Frederick…”
Maxwell answered before she could. “The journey was long. The wedding unplanned. She has been settling in.”
“Settling in,” Frederick repeated, voice sharp with disbelief. “Without a single word to her kin.”
“It wasnae his doing,” Ariella said quickly. “I —”
Frederick cut her a look, protective and stubborn as always. “Ariella, stay out of this.”
She bristled. She was no longer a child clinging to her brother’s sleeve.
Maxwell’s gaze flicked between them, cool and unreadable. “Yer sister is free to speak. This is her home.”
Frederick’s brows snapped together. “Is that what ye call freedom? When she is carried off to a keep I’ve never visited, and sent nay word of her welfare? Our maither is miserably worried. I had to come meself.”
A slow, tense breath passed between the men.
“I would caution ye to adjust yer tone,” Maxwell said, his voice soft but heavy with warning.
Ariella stepped between them at once. “Enough of this! Both of ye.”
Frederick exhaled hard, the sound full of protective fury. “Ariella, I came because I feared the worst.”
“And ye found me well,” she said, firm. “I am standing. I am safe. And I have been treated with respect and honor.”
Frederick’s head jerked slightly, taken aback by her certainty. His gaze darted to Maxwell again, suspicious, assessing.
Maxwell’s eyes softened. Though it was not visibly, like in a way someone else might have noticed. But Ariella felt the shift like a faint warmth across her skin.
She laid a hand on her brother’s arm. “Truly, Frederick. I am well. Be at peace. Daenae let maither get ye all dizzy with her nonsensical worries.”
He swallowed, shoulders easing a fraction. “Forgive me. I… our maither can be quite persuasive when she desires something.”
“Braither, ye overstepped in yer quest for a truth ye had but to ask of,” she whispered.
Maxwell looked at her then, just a flicker. She felt it.
Frederick drew a breath, nodded stiffly, then turned to Maxwell with forced courtesy. “If I overstepped, Maxwell. I apologize.”
Maxwell dipped his head the faintest inch. “Accepted.”
Ariella released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. The atmosphere remained tense, but no longer braced for a fight.
“Come inside,” she said, taking Frederick’s hand. “Ye must be frozen through. And hungry.”
“Starving,” he admitted.
And so they walked toward the hall together, tension trailing behind them like smoke.
But for the first time, the worst of the storm had passed.
Supper thawed the last of the frost.
Frederick sat beside her at the long table, eating with the ravenous appetite of a man who had ridden hard for too long. As the first courses were cleared, his shoulders loosened, his temper cooled, and his familiar warmth began to resurface.
“So Skylar sends her love,” he said between bites. “Says she misses ye terribly. Is cross with ye about nae invitin’ her to the nuptials.”
Ariella brightened. “Skylar? Truly?”
“Aye. She wrote me a letter before I left. She wants ye to visit when ye can. Says Zander is a tyrant and refuses to let her leave the keep.”
Ariella laughed, warmth spilling into her chest. “I miss her.”
Maxwell sat across from them, silent, almost still, one hand wrapped around a goblet. But he watched them both.
It was not possessive, nor suspicious.
It was… attentive. Quiet. As though he could not help but look at her when she smiled.
Frederick continued, face animated. “Uncle Ian is thriving. Says the rains have blessed the barley. And ye will be pleased to know that Cousin Enna has finally taken an interest in a lad.”
Ariella gasped. “Enna? That shy little mouse?”
Frederick grinned. “Shy until she is nae.”
Their laughter mingled, echoing in the high beams of the hall. The servants smiled. Even the guards seemed to ease in posture.
Ariella felt something inside her unclench.
She had missed the warmth of her brother’s laughter, and the shared memories of her family. She realized that she hadn’t spoken of them since arriving and that pained her chest even more somehow. The ease of teasing Frederick, the comfort of knowing he loved her beyond reason.
But between her and Maxwell, a line of silence remained.
Whenever she looked at him, he looked elsewhere. Whenever she glanced away, she felt his gaze drift back.
The memory of the kiss in the modiste shop pulsed through her, a flutter beneath her ribs. She could still feel the imprint of his hand at her waist. Still taste the faint mint on his lips.
Stop thinking of it, she told herself.
Frederick nudged her arm. “And what of ye, El? How are ye truly finding it here?”
She hesitated.
She knew Frederick would hear falsehood in an instant. He had raised her in his own way, after their mother’s worry had grown tiresome. He knew her mood by the way she twisted her fingers or pressed her lips when thinking.
So she told him the truth… mostly.
“I am comfortable here,” she said. “The household is kind. Isla and Ewan make me laugh. Mairi is a marvel. Mrs. Macrae frightens me in the way only a woman with a wooden spoon can frighten.”
Frederick chuckled. “And yer husband?”
The word sent a warmth through her stomach and a twist through her chest.
She swallowed. “He has shown me respect.”
Frederick’s brows rose. “Respect.”
“Aye.”
Maxwell’s gaze flicked up then, unreadable but focused on her.
Frederick leaned back in his seat, studying her face. He saw the faint flush there, the softness in her eyes, the way she stilled when she sensed Maxwell’s attention.
Something flickered in Frederick’s expression.
“Good,” he said at last. “Ye deserve respect. And protection.”
Ariella felt Maxwell’s gaze sharpen slightly, but he said nothing.
Supper wound down slowly. After the final platters were cleared, Frederick stood, stretching his back.
“I will retire,” he said. “I rode since before dawn. And I must return home before maither sends out the guard.”
She rose and kissed his cheek. “Sleep well, braither.”
As Frederick crossed the hall, he paused near Maxwell, hesitated, then offered a stiff, respectful nod.
Maxwell returned it.
No words. But an understanding, however fragile, passed between the two men.
Ariella exhaled softly, her heart loosening like a knot untied.
Perhaps things would be well, after all.
Morning came early.
Ariella woke to the muted sounds of axes splitting wood and the low murmur of guards changing shift in the yard below.
She dressed quickly, eager and anxious for Frederick’s farewell.
She wanted him to leave reassured. Wanted him to see that she was safe.
Wanted him to believe that this strange, sudden marriage was not the disaster it could have been.
When she stepped into the courtyard, Frederick stood already saddled, reins in hand. The sky above was a winter-grey, though the air held the faint promise of sun.
She rushed forward. “Ye are leaving now?”
“I must,” he said, cupping her cheek. “I have clan matters waiting. And I can see ye are in capable hands.”
His gaze lifted over her shoulder.
Maxwell approached with measured steps, cloak gathered against the wind.
Frederick turned to him, extending a hand.
Maxwell took it, firm and steady.
Frederick spoke first. “I came prepared to drag me sister home if need be.”
Ariella groaned softly. “Frederick —”
“Hush,” he said with a faint grin, then looked back at Maxwell. “But she looks well. She looks… happy.”
Ariella’s breath caught.
Maxwell did not look at her. His eyes stayed on Frederick.
“She has a gift,” Maxwell said quietly, “for finding light in dark places.”
The words punched straight through her chest.
Something in his tone made her stomach flip. She stared at him, the world blurring for a moment.
Frederick released Maxwell’s hand with a nod. “Then I leave her in good care.”
Ariella stepped forward and hugged her brother tight. “Travel safe,” she whispered. “Send word when ye arrive home.”
“I will, and write to our maither, Ariella.”
He mounted his horse, gave her one last lingering look fraught with brotherly worry, and then rode toward the gates.
Ariella watched until the wind stole the last sight of him.
Silence settled as she stood in the courtyard, cloak tugged by the breeze.
Maxwell had not moved.
She felt his words echoing inside her, She has a gift for finding light in dark places.
Ariella swallowed, unsure what to do with the ache that bloomed in her chest. It was not sadness. Not joy. Something quieter, deeper, more dangerous.
Loneliness.
Not her own.
His.
She saw it now, the shadow behind his composure. The way he carried himself as if used to standing alone. The way he spoke carefully, touched sparingly, lived cautiously.
She wondered if anyone had ever looked at him and seen the loneliness beneath the steel.
“Maxwell,” she said softly.
He blinked, as if startled by the gentleness in her voice. “Lass.”
She stepped closer. “Thank ye.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For respecting Frederick. For speaking kindly of me.” She hesitated. “And for letting him see I am safe.”
He stared at her a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
Then he inclined his head, almost a bow. “Ye are safe.”
She felt warmth bloom through her core again, and cleared her throat, lowered her gaze, then lifted it again with a small, uncertain smile.
“Me laird,” she said quickly.
He hesitated.
Then slowly nodded.
Ariella smiled and disappeared back inside the keep.