Chapter 7
"Ishould… what?!"
Maia's eyes widened at Ewan's command, her hands instinctively clutching the heavy wool tighter around her shoulders.
"The cloak. Take it off. Ye cannae sleep in it, it's too heavy and ye'll overheat." Ewan had already settled into the chair by the window, his long legs stretched out before him, arms crossed over his broad chest. He looked entirely too comfortable for someone who'd just spent hours in the saddle.
"But I'm only wearin' me shift!" The words came out higher-pitched than Maia intended.
"I'm aware. It's the same one I've been holdin'' against me body for the entire bloody ride here.
" Ewan closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair, his expression unreadable.
"But, if it makes ye feel better, I willnae look.
Just take it off and get under the blankets.
Food will be here soon, and after we eat, ye need to sleep.
We've got another long ride ahead of us this afternoon. "
Maia stared at him, trying to determine if he was serious. His eyes remained closed, his breathing even and steady. The picture of masculine indifference. Waiting.
She looked down at herself, at the cloak that covered her from neck to ankles, and felt heat creep up her cheeks.
She'd been so distracted during the ride, so overwhelmed by being outside, by the sights and sounds and smells of the world beyond her tower, that she'd almost forgotten her state of undress.
Almost.
But now, standing in this small room with a bed and a man and nowhere to hide, the reality of her situation crashed over her like a cold wave.
She was wearing nothing but her shift. The same thin cotton shift she'd gone to bed in last night, before her entire world had turned upside down.
It was modest enough, with long sleeves and a high neckline, the fabric thick enough that it wasn't transparent when dry.
But it was still underclothing. The kind of garment no man should see unless he is her husband.
And Ewan Byrne was definitely not her husband.
He was her captor. Her kidnapper. The man who'd stolen her away in the night and killed her only friend.
"Ye said ye wouldnae look," Maia said quietly, testing him.
"And I willnae."
"How do I ken ye'll keep yer word?"
One dark eye cracked open, fixing her with a look that was somehow both amused and exasperated. "Because I've given it, lass. And I daenae break me word." The eye closed again. "Now stop stallin' and get in the bed before I change me mind about sleepin' in this bloody uncomfortable chair."
Maia bit her lip, weighing her options. She could refuse, could demand he leave the room while she undressed, except she had nothing to change into.
Could insist on keeping the cloak, except that he was right; it was too heavy for sleeping, and the room was already warm from the afternoon sun streaming through the window.
Or she could trust him.
Trust the man who kidnapped ye. The man who set fire to yer uncle's castle. The man who killed Mollie.
But he'd also promised not to force himself on her. Had offered her the bed while he took the chair.
Had answered her endless questions with patience, well, mostly patience, during their long ride. Had wrapped his cloak around her to preserve her modesty when they'd arrived at the inn.
And something in the way he'd said "I daenae break me word" made her believe him. There had been conviction in those words, a certainty that felt like solid ground beneath her feet.
Slowly, carefully, Maia unwrapped the cloak from around her shoulders. The heavy wool slid away, pooling at her feet like a dark shadow, and suddenly she felt impossibly exposed.
The shift was made from thick cotton, sturdy enough that it wasn't truly transparent, but it was white. Startlingly white against her skin.
And if it had rained during their ride...
Maia's face flamed as she realized exactly how much Ewan might have been able to see through damp fabric.
Her curves, the ones her uncle never tired of criticizing, the ones he said made her unfit for marriage, and too plump to be desirable, would have been clearly visible. Every swell and dip of her body would be outlined for anyone who cared to look.
He carried ye for hours. He felt every inch of ye pressed against him. He already kens what ye look like.
The thought made her stomach flip in a way she didn't want to examine too closely.
A small, mortified sound escaped her throat before she could stop it.
"Problem?" Ewan's voice was lazy, unconcerned. His eyes remained firmly closed, his posture relaxed.
"Nay," Maia squeaked, then cleared her throat and tried again. "Nay problem."
She practically dove for the bed, her bare feet making soft thumping sounds on the wooden floor. The bed frame creaked as she scrambled onto it, less gracefully than she would have liked, and she yanked the thin blanket up to her chin with more force than necessary.
Her heart was racing, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She felt ridiculous, childish, like a girl instead of a woman of two-and-twenty.
"Ye can look now," she said, her voice muffled by the blanket she'd pulled up over her mouth. "I'm under the covers."
Ewan opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. His gaze swept over the bed, over her, and something flickered in those dark eyes. Something that made Maia's breath catch and her stomach do a strange little flip.
It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that familiar unreadable expression.
Then his mouth curved into a smirk that was entirely too knowing. "It's nothin' I havenae seen before, ye ken."
Maia's face, which had just started to cool, flamed hot again. "Ye, ye shouldnae have been lookin'!"
"Hard nae to look after ridin' with ye for hours.
Ye're nae exactly someone ye daenae notice, are ye?
" The smirk widened slightly, and there was something almost teasing in his tone.
Something that reminded her he wasn't just a dangerous warrior, but also a man.
"All those soft curves. A man would have to be dead nae to notice. "
The words snapped her to alertness like a bucket of cold water in midwinter. Nae someone ye daenae notice. Just another way of saying she was too fat, too large, too much.
Maia flinched, her arms automatically wrapping around her middle beneath the blanket. "I ken I'm fat," she murmured, turning onto her side so her back was to Ewan. "Ye daenae need ye to remind me."
She heard the chair creak behind her, and she thought she heard what might have been a sharp intake of breath.
"That's nae what I meant."
"It's fine," Maia interrupted, not wanting to hear whatever excuse or justification he was about to offer.
"I'm used to it. Me uncle reminds me every chance he gets.
Too plump. Too undesirable. Nae enough grace.
" She pulled the blanket higher, cocooning herself.
"I daenae need ye to tell me what I already ken. "
Silence filled the room, thick and uncomfortable.
Maia squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the burning sensation behind her eyelids. She would not cry. Not in front of him. Not about this. She'd cried enough tears over her uncle's cruel words; she wouldn't waste any more on a stranger's careless comment.
"Lass." Ewan's voice had lost its teasing edge, taking on a tone she couldn't quite identify.
"Can we just nae talk about this? Please?" Maia's voice came out smaller than she intended. "Ye said I needed rest. So let me rest."
Another stretch of silence. The chair creaked again as Ewan shifted his weight.
"Aye," he said finally, quietly. "Get some sleep."
Maia lay perfectly still, acutely aware of Ewan's presence across the room. She could feel his gaze on her back, or thought she could, anyway. Her skin prickled with awareness, every nerve ending suddenly hypersensitive.
She forced herself to notice that the bed was comfortable.
More comfortable than her narrow cot in the tower had been.
The mattress was thick and well-stuffed, filled with what felt like goose feathers rather than straw.
The blanket, though thin, was soft against her skin, woven from good wool that had been washed until it lost its scratchy texture.
This was a decent inn, she realized. Not some run-down establishment for travelers with more desperation than coin.
Ewan had chosen well, or perhaps he always stayed in places like this. Perhaps he was used to a certain level of comfort, being a Laird.
She tried to focus on these mundane observations, cataloging every detail of the room, the bed, and anything else to keep her mind from spinning in darker directions.
But it was impossible.
Her thoughts were a chaotic tangle she couldn't unknot. Every time she tried to grab hold of one thread, two more unraveled, leaving her more confused than before.
The unfairness of the entire situation made her want to scream. Why should she be lying here in a comfortable bed while Mollie and the other servants were dead? What made her life more valuable than theirs? Nothing. Nothing at all.
Ye should have died instead. Ye're useless anyway. At least Mollie had people who loved her.
Maia pressed her face into the pillow, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not where Ewan could hear her and see her weakness.
Ye're selfish. Just like Uncle Callen always said. Selfish and worthless and wrong.
Maia bit down hard on her lip, tasting copper. The pain was grounding, pulling her back from the edge of the spiral her thoughts wanted to drag her down.
She was happy to be out of that tower. That was the truth she couldn't escape, couldn't deny, no matter how much guilt it brought with it.
She'd spent hours on that horse, chattering away about every bird and flower and cloud formation they passed, as if she were on some grand adventure instead of being kidnapped.
She'd been happy for those moments. Happy to have experienced what she imagined was too late for her to ever know again. Despite everything. Despite Mollie. Despite the fear and uncertainty of her situation.
Behind her, she heard Ewan shift in his chair again. Heard the quiet creak of wood, the soft sound of fabric rustling. He was still awake, still watching over her, or watching her, she wasn't sure which.
And despite everything, despite the grief and guilt and shame, Maia couldn't help but feel just the tiniest bit safer knowing he was there.
Which only made her feel more terrible about everything else.