Chapter 8
Maia huffed, the sound sharp and irritated in the quiet room. She couldn't sleep, couldn't stop her mind from spinning in endless circles of grief and guilt and inappropriate relief.
"I can hear ye thinkin' from here, lass." Ewan's voice was dry, almost amused. "Whatever ye're worryin' about, let it go."
Something inside Maia snapped.
She sat up abruptly, the blanket falling to her waist as she turned to face him. All the emotions she'd been trying to contain, from the grief, the guilt, the confusion, to the anger, all suddenly converged into a single burning point of fury.
"Let it go?" Her voice came out sharper than she'd intended. "Let it go?"
Ewan's eyebrows rose slightly at her tone, but he said nothing. Just watched her with those dark, unreadable eyes, waiting.
"How can ye just sit there and tell me to let it go?
" Maia's hands fisted in the blanket, her entire body trembling.
"Ye killed innocent people! Ye set fire to the servants' quarters, people who had nothin' to do with whatever me uncle did to ye, and ye expect me to just forget about it? To just let it go?"
"Lass."
"Nay!" The word burst out of her like water breaking through a dam.
"Ye daenae get to 'lass' me right now! Those were people.
Real people with families and lives and—" Her voice cracked.
"And Mollie was supposed to get married next spring, did ye ken that?
She told me about it just last week. His name was Duncan, and he had a farm near the village, and she was so happy when she talked about him. "
Ewan remained perfectly still in his chair, his expression carefully neutral. But something flickered in his eyes, something that might have been guilt or regret or simply annoyance at being challenged.
Maia barreled on, unable to stop now that she'd started. "She had a whole life ahead of her. A weddin' to plan, a home to build, maybe children someday. And ye took all of that away from her. Ye burned her alive because of somethin' me uncle did. How is that right? How is that justice?"
"It's nae." Ewan's voice was quiet, but it cut through her tirade like a knife. "Are ye finished?"
"Nay, I'm nae finished!" Maia's chest heaved with emotion she couldn't contain.
"Ye had nay right to punish them for whatever me uncle did.
They were innocent. They dinnae choose to serve him, most of them have been at that castle their whole lives, they dinnae have anywhere else to go. And ye just, ye just burnt them alive."
She couldn't finish. The words tangled in her throat, caught behind tears she refused to let fall.
"They dinnae deserve it," Ewan said, his voice still maddeningly calm. "Ye're right about that."
Maia blinked, momentarily thrown by his agreement. "Then why did ye do it?"
"Because war doesnae care about who deserves what, lass.
" He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze never leaving her face.
"Yer uncle attacked me lands. Killed three of me men, good men, with families of their own.
One of them was Donald. He had a wife and four wee bairns.
Connor was supposed to wed at Beltane. And young Ross was only seventeen, barely more than a lad.
Me man-at-arms had just trained him months ago. "
His voice remained even, controlled, but there was steel beneath it now.
"Yer uncle's men burned two cottages. One belonged to a widow with three children who lost everythin' they owned.
They're livin' in the castle now because they have nowhere else to go.
The other cottage belonged to an elderly couple.
The wife died from the smoke before anyone could reach her. "
Maia's anger faltered slightly, uncertainty creeping in.
"Yer uncle stole nearly fifty head of cattle," Ewan continued relentlessly. "Cattle that were meant to feed me clan through the winter. He did it while I was away dealin' with a border dispute, thinkin' I wouldnae retaliate. Thinkin' he could take what he wanted and suffer nae consequences."
"But the servants – "
"Had the misfortune of servin' a bastard who values power more than the people under his protection.
" Ewan's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking beneath his beard.
"I'm nae sayin' it's right. I'm nae sayin' it's fair.
But that's the world we live in, lass. And ye can spend yer energy being angry at me for it, or ye can direct that anger at the man who started this whole bloody mess in the first place. "
Maia stared at him, her chest still heaving with emotion. He was right, she knew he was right, on some level. Her uncle had started this. Her uncle did value power over people. She'd lived under his cruelty for six years; she knew exactly what kind of man he was.
But that didn't make it easier to accept. Didn't make Mollie any less dead.
"She was me friend," Maia whispered, the anger draining out of her as quickly as it had come, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. "The only friend I had in that whole cursed castle."
"I ken."
"And she's dead because of ye. Because ye wanted to send a message to me uncle." Her voice hardened again. "Did it work? Did he get yer message? Or did she die for nothin'?"
Something dark flashed across Ewan's face. "We'll ken soon enough."
"That's nae an answer."
"I daenae have a different answer for ye now."
They stared at each other across the small room, the air between them thick with tension and unresolved grief and anger that had nowhere to go.
Finally, Ewan spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "Ye're in nay position to criticize me, lass. Have ye forgotten that ye're me prisoner? That I could do far worse to ye than set fires and steal ye away in the night?"
Maia's breath caught. "Are ye threatenin' me?"
"I'm remindin' ye of yer situation." He stood slowly, unfolding from the chair with predatory grace that made her pulse jump.
"Ye may nae like what I've done. Ye may hate me for it, and God kens ye have every right.
But that doesnae change the fact that ye belong to me now, until I decide otherwise. "
He took a step toward the bed.
Maia's heart slammed against her ribs, sudden and violent. She should be terrified, should be scrambling back against the headboard, putting as much distance between them as possible.
He was huge, towering over the bed, all hard muscle and barely contained danger. The way he moved reminded her of the wolves she'd read about in her books, graceful and deadly and utterly focused on their prey.
But she wasn't terrified.
Not exactly.
Her pulse was racing, yes, and her breath had gone shallow, but it wasn't fear making her body respond this way.
"Being yer prisoner doesnae mean I've lost me mind," she said, and was proud when her voice came out steady despite the way her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. "Or me ability to see right from wrong."
"Doesnae it?" Ewan took another step, close enough now that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
Close enough that she could see the amber flecks in his dark eyes, could smell leather and pine and something uniquely him, something that made her stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
"Because from where I'm standin', ye seem awful confused about a lot of things. "
"What's that supposed to mean?" The question came out more defensive than she'd intended.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there for a heartbeat too long, then traveled slowly down to where she clutched the blanket against her chest. When he looked back up at her face, there was something heated in his expression that made her skin prickle with awareness.
"Ye're angry at me for killin' yer friend," he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher.
"But ye're also grateful I took ye out of that tower.
Ye hate me for what I've done, but ye spent the entire ride here chatterin' away like we were old friends on a pleasant journey.
Marvelin' at deer and foxes like I'd given ye a gift instead of makin' ye me captive. "
Maia flushed, heat spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. "I was just… I was excited to be outside. That doesnae mean I'm grateful to ye."
"And ye're nae afraid of me." He leaned down, bracing one hand on the bed frame beside her hip, bringing his face level with hers. The bed dipped slightly under his weight, tilting her toward him. "Ye should be. Any sensible woman would be. But ye're nae."
She couldn't look away from him. Couldn't move. Her whole body had gone tense, every muscle locked, but it wasn't fear making her freeze; it was something else entirely.
Something that made her stomach tighten and her breath come faster.
Something that made her acutely aware of every inch of space, or lack thereof, between them.
She could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, could count the individual whiskers in his wild beard.
"Maybe I'm just too stupid to be properly afraid," she managed, though her voice came out breathier than she'd intended. Weaker.
Ewan's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Ye're nae stupid, lass. Reckless, maybe. Foolish, definitely. But nae stupid."
"How would ye ken?”
"I just ken.” He smirked. "More like a laird's instinct.”
He was so close now. Close enough that she could see the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow, could make out the darker ring around his irises, could feel his breath ghosting across her face.
Close enough that if she leaned forward just slightly, just a few inches, their lips would touch.
The thought sent a jolt of something hot and electric down her spine.
What are you thinkin'? He killed Mollie. He's yer kidnapper. Ye cannae and ye shouldnae think of things like that.
But her body didn't seem to care what she should or shouldn't do. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, her skin felt too hot and too tight, and there was a strange, liquid warmth pooling low in her belly that she'd never felt before.
Or, no, that wasn't quite true.
She had felt it. Twice before, actually.
Once, when Ewan had first appeared in her chambers, all dark eyes and dangerous grace in the moonlight, looming over her bed like some dark angel come to steal her away.
And again during the ride, when his arms had tightened around her waist and his voice had rumbled through his chest and into her back, when she'd felt the solid warmth of him pressed against her from shoulder to hip.
This was what the books had described. The romances Mollie had smuggled to her, with their flowery descriptions of desire and passion and want.
The way the heroines' hearts would race when the hero drew near. The way their skin would flush, and their breath would quicken. The way they'd feel simultaneously terrified and exhilarated, caught between the urge to flee and the urge to move closer.
Desire.
That's what this was. This tightening in her stomach, this hyper-awareness of him as a man rather than just her captor, this sudden overwhelming urge to close the distance between them and discover if his lips were as firm as they looked, if his beard would be soft or rough against her skin, if he'd taste like danger or something sweeter.
She was attracted to him.
To her kidnapper.
To the man who'd killed her only friend.
Shame washed over her, cold and viscous, dousing some of the heat in her veins. What kind of person felt desire for someone who'd caused so much pain? What kind of woman looked at her friend's murderer and felt her body respond with want instead of revulsion?
A terrible person. The worst kind of person.
And yet she couldn't seem to look away from him. Couldn't seem to move back, to put proper distance between them. Couldn't seem to do anything but stare at his mouth and wonder.
"Lass." Ewan's voice was rough, strained. "Ye need to stop lookin' at me like that."
"Like what?" The words came out barely above a whisper.
"Like ye want to eat me. Like ye want me to kiss ye."
Maia's breath caught. Did she? Want him to kiss her? The idea should horrify her. Should make her recoil in disgust.
But it didn't.
God help her, it didn't.
"I—" She didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to explain the confusing tangle of emotions in her chest, the grief and guilt and shame all twisted up with this inexplicable attraction.
"I daenae," she finally gasped.
Ewan watched her face, his dark eyes tracking every flicker of emotion.
Maia's heart was still racing, her skin still felt too hot, and that warmth low in her belly remained.
She felt ashamed. Ashamed of her body's response to him, ashamed of the desire that had flared to life despite everything he'd done. Mollie was dead, and here Maia was, her skin still tingling from Ewan's nearness, her lips still parted as if waiting for a kiss that would never come.
What's wrong with me?
But she knew what was wrong. She'd read enough books to recognize it, even if she'd never experienced it herself before.
She wanted him to kiss her.