Chapter 9
"Seein' ye so feisty makes me want to punish ye, lass."
The words came out as a low growl, rough and dangerous in the quiet room. Ewan watched Maia's grey eyes widen, watched her breath hitch, watched the way her pulse fluttered wildly in the hollow of her throat.
He should step back. Should return to his chair and let her sleep. Should put distance between them before he did something they'd both regret.
But he didn't.
Instead, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper that seemed to wrap around them both like smoke. "Break ye until ye cannae remember yer own name. Until the only word on yer lips is me name and pleas for me nae to stop."
Maia's breath came faster now, her chest rising and falling beneath the thin blanket. Her eyes were huge in her flushed face, pupils dilated until only a thin ring of grey remained.
She should tell him to back away. Should remind him that she was his prisoner, not his plaything. Should show some sense of self-preservation.
But she didn't.
And that lack of fear, that defiant tilt of her chin even as desire darkened her eyes, snapped the last thread of Ewan's control.
He reached out, his hand cupping her jaw with a gentleness that contradicted his words. Her skin was soft beneath his calloused palm, warm and impossibly smooth. He could feel her trembling, not with fear, but with something else entirely.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. "Tell me to walk away, lass, and I will."
Maia stared up at him, her lips parted, her breath coming in short gasps. She should say it. Should demand he leave her alone. Should remember that he was her captor, that he'd killed her friend, that nothing good could come from this.
But the word wouldn't come.
Ewan took her silence as answer enough.
He closed the remaining distance between them and captured her mouth with his.
The kiss was nothing like the gentle, tentative brushes Maia had read about in her books.
This was raw and demanding, a claiming rather than a request. Ewan's lips moved against hers with practiced skill, his beard rough against her skin, his hand tightening on her jaw to angle her head exactly where he wanted it.
For a moment, Maia froze, shock stealing her ability to respond. This was her first kiss, and it was happening with a man who'd kidnapped her, in a rented room at an inn, while she wore nothing but her shift.
It was wrong. All of it was wrong.
But then Ewan's tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing them open, and Maia's thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.
She kissed him back.
It was instinct more than knowledge, her body responding to his even as her mind screamed that this was madness. Her hands came up to clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle there, and she opened her mouth beneath his questing tongue.
The sound Ewan made, half growl, half groan, sent heat rushing through her veins like wildfire.
He tasted like dram and something sweet, which made her head spin. His hand moved from her jaw to tangle in her hair, tilting her head back further, deepening the kiss until Maia couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel.
His other hand came to rest on her waist, his palm burning through the thin cotton of her shift. She could feel every callus, every ridge of scar tissue on his warrior's hands. Could feel the barely leashed strength in his grip as his fingers flexed against her, pulling her closer.
The blanket had fallen to her lap, forgotten, leaving only the shift between them. Maia should care. Should push him away and cover herself.
But she couldn't seem to make her hands cooperate. Couldn't seem to do anything but kiss him back with a desperation that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
This was desire. The thing she'd read about but never experienced. The thing that made heroines in her books do foolish, reckless things.
She understood now. Oh, how she understood.
Ewan's kiss consumed her, demanded everything from her, and offered something darkly wonderful in return. His tongue swept into her mouth, tangling with hers in a dance she didn't know but somehow followed anyway. Every nerve ending in her body felt alive, sparking with sensation.
When his hand moved from her waist to trace up her ribs, stopping just below the curve of her breast, Maia gasped into his mouth. The sound seemed to inflame him further; his grip tightened in her hair, his kiss turned almost punishing in its intensity.
This is wrong. This is wrong. Stop. Stop now.
The voice of reason finally broke through the haze of desire fogging her brain.
Maia wrenched her mouth away from his, gasping for air, her chest heaving. "Wait, stop, I cannae."
Ewan's eyes were black with desire, his breathing as ragged as hers. For a moment, he looked almost feral, like the predator she'd sensed in him from the beginning. Like a man who'd take what he wanted regardless of consequences.
Then he blinked, and some of that wildness receded.
His hand loosened in her hair, though he didn't remove it entirely. His thumb stroked once, twice, against her scalp in what might have been meant as comfort.
"Lass." His voice was hoarse, wrecked.
"Nay." Maia pushed against his chest, needing distance, needing to think clearly without his heat and scent overwhelming her senses. "Ye, I, we shouldnae have done that."
She couldn't finish. Couldn't find words adequate to describe what had just happened, what she'd just allowed to happen. What she'd wanted to happen, God help her.
"Ye kissed me back," Ewan observed, his voice still rough but steadier now.
"I—" Maia's face flamed. "That doesnae matter! Ye're me captor! Ye killed me friend! I shouldnae want ye."
"But ye do." It wasn't a question. "Want me, that is."
The blunt statement made Maia's blush deepen until she thought her face might catch fire. "That's nae true. Ye cannae just kiss me that way. It's nae proper."
"I think it does matter, actually." Ewan's hand finally fell away from her hair, but he didn't step back. Didn't give her the space she desperately needed. "Ye want me, lass. Despite everythin'. And that terrifies ye."
"I daenae want ye," Maia lied, but even she could hear how unconvincing it sounded.
Ewan's lips curved into a knowing smirk that made her want to hit him. "Ye're a terrible liar."
"And ye're a terrible person!" The words burst out of her, sharp with frustration and confusion and a desire she didn't want to feel.
Her voice broke. Tears burned behind her eyes, threatening to spill over. What was wrong with her? How could she have kissed him like that, kissed him like she was starving for his touch, when Mollie was dead because of him?
"I'm the worst kind of person," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "The worst kind."
Ewan was quiet for a long moment, studying her with those dark, unreadable eyes. Then he spoke, his voice carefully controlled. "I need to tell ye somethin', lass. About the fire. About yer friend."
Maia looked up at him through tear-blurred vision. "What?"
"The reason I'm tellin' ye this now… " He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "… is because the ride back to the castle is long, and I cannae have ye actin' out. I need ye compliant, nae fightin' me every step of the way."
"I daenae understand."
Ewan's jaw tightened. "Yer friend. The maid. She's nae dead."
The words didn't make sense. Maia stared at him, trying to process what he'd just said. "What?"
"Mollie. That's her name, aye? Brown hair, round face, about five-and-twenty?" When Maia nodded numbly, Ewan continued. "She's nae dead. None of the servants are."
"But the fire, I saw it."
"Aye, there was a fire. But me men cleared the servants' quarters before we set it.
" Ewan's voice was matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing the weather rather than upending everything Maia had believed for the past several hours.
"They escorted everyone out, servants, stable hands, everyone who wasnae part of yer uncle's guard.
Some of them even chose to leave with us rather than stay and face yer uncle's wrath. "
Maia's mind reeled. "Ye're, ye're lyin'. Ye must be lyin'."
"I'm nae." He held her gaze steadily. "I'm many things, lass, but I'm nae a liar. I wouldnae waste me breath on false comfort."
"Then why—" Her voice cracked. "Why did ye let me think, why did ye let me believe she was dead?"
"Because I needed ye to see what yer uncle's actions cost. Needed ye angry at yer uncle, nae just at me." Ewan's expression remained carefully neutral. "And because sometimes fear is a useful tool for controllin' prisoners."
The casual admission should have made her furious. Should have made her want to claw his eyes out for the emotional torment he'd put her through.
But all Maia could feel was overwhelming, dizzying relief.
Mollie was alive.
"She's truly alive?" Maia's voice came out small and tentative, as if speaking the words too loudly might break the spell and reveal that this was all some cruel joke. "Ye're nae just sayin' this to manipulate me?"
"She's alive." Ewan's voice softened slightly. "In fact, she was so thankful to escape yer uncle's household that she led me straight to yer chambers. Told me exactly where to find ye, where the guards would be stationed, when they'd make their rounds."
Maia's breath caught. "Mollie? Mollie helped ye kidnap me?"
"She seemed to think she was helpin' ye escape." The corner of Ewan's mouth twitched. "She's the one who told me about the bars on yer window, and how that was the best way to get to ye. Said ye deserved better than what yer uncle gave ye."
Tears spilled over now, but they were different tears than before. Relief mixed with guilt mixed with gratitude until Maia couldn't tell one emotion from another.
Mollie had helped. Had risked everything to give Maia a chance at freedom, even if it meant trusting a stranger. Even if it meant betraying her laird.
"If I ever see that woman again," Ewan continued, his voice taking on a thoughtful quality, "I'll make sure to reward her properly for leadin' me to such a delectable prize."
The words, delectable prize, sent a fresh wave of heat through Maia's body, reminding her forcibly of what had just happened between them. Of the kiss that had left her trembling and wanting and desperately confused.
She should be angry with him for lying to her, for letting her believe Mollie was dead for hours. She should demand an apology at the very least.
But she was too overwhelmed to manage anger. She could only sit there, clutching the blanket to her chest, trying to process this new information while her lips still tingled from his kiss and her body still hummed with unfulfilled desire.
"Why did ye kiss me?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Ewan's expression shifted, something dark and hungry flashing across his face before he shuttered it away. "Because I wanted to. Because ye were right there, all fire and fury, and I've been wantin' to taste that mouth since I first saw ye in yer tower." He paused. "And because ye wanted me to."
"I dinnae want ye."
"Ye did." His voice was firm. "And ye kissed me back like ye were drownin' and I was air."
Maia couldn't deny it. The evidence was written all over her, in her swollen lips, her flushed cheeks, the way her breathing still hadn't quite returned to normal.
"This doesnae change anythin'," she insisted, though even she wasn't sure if she believed it. "Ye're still me captor. I'm still yer prisoner."
"Aye." Ewan finally stepped back, putting proper distance between them. "And now ye ken yer friend is alive, ye'll be more inclined to behave on the journey home. Nae tryin' to escape or cause trouble."
So that's what this had been about. A manipulation. A way to ensure her compliance.
The realization should hurt. Should make her feel used and foolish.
But looking at Ewan's carefully controlled expression, at the tension still visible in his shoulders, at the way his hands had curled into fists at his sides, Maia suspected there was more to it than simple manipulation.
He'd wanted to kiss her. He'd said as much.
And she'd wanted him to kiss her.
The rest, the lies about Mollie, the strategic revelation of the truth, that was just Ewan being a laird. Being a warrior. Using whatever tools were at his disposal to maintain control of his prisoner.
"Get some rest, lass," Ewan said, his voice carefully neutral once more. "We leave soon."
He returned to his chair, settling into it with his back to her once again.
Maia lay back down, pulling the blanket up to her chin with shaking hands. Her mind was spinning, her emotions a chaotic mess she couldn't begin to untangle.
Mollie was alive.
Ewan had kissed her.
She'd kissed him back.
And God help her, she wanted him to do it again.