Chapter 11
"We're here."
Ewan's voice pulled Maia from her thoughts, thoughts that had been circling endlessly around that kiss for the past day and a half. That devastating, world-tilting kiss that had left her confused and wanting and desperately uncertain about everything.
She'd spent the entire ride trying not to think about it. Trying not to remember the way his lips had moved against hers, the way his hand had tangled in her hair, the way her body had responded like it had been waiting for his touch her entire life.
She'd failed spectacularly.
And she did accuse him of killing people right before he kissed her. She wanted to apologize, but she didn’t know how.
And now they were here. At his castle. Where she'd be his prisoner for God only knew how long, trapped in close quarters with a man whose kiss she couldn't stop thinking about, whose presence made her pulse race in ways that had nothing to do with fear.
"Maia. Did ye hear me?"
She blinked, focusing on the present. "Aye. Sorry. I was just—" She stopped, not wanting to admit where her thoughts had been.
Ewan's dark eyes studied her face, and she had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly what she'd been thinking about. Heat crept up her cheeks.
"We've arrived at Castle McGill," he said, his voice carefully neutral. As if they hadn't kissed. As if everything between them was perfectly normal. "Yer new home for the foreseeable future."
Home.
The word felt strange. This wasn't her home. This was her prison, just a different one than before.
Except...
Maia's breath caught as she finally looked up at the castle before them.
"Oh," she breathed.
It was beautiful.
Castle McGill sat at the base of a mountain, its grey stone walls rising proud and strong against the late afternoon sky.
The mountain loomed behind it like a protective giant, its peaks still touched with snow despite the warming weather.
And surrounding the castle on three sides was forest—thick, lush, green forest that seemed to stretch on forever.
It was nothing like Castle MacMahon, with its flat lands and carefully manicured grounds. This was wild. Untamed. Free in a way her uncle's castle had never been.
"The forest," Maia murmured, her eyes tracking the tree line. "It's so close. Can ye…do people ever go walkin' in it?"
"Aye. When they're nae afraid of gettin' lost or eaten by wild boars."
Maia's head snapped toward him. "Wild boars? Are there really wild boars?"
"A few." Ewan's lips twitched, almost like he was fighting a smile. "But they tend to keep to themselves if ye daenae bother them."
"I'd like to see one," Maia said without thinking. "From a safe distance, of course. But I've only ever read about them, and I—"
She stopped abruptly, her cheeks flushing. There she went again, chattering about everything that popped into her head. Ewan probably thought she was a fool.
He already kens ye're a fool. Ye kissed him back. Ye kissed yer kidnapper back like ye were starvin' for it.
"Is there a lake?" The question burst out before she could stop it. "I ken ye said there was one near the inn, but is there one here? Near the castle? Because I've always wanted to actually swim in a lake, nae just look at it from a distance."
"Aye, there's a lake."
Maia's heart leaped. "Really? How far? Can I go? Would I be allowed to swim?"
"The weather's nae right for it just now." Ewan's voice was firm, but not unkind. "Too cold still. Ye'd freeze before ye made it ten feet from shore."
"Oh." Disappointment settled heavily in her chest. "Right. Of course."
"In a few weeks, maybe. When the water's warmed up a bit."
Maia looked at him sharply. "Ye'd let me swim? In a lake? Without bars or—or guards standin' over me?"
Ewan's expression shifted, something dark flickering across his face. "We'll see."
It wasn't a yes. But it wasn't a no, either.
In a few weeks.
That meant he was planning on keeping her here for at least that long. Planning on her still being his prisoner when the weather warmed and the lake became swimmable.
She should feel trapped by that knowledge. Should feel the walls closing in.
Instead, she felt an inexplicable flutter of something that might have been hope.
"Come on," Ewan said, urging the horse forward. "Let's get ye settled."
They rode through the gates into a bustling courtyard. People were everywhere—servants carrying baskets, men-at-arms practicing with wooden swords, children playing some sort of game near the stables. Everyone seemed busy, purposeful, happy in a way the people at Castle MacMahon never had been.
Maia stared around her, drinking it all in. This was what a castle was supposed to feel like. Alive. Thriving. Not the cold, oppressive silence her uncle had created.
Ewan dismounted and reached up for her. His hands settled on her waist—just like they had in the village, just like they had a dozen times during their journey—but this time Maia's breath caught at the contact.
She couldn't stop thinking about those hands tangled in her hair. Couldn't stop remembering how they'd felt against her jaw, her waist, pulling her closer.
"Careful," Ewan murmured as he lifted her down. "Ye've been in the saddle a long time. Yer legs might be unsteady."
He was right. The moment her feet touched the ground, her knees wobbled. Ewan's hands tightened on her waist, holding her upright, and suddenly they were standing far too close.
Close enough that Maia could see the darker flecks in his brown eyes. Close enough that she could smell leather and pine and that uniquely masculine scent that was just him. Close enough that if she leaned forward just slightly—
"Thank ye," she said quickly, stepping back and nearly tripping over her own feet in the process.
Ewan caught her elbow, steadying her. "Ye alright, lass?"
"Aye. Fine. Just, just tired from the ride."
She was babbling. She needed to stop babbling.
Apologize. Ye need to apologize for accusin' him of murder. For the things ye said before he kissed ye.
But how did one apologize for that?
Sorry, I accused ye of killin' me friend right before ye kissed me senseless?
"Ewan, I—" she started.
"Me laird!" A man's voice called out, interrupting whatever she'd been about to say. "Ye're back! And ye brought—" The man's steps faltered as he caught sight of Maia. "Is that the MacMahon lass?"
"Aye." Ewan's hand was still on her elbow, his grip firm but not painful. "Leon, arrange for a chamber to be prepared. Somewhere comfortable. And find Aisla, I'll want her to attend to our guest."
Guest.
That was one word for it.
The man—Leon, apparently—grinned widely. "So ye actually did it. Ye actually stole away MacMahon's niece." He gave Maia a sweeping bow that seemed more mocking than respectful. "Welcome to Castle McGill, me lady. I hope yer stay is... enlightenin'."
"That's enough," Ewan said sharply. "Just do as I asked."
Leon's grin didn't dim, but he nodded and strode off toward the keep.
"Ignore him," Ewan told Maia. "He thinks he's funny."
"Is he yer man-at-arms?"
"Aye. And me oldest friend, God help me." Ewan guided her toward the castle entrance. "He'll make ye uncomfortable with his jokes and his smilin', but he's harmless enough."
Maia wasn't sure she believed that, but she didn't argue. She was too busy trying to take in everything around her—the castle walls, the people, the way the late afternoon sun painted everything in shades of gold.
They entered the keep, and Maia's breath caught again.
The great hall was enormous, easily three times the size of the one at Castle MacMahon.
Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting battles and hunts and what looked like clan gatherings.
A massive fireplace dominated one end, and the tables were already being set for the evening meal.
It was warm here. Welcoming. Everything her uncle's hall had never been.
"This way," Ewan said, guiding her toward a staircase.
They climbed two flights, then walked down a long corridor lined with doors. Ewan stopped in front of one near the end and pushed it open.
"This will be yer chamber."
Maia stepped inside and froze.
The room was beautiful.
A large bed dominated one wall, piled high with quilts and pillows.
A wardrobe stood in the corner, its wood polished to a warm shine.
A desk sat near the window, the unbarred window, with a chair pulled up to it.
There was even a small sitting area with two comfortable-looking chairs positioned near a fireplace.
It was easily twice the size of her room at Castle MacMahon. Three times as nice. And the windows—
Maia walked toward them slowly, almost afraid they'd disappear if she moved too quickly. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing the glass.
No bars.
No iron crisscrossing the opening, blocking her view, keeping her trapped.
Just clear glass and the view beyond, forest and mountain and sky stretching endlessly outward.
"Is somethin' wrong?"
Ewan's voice made her jump. She'd almost forgotten he was there.
"Nay. I just—" Maia's throat tightened with an emotion she couldn't name. "This is, it's beautiful."
"It's a guest chamber. Nothin' special."
But it was special. To her, it was everything.
And that realization brought with it a sharp stab of bitterness she hadn't been expecting.
This was a guest chamber. A room for visitors, for people passing through, for anyone who needed a place to stay for a night or two. And it was nicer, so much nicer, than the room her own uncle had given her. The room she'd been locked in for six years.
"Maia?"
She turned away from the window, trying to arrange her face into something that wouldn't reveal the turmoil of emotions churning inside her. "It's lovely. Thank ye."
Ewan studied her with those dark, perceptive eyes. "But?"
"But nothin'." She forced a smile. "I'm grateful. For the room. For nae puttin' me in a dungeon or somethin'."
"I told ye. I'm nae a monster."
"I ken that now." The admission slipped out quietly. "I ken a lot of things now that I dinnae ken before."
Like how a kiss could make her forget everything else. Like how his hands could be both gentle and demanding. Like how she could want someone even when she knew she shouldn't.
The silence between them stretched taut, filled with words neither of them seemed willing to say.
Finally, Ewan cleared his throat. "Ye're free to move about the castle as ye wish. But—" He held up a hand when her eyes widened with hope. "—if ye want to leave the castle grounds, ye need to inform one of the maids first. They'll come find me, and I'll escort ye."
Maia blinked. "I'm what?"
"Ye heard me."
"I'm allowed to explore?" The words burst out before she could stop them, loud and disbelieving. She immediately clapped her hands over her mouth, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
Ewan's expression darkened slightly, his brows drawing together. "Aye. While ye're me prisoner, I'm nae a barbarian. I willnae lock ye away like—" He stopped abruptly, as if he'd been about to say something he thought better of.
Like me uncle did.
That's what he'd been about to say. She was sure of it.
Maia lowered her hands slowly, staring at him. "I can leave this room? Whenever I want?"
"Aye."
"And explore the castle?"
"Aye."
"And if I want to go outside, to the forest or the lake or the village, I just need to ask?"
"Ye need to tell a maid so she can fetch me, and then I'll take ye meself." Ewan's voice was firm. "Ye're nae to wander off alone. It's nae safe, and I'll nae have ye gettin' lost or injured or decidin' to make a run for it."
"I already told ye I wouldnae run."
"I ken what ye told me. But I'm nae takin' chances." His jaw set in that stubborn line she was beginning to recognize. "Those are the rules, lass. Ye can accept them, or ye can stay in this room. Yer choice."
It wasn't really a choice at all. But compared to six years of being locked in a tower, compared to bars on windows and guards at doors, and a life that had shrunk down to four walls and a view of freedom she could never reach.
This was everything.
"I accept," Maia whispered, and she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face even though she tried. "I accept yer rules."
Ewan's expression softened slightly. "Good. Aisla will be along shortly to help ye get settled. If ye need anythin', tell her. She'll see ye're taken care of."
He turned to leave, and Maia found herself taking a step forward without thinking. "Ewan, wait."
He paused, looking back at her over his shoulder. "Aye?"
"I—" The apology stuck in her throat. How did she explain everything she was feeling? The gratitude and confusion and guilt and this inexplicable happiness that kept bubbling up despite everything? "Thank ye. For—for all of this. For nae lockin' me away. For—for everythin'."
Something flickered in his dark eyes. Something warm and complicated that made her heart skip a beat. "Ye're welcome, lass."
She turned back to the window, pressing her palm flat against the glass, and felt tears prick at her eyes.
She was a prisoner.
But somehow, impossibly, she felt freer than she had in six years.