Chapter 15
"This is rubbish."
Ewan stabbed his quill into the inkwell with more force than necessary, leaving a dark splatter across the parchment he'd been trying to focus on for the past hour.
Leon looked up from where he was reviewing border patrol reports. "What's rubbish? The grain inventory or yer mood?"
"Both." Ewan shoved the parchment aside. "Neither. I daenae ken."
"That's unusually indecisive of ye." Leon set down his own documents, his expression knowing.
"This wouldnae have anythin' to do with a certain brown-haired lass, would it?"
"I daenae want to talk about it."
"Of course ye daenae. But ye're goin' to anyway, because ye've been stabbin' that quill like it personally offended ye for the past hour." Leon leaned back in his chair. "What happened?"
Ewan's jaw clenched. "Laura. Some days ago at breakfast. She said somethin' cruel about Maia's appearance, and Maia hasnae been the same since."
"I heard about that." Leon's expression darkened. "Heard ye threw Lady Laura out on her arse too."
"Miss Laura," Ewan corrected sharply. "And aye, I did. Banned her from the castle entirely. Even sent word to her father."
"And let me guess, that's still nae enough for ye?"
"How could it be?" Ewan stood abruptly, pacing to the window. "Maia's been... different. Quieter. I see her touchin' her waist when she thinks nae one's watchin', like she's rememberin' every cruel word Laura said. Every cruel word her bastard uncle probably said before that."
"So talk to her." Ewan turned to glare at his friend.
"And say what, exactly?"
"That ye care about her. That Laura's words were shite. That ye—" Leon paused meaningfully. "That ye think she's bonnie just as she is."
"I cannae just say things like that."
"Why nae?" Leon stood, crossing his arms. "Ye've been moonin' over the lass for days now. Everyone can see it except apparently ye and her. Just tell her how ye feel."
"It's nae that simple."
"It's exactly that simple. Ye're just too stubborn to admit it." Leon moved toward the door, then paused. "Though I suppose if ye'd rather sit here stabbin' innocent quills and broodin', that's yer choice."
"Leon."
"Just think about it, aye?" His friend's expression softened. "The lass deserves to ken that someone sees her worth. And ye deserve to stop punishin' yerself for bein' human enough to care about someone."
After Leon left, Ewan stood staring at the door, his friend's words echoing in his mind.
Laura had hurt Maia, had deliberately, cruelly struck at what she must have known was a vulnerable spot. And while Ewan had thrown her out of the castle, had made it clear she was unwelcome, it didn't erase the damage she'd done.
Didn't bring back that unguarded joy he'd seen on Maia's face when she'd first arrived, when she'd marveled at the unbarred windows and the promise of freedom.
Ewan set down his quill and leaned back in his chair, his jaw clenched with barely suppressed fury. He wanted revenge. Wanted to make Laura pay for what she'd done, wanted to find some way to hurt her the way she'd hurt Maia.
The problem was finding a method that wouldn't reflect poorly on his clan or cause more trouble than it was worth.
He could spread rumors about her. God knew there were enough true stories about her cruel behavior toward servants and children. Could make it known throughout the neighboring clans that Laura Nicolson was vindictive and small-minded, the kind of woman who would make a terrible wife.
But that felt petty. Beneath him.
No, what he really wanted was to see Maia happy again. To see that dimple in her cheek when she smiled, to hear her chattering about every bird and flower they passed, to watch her face light up with wonder at the simplest things.
She deserves better than this.
The thought rose unbidden, uncomfortable in its intensity. Maia deserved to feel safe, to feel valued, to look in a mirror and see something other than the flaws her bastard uncle had spent six years drilling into her head.
She deserved someone who would look at her soft curves and full figure and see beauty instead of something to be mocked. Someone who would appreciate her endless curiosity, her fierce protectiveness of children, her ability to find wonder in the smallest things.
Someone who wasn't using her as leverage in a clan dispute.
Someone who isnae ye.
Ewan shoved that thought away and tried to focus on his reports again. But his mind kept circling back to the problem at hand.
How could he make this right? How could he undo the damage Laura's words had caused?
He couldn't. Not really. Words like that, cruel words meant to wound, they burrowed deep and festered. He knew that from experience.
Too soft. Too weak. Nae fit to be a warrior, let alone a laird.
His father's voice echoed in his memory, and Ewan felt his jaw clench. He'd spent years proving those words wrong, had forged himself into exactly the kind of leader his clan needed through sheer force of will.
But some part of him—some small, wounded part—still heard those words in the darkest hours of night. Still wondered if his father had been right, if the control he'd fought so hard to develop was just a thin veneer over the rage and violence that lurked beneath.
Maia's wounds were fresher, though. Six years of her uncle's cruelty, and now Laura's venom on top of it.
But unlike Ewan, who'd had to fight and claw his way to self-acceptance alone, Maia didn't have to.
She had him.
For now, anyway. Until MacMahon responds to yer demands and she has to go back.
That thought sent an uncomfortable twist through his chest. He ignored it, shoving it down with all the other inconvenient feelings that had been accumulating since he'd first climbed through Maia's window.
A knock at the door interrupted his brooding.
"Come," he called out, grateful for the distraction.
Aisla entered, and Ewan knew immediately from her expression—amused and slightly exasperated—that she was about to ask him for something he didn't want to give.
"Me laird," she started, her tone carefully pleasant. "Lady Maia is wonderin' if ye might have time today to take her to the lake."
Ewan looked pointedly at the mountain of reports and correspondence on his desk. Grain inventories. Border patrol schedules. A dispute between two farmers over water rights. A request from the blacksmith for additional funds to repair the forge.
"Tell her nae today. I'm too busy."
"I already told her that." Aisla's lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "She said to tell ye that ye've been sayin' that for three days, and if ye daenae take her today, she'll find a way to go herself."
Ewan's eyebrows rose. "She threatened me?"
"I wouldnae call it a threat, exactly. More of a... determined statement of intent." Aisla's smile widened. "She's quite persuasive when she wants to be."
Despite his foul mood, despite the anger still simmering in his chest over Laura's cruelty, Ewan felt his lips curve slightly. That sounded like Maia. That spark of defiance he'd glimpsed during their journey, the one that had been dimmed but not extinguished by Laura's words.
The one he wanted desperately to fan back into flame.
"Tell her I'll consider it for tomorrow."
Aisla nodded and left, and Ewan returned to his work with slightly more success than before. At least thinking about Maia's demands was better than dwelling on his anger at Laura, or the uncomfortable realization that he cared far too much about his prisoner's happiness.
He managed perhaps thirty minutes of actual productivity, enough to approve the blacksmith's request and draft a response to the water rights dispute, before Aisla knocked again.
"She says tomorrow is nae good enough," Aisla reported, and now she wasn't even trying to hide her amusement. "She says she's been very patient, and she's followed all yer rules, and the least ye can do is take her to the lake for an hour."
"An hour?" Ewan set down his quill, a mixture of exasperation and reluctant admiration warming his chest. "Did she specify exactly an hour?"
"She was very precise about it." Aisla grinned. "Said she kens ye're busy, and she wouldnae ask if it wasnae important to her. She also said—and I'm quotin' directly here—that if she has to send me back a third time, ye should just give up now because she's nae goin' to stop askin'."
Ewan stared at Aisla, torn between irritation and something that felt dangerously close to pride. Three days ago, Maia had fled the breakfast hall in tears. Had let Laura's words wound her, had retreated into herself.
Now she was making demands. Was refusing to take no for an answer. Was fighting for what she wanted instead of accepting whatever scraps of freedom he deigned to give her.
That's me girl.
The thought rose unbidden, possessive and entirely inappropriate. She wasn't his girl. Wasn't his anything except his prisoner and his responsibility.
But God, he wanted her to be.
"Tell her—" Ewan started, then stopped. Shook his head. "Actually, nay. I'll tell her meself."
Aisla's smile turned knowing. "Shall I show ye to her chambers, then?"
"I ken where her chambers are," Ewan snapped dryly, standing and coming around his desk. "I'm the one who assigned them to her."
"Of course, me laird." But Aisla's eyes were dancing with barely suppressed laughter as she led him from the study.
They made their way through the castle corridors, passing servants who bowed or curtsied, guards who nodded respectfully, and a group of children playing some sort of game involving a wooden ball and a great deal of shouting.
And Ewan found himself wondering what exactly Maia planned to say to convince him.
Wondering if she'd look at him with those wide grey eyes, if she'd smile that dimpled smile, if she'd use that breathless, enthusiastic voice that made even the most mundane observations sound like declarations of wonder.
Wondering if he'd be able to resist any of it.
Ye're in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.