Chapter 16
"The kind of person who was sixteen years old and alone. The kind of person whose uncle held all the power and used it to break her spirit." His voice was rough with barely suppressed fury. "Ye dinnae give up, Maia. Ye survived. There's a difference."
Ewan said, gentling his tone with effort. "Come on. Let's get ye to that lake before I remember all the reasons I should be workin' instead."
The smile that broke across her face was worth every report he'd be reviewing by candlelight tonight.
The path to the lake wound through the forest, following a trail that Ewan had walked countless times. The trees were thick here, their branches creating a canopy overhead that filtered the afternoon sunlight into dappled patterns on the ground.
Maia walked beside him, and Ewan found himself acutely aware of her presence.
The way she moved, the sound of her breathing, the occasional brush of her arm against his when the path narrowed.
She was quieter than she'd been during their journey from Castle MacMahon—still looking around with interest, still noticing everything, but not providing the running commentary he'd grown oddly accustomed to.
"Ye can talk, ye ken," he said after several minutes of silence. "I willnae tell ye to be quiet."
"I thought ye liked silence," Maia replied, glancing up at him. "Ye said so durin' our ride here. That I talked too much."
"I said ye never stopped talkin'. That's different." Ewan ducked under a low-hanging branch, then held it back so Maia could pass beneath. "And I've gotten used to it. The quiet feels strange now."
That earned him a small but genuine smile. "Are ye sayin' ye miss me chatterin'?"
"I'm sayin' the silence is unnaturally loud," Ewan corrected, but there was no heat in his words. "But aye. I suppose I miss it. A bit."
Maia's smile widened, and she turned her attention back to the forest. "Well, if ye're certain ye want to hear it.
.. That tree there, the one with the white bark, is it the same kind we saw on our journey?
The birch trees? Because the bark looks similar but the leaves are different, and I was wonderin' if maybe—"
And just like that, she was off, her words tumbling over each other in that breathless, enthusiastic way that made something warm settle in Ewan's chest.
He let her talk, let her speculate about trees and birds and the small stream they crossed via stepping stones. Let himself simply exist in this moment, in this strange peace he'd found with a woman who should be his enemy but had somehow become something else entirely.
Something he didn't have a name for.
When they finally emerged from the forest, Maia stopped so abruptly that Ewan nearly walked into her.
"Oh," she breathed, and the wonder in that single syllable made Ewan's throat tight.
The lake stretched before them, its surface mirror-smooth and reflecting the sky like polished silver.
Mountains rose in the distance, their peaks still touched with snow.
Trees lined the shore, their branches dipping down to kiss the water.
It was beautiful, aye, but Ewan had seen it a thousand times.
Maia was looking at it like she'd never seen anything so magnificent in her life.
"It's perfect," she whispered. "It's absolutely perfect."
Before Ewan could respond, before he could warn her to be careful of the rocks near the shore, Maia was running.
She gathered her skirts in her hands and ran toward the water like a child, her face bright with joy, her hair coming loose from its pins to stream behind her. Ewan tensed, his hand instinctively going to his sword hilt, ready to chase her down if this was some elaborate escape attempt.
But Maia didn't run into the forest. Didn't try to flee.
She ran straight to the water's edge and dropped to her knees on the smooth stones there, reaching out to touch the surface with trembling fingers.
Ewan approached more slowly, watching as she dipped her hand into the lake and brought it up, letting the water stream between her fingers. Her expression was serene, peaceful in a way he'd never seen before.
"This is the first time I've touched a lake's surface in six years," she said softly, not looking at him. Just staring at the water like it held all the answers to questions she'd been asking for too long. "The first time I've felt runnin' water that wasnae from a basin in me chambers."
Ewan stiffened, his chest tightening with an emotion he couldn't name. "Take yer time, ye need it."
Maia finally looked up at him, and the sadness in her eyes was almost unbearable. "The only water I touched was what the servants brought me in pitchers. The only sky I saw was through barred windows. The only life I had was what I could read about in the books Mollie smuggled to me."
She turned back to the lake, trailing her fingers through the water again. "I tried to tell ye. Tried to warn ye that I wasnae as important as ye thought. That me uncle wouldnae care if ye took me. But ye dinnae believe me."
"The bars," Ewan said, his voice rough.
Maia's laugh was hollow. "They were to keep me in. After I tried to escape."
Fury. Pure, white-hot fury flooded through Ewan's veins. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw locked so tight he could hear his teeth grinding.
He wanted to hunt down Callen Ferguson. Wanted to drag him from his stolen seat of power and make him suffer every indignity, every cruelty, every moment of isolation he'd inflicted on Maia.
He wanted to lock him in a cell and throw away the key, let him rot in darkness for six years, and see how much of his spirit survived.
He wanted to erase six long, lonely years of imprisonment, wanted to give Maia back all the moments she'd lost, all the experiences her uncle had stolen from her.
"I'm sorry," he said instead, the words feeling inadequate. "I'm sorry that happened to ye. Sorry ye had to endure that. Sorry I dinnae believe ye when ye tried to tell me."
Maia glanced at him, surprise flickering across her face. "Ye daenae need to apologize. Ye dinnae ken."
"I should have listened."
"Why?" There was genuine curiosity in her voice now. "Ye kidnapped me for revenge against me uncle. Why would ye care about the details of me imprisonment?"
Because watching her touch the lake water, as if it were a miracle, made his chest ache. Because hearing about what she'd endured made him want to commit murder.
Ewan shoved his thoughts down and settled onto the stones beside her, careful to maintain a respectful distance. "Me parents," he said abruptly, "they werenae kind people."
Maia's hand stilled in the water. "What?"
"Ye asked me once if I'd been injured in battle. If I had scars." Ewan stared out at the lake, finding it easier to talk when he wasn't looking at her. "I do. But the worst ones are nae from battle. They're from me childhood."
He could feel her gaze on him, could sense her attention shifting fully to him.
"Me maither wanted perfection," he continued, the words coming easier than he'd expected. "Every lesson had to be mastered, every task completed flawlessly. And when I failed, when I was just a lad tryin' his best but fallin' short, she had ways of expressin' her disappointment."
"Ewan…"
"And me faither thought I was too soft. Too gentle.
He wanted a warrior, nae a boy who liked carvin' wood and climbin' mountains.
So he decided to toughen me up." Ewan's jaw clenched.
"He taught me that anger was strength. That violence was power.
That the only way to survive was to be harder, meaner, more ruthless than anyone else. "
Maia had gone very still beside him. "What happened to them?"
"When I was sixteen, me faither killed me maither in a rage." The words tasted like ash. "And then I killed him. Because that's what he'd taught me to do—to respond to violence with more violence, to let me anger control me."
"I'm sorry," Maia whispered, and he could hear tears in her voice. "I'm so sorry ye went through that. Nay child should, ye dinnae deserve that. Any of it."
"Neither did ye," Ewan said, finally turning to look at her. "But at least I had good moments before—" He stopped, realized what he'd been about to say.
"At least ye had some happiness before it was taken away," Maia finished softly.
"At least ye ken what it feels like to be loved properly, even if only for a little while.
I had that too. Me parents loved me. Made me feel special and wanted and safe.
And then they died, and I had nothin' but me uncle's cruelty to remember them by. "
They sat in silence for a moment, two broken people finding unexpected kinship in shared pain.
"I'm sorry," Maia said abruptly. "For callin' ye a murderer that first night. For accusin' ye of killin' Mollie. I was angry and scared."
"Ye had every right to be," Ewan interrupted. "I did kill people that night. Maybe nae the servants, but men died in that raid. And I let ye think Mollie was dead because it served me purposes. Ye daenae owe me an apology, lass."
"Still. I said things I shouldnae have." Maia pulled her hand from the water and wiped it on her skirt. "And I've been meanin' to ask, about Kian. He said his parents died when he was wee. But ye called him yer nephew?"
"Cousin, actually. Me faither's brother's son." Ewan's expression softened as he thought about the boy. "His parents died in a fire five years ago. He was only five years old, and there was nay one else to take him. So I did."
"And named him yer heir," Maia said, and there was something warm in her voice. Admiration, maybe. "Even though it meant ye'd never have to marry."
"I dinnae want to marry."
Dinnae think I could risk it, with me faither's violence still lurkin' in me blood.
"Dinnae want to put a woman through what me maither endured. So aye, I named Kian me heir. Gave him a home, a family. It seemed the right thing to do."
"It was the right thing," Maia said firmly, and when Ewan looked at her, he found her smiling at him with such genuine warmth that his breath caught. "Ye saved him. Gave him love and safety when he had nothin'. That's beautiful, Ewan."
She was beautiful. Sitting there beside the lake with water droplets clinging to her fingers, her hair loose and wild around her face, her grey eyes soft with emotion.
The afternoon sun caught in her brown hair, turning it gold at the edges, and her skin glowed in the gentle light.
Ewan wanted to kiss her. Wanted to close the distance between them and taste her lips again, wanted to pull her close and show her with touch what he couldn't seem to say with words.
Wanted to make her understand that she was worth so much more than her uncle had ever told her. That she was brave and fierce and wonderful, that her body was perfect exactly as it was, that any man would be lucky—blessed—to have her.
But he couldn't. Shouldn't. She was his prisoner, and he was the man who'd kidnapped her, and wanting her this badly was dangerous for both of them.
So instead, he stood and offered her his hand. "Come on. Let me show ye the rest of the shore."
Maia took his hand, and Ewan pulled her to her feet. But he didn't immediately release her. Just stood there, her hand warm in his, close enough that he could see the silver flecks in her grey eyes.
"Ye're free to wander as ye please now," Ewan heard himself say. The words came out rough, almost reluctant. "The castle, the grounds, the forest paths—all of it. Ye daenae need to ask permission anymore."
Maia's eyes went wide. "What?"
"Ye heard me." He forced himself to release her hand and step back, creating proper distance.
"I'm nae yer uncle. I willnae lock ye away like he did.
Ye can go where ye want, when ye want. Just—" He paused, his jaw tightening.
"Just daenae try to escape. If ye run, I will find ye. And there will be consequences."
For a moment, Maia just stared at him. Then her face broke into the most radiant smile he'd ever seen, bright and joyous and completely unguarded.
"Thank ye," she breathed, and then she was throwing her arms around him in an impulsive hug that caught him completely off guard.
Ewan froze, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides, every muscle in his body going taut. She was pressed against him, soft and warm and smelling of lavender and lake water, and his control was hanging by a thread.
"Thank ye, thank ye, thank ye," Maia was saying against his chest, her voice muffled but ecstatic. "I promise I willnae run. I promise I'll follow yer rules. I just—thank ye for givin' me this."
Slowly, carefully, Ewan let his hands settle on her back. Just a brief touch, nothing more, before he gently disentangled himself from her embrace.
"Aye, well," he said gruffly, disturbed by how much he'd wanted to pull her closer instead of pushing her away. "Daenae make me regret it."
They walked back to the castle as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Maia chattered the entire way—about the lake, about the trees, about how she wanted to come back tomorrow and the day after and maybe try to sketch the view if Aisla could find her some parchment and charcoal.
And Ewan listened, letting her words wash over him while his mind churned with uncomfortable realizations.
He was in trouble. Deep, serious trouble.
Because watching Maia's joy at something as simple as touching lake water made him want to give her the world. Made him want to tear down every barrier that had ever kept her from happiness, made him want to hunt down everyone who'd ever hurt her and make them pay.
Made him want to keep her. Not as a prisoner, not as leverage, but as—
His.
The possessiveness was terrifying in its intensity. It reminded him too much of his father, of the way the old man had owned his mother, controlled her, used his strength to bend her to his will.
Ewan had sworn he'd never be like that. Had spent years learning control, learning to channel his anger into something productive instead of destructive.
But looking at Maia, at the way she smiled and laughed and found wonder in everything around her—
He didn't want to control her. He wanted to protect her. Wanted to see her happy. Wanted to be the reason she smiled like that, wanted to give her every freedom she'd been denied.
Wanted her in his bed and his life and his future with an intensity that terrified him.
Maia was his now.
And he had no intention of letting her go.