Chapter 19
"So let me understand this correctly—he touched ye, kissed ye, made ye feel things ye've never felt before, and then just... brought ye back to the castle without sayin' a word about it?"
Mollie's voice was incredulous as she stared at Maia across the small table in Maia's chambers. Beside her, Aisla wore a similar expression of disbelief.
"Aye." Maia's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she forced herself to continue. "We rode back in silence. Complete silence. And when we arrived, he just—he helped me down from the horse, told me he had work to attend to, and left. He hasn't talked about it for two weeks."
Aisla's eyebrows rose. "He's nae said anything for two weeks?"
"Aye," Maia twisted her hands in her lap. "Or maybe he's just busy. He's the laird, after all. He has responsibilities, and I'm sure there are a hundred things that need his attention more than—than whatever happened between us on that mountain."
"Nae," Mollie said firmly. "Daenae do that. Daenae make excuses for him or dismiss what happened."
"But maybe it dinnae mean anythin' to him. Maybe I'm just—" Maia's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Maybe I'm just makin' too much of it. Maybe he does that sort of thing all the time, and I'm the fool for thinkin' it was special."
Aisla reached across the table to grip Maia's hand. "Listen to me very carefully. The laird doesnae do that sort of thing. Ever. I've kent him me whole life, and I've never seen him show that kind of interest in anyone. Certainly nae Laura, despite her best efforts."
"Then why has he been avoidin' me?" The words came out smaller than Maia intended, tinged with the hurt she'd been trying to ignore. "If it meant somethin' to him, if he felt even a fraction of what I felt, why wouldnae he want to see me? To talk about it?"
Mollie and Aisla exchanged a look that Maia couldn't quite interpret.
"Men are like that," Mollie said finally. "Especially when it comes to their feelings. They panic, they retreat, they convince themselves that the best course of action is to avoid the situation entirely rather than, ye ken, actually talkin' about it like reasonable people."
Maia's throat tightened. "I keep thinkin' maybe he regrets it. Maybe he realized that he doesnae actually want me, that what happened was just—just a moment of weakness, and now he's embarrassed about it."
Maia continued. "He told me a bit about his parents. On the day we went to the lake. But I dinnae realize or understand how much it still affects him."
"It affects everythin'," Aisla said. "Every decision he makes, every relationship he has. He keeps people at a distance because he's afraid of what might happen if he lets them too close. Afraid of becomin' his father."
"But he's nae like his father," Maia protested. "He's kind and protective and—"
"And absolutely terrified that beneath all that control, his father's violence is just waitin' to surface," Mollie finished.
Maia sat back, processing this. "So ye're sayin' he's avoidin' me because he cares about me too much? That's—that's ridiculous."
"That's men," Aisla said dryly. "Especially men who've been damaged by their upbringin'. They'd rather run from their feelin's than risk hurtin' someone they care about."
"So what do I do?" Maia asked, looking between her two friends.
Mollie said firmly. "Ye go to him. Ye make him talk to ye. Ye force the issue instead of lettin' him hide from it."
"I cannae just march into his study and demand he explain himself!" Maia's voice rose slightly. "He's the laird! And I'm—I'm just—"
"Ye're the woman he's fallin' in love with," Aisla interrupted. "And ye deserve answers. Ye deserve to ken where ye stand with him, what this—" she gestured vaguely "—whatever this is between ye, means."
"But what if," Maia stopped, swallowing hard against the fear rising in her throat. "What if I tell him how I feel, and he tells me it was a mistake? What if he says he regrets what happened, that it shouldnae have happened."
"Then at least ye'll ken," Mollie said gently. "At least ye willnae be stuck in this limbo, wonderin' and hopin' and torturin' yerself with possibilities. Ye'll have yer answer, and ye can decide what to do from there."
Maia looked down at her hands, her heart racing. Could she really do this? Could she really go to Ewan and bare her feelings, risk rejection and humiliation?
"I'm in love with him," she heard herself say, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm in love with Ewan, and I daenae ken when it happened or how, but it's true."
She stopped, her cheeks burning again.
"Want to kiss him again," Aisla finished with a knowing smile. "And more than kiss him, if that mountain encounter was any indication."
"Aye," Maia whispered. "I want all of that. I want everythin' with him. And it terrifies me because I've never felt this way about anyone, and I daenae ken if it's real or if I'm just confused because he's been kind to me."
"It's real," Mollie interrupted firmly. "Trust me, Maia. I've kent ye for years, and I've never seen ye look at anyone the way ye look at him. This is real. The question is, what are ye goin' to do about it?"
Maia took a deep breath, feeling something settle in her chest. A sense of certainty, maybe. Or just desperation strong enough to override her fear.
"I'm goin' to tell him," she said. "I'm goin' to find Ewan and tell him exactly how I feel. And if he rejects me—" Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed forward. "If he rejects me, then at least I'll have been brave enough to try."
Aisla grinned. "That's the spirit. Though maybe wait until after supper? He's been locked in his study with Leon for most of the afternoon, discussin' clan business."
"What kind of clan business?" Maia asked, her curiosity undiminished despite her nervousness.
Aisla and Mollie exchanged another look.
"The raids on yer uncle's territory have been successful," Aisla said carefully. "They've taken back what was stolen and more. There's talk that the laird might be expandin' McGill lands permanently."
Maia felt something uncomfortable twist in her stomach. "He's still fightin' with me uncle?"
"Yer uncle refused to negotiate," Mollie pointed out. "What did ye expect Ewan to do? Just let the insult stand?"
"I suppose nae." But Maia couldn't shake the feeling that somehow this was all connected to her. That Ewan's determination to punish her uncle had less to do with the original raid and more to do with—
With what? With her?
He said he'd destroy me uncle for the cruel words he wrote. But that was just anger talkin', wasnae it?
"Daenae worry about the clan politics," Aisla said, clearly reading the concern on Maia's face. "That's between the laird and yer uncle. It has nothin' to do with ye."
But Maia wasn't sure that was true.
"So the raids have netted us approximately two hundred head of cattle, fifty sheep, and enough grain to see us through the winter twice over."
Leon's voice was matter-of-fact as he read from his report, but Ewan could hear the satisfaction beneath it. The raids had been even more successful than they'd hoped. Quick, efficient strikes that had caught MacMahon's forces off guard.
"Casualties?" Ewan asked, though he already knew the answer. He'd insisted on minimal violence, and his men had followed those orders to the letter.
"Three injured on our side, none seriously. Two of MacMahon's guards killed when they refused to stand down, another handful wounded." Leon set down the parchment. "Could have been worse. Much worse, considerin' how badly they were prepared for us."
"MacMahon's gotten complacent," Ewan said. "Thought his original raid would go unanswered, or that takin' his niece would be enough to satisfy me." His jaw clenched. "He thought wrong."
"Aye, he did." Leon leaned back in his chair, studying Ewan with that too-perceptive gaze. "Though I have to ask, are we still doin' this for the clan? Or has this become personal?"
Ewan knew what Leon was really asking.
Is this about justice for the raid, or revenge for what MacMahon did to Maia?
"Does it matter?" Ewan asked instead of answering.
"It might. If yer judgment is clouded…"
"Me judgment is fine," Ewan interrupted. "MacMahon attacked us first. Killed our men, burned our property, stole our livestock. Every action I've taken has been proportional response to his aggression."
"Proportional." Leon's lips twitched. "Is that what we're callin' it?"
"What would ye call it?"
"Obsessive, maybe. Excessive. Driven by somethin' more than just clan politics.
" Leon's expression sobered. "Ye're doin' this for her, Ewan.
For Maia. And while I understand why—Christ knows the man deserves what's comin' to him—ye need to be careful.
Ye're startin' to look like a man who'd go to war over a woman. "
"And if I am?" The words came out more defensive than Ewan had intended.
"Then ye need to be honest about it. With yerself, with her, with the clan. Because right now, ye're pretendin' this is all strategy and politics when really—"
A knock at the door interrupted whatever Leon had been about to say.
"I said I wasnae to be disturbed," Ewan called out, irritation sharpening his tone.
The door opened anyway.
Laura Nicolson swept into the study like she owned it, her blonde hair perfect, her dress cut to display her figure to full advantage. She smiled at Ewan, a smile that was all calculation and no warmth.
"Laird McGill," she purred. "I'm so glad I caught ye. We need to talk."
Ewan's hands clenched into fists beneath his desk. "Ye were told ye werenae welcome here, Lady Laura. I believe I made that abundantly clear."
"Oh, that." Laura waved a dismissive hand. "Surely ye dinnae mean it? Surely ye were just angry about whatever misunderstandin' occurred. But I'm willin' to forgive ye for that harshness. Willin' to give ye another chance."
Leon made a choking sound that might have been suppressed laughter.
"Another chance?" Ewan's voice was dangerously quiet. "Ye think I need another chance? After ye insulted me betrothed, threatened me ward, and made it clear ye have nae respect for anyone but yerself?"
"That girl is nae yer betrothed," Laura said, her smile turning sharp. "She's yer prisoner. Everyone kens it, even if they're too polite to say it. And we both ken ye're only keepin' her around for whatever political reasons. Surely ye daenae actually care about her?"
Ewan stood slowly, his chair scraping back. "Get out."
"But Ewan…"
"Laird McGill," he corrected coldly. "Ye've lost the privilege of usin' me given name. Now get out of me castle before I have ye thrown out."
Laura's expression shifted, confidence wavering as she finally seemed to realize he was serious. "I—I came here to offer meself to ye. To give ye what that plump little prisoner never could. Surely ye can see—"
"I see that ye're still here despite bein' told to leave," Ewan interrupted. "I see that ye're either incredibly stupid or incredibly arrogant. Possibly both."
"I'm beautiful," Laura said, as if that explained everything. As if her physical appearance somehow gave her the right to insult Maia and proposition him in his own study. "I'm everythin' a laird could want in a wife. Elegant. Well-bred. Much more suitable than some captured MacMahon girl who—"
She was moving as she spoke, circling the desk with that predatory grace she probably thought was seductive. Before Ewan could react, before he could step back or order her away, Laura had slipped between him and the desk and straddled his lap.
Her hands went to his shoulders, her lips aiming for his mouth. "Let me show ye what ye're missin'. Let me prove to ye that I'm better than her in every way."
Fury, white-hot and instant, flooded through Ewan's veins.
He grabbed Laura's wrists and shoved her off him with enough force to send her stumbling backward. She caught herself on the edge of the desk, her eyes wide with shock.
"How dare ye," she started, but Ewan cut her off.
"How dare I?" His voice was ice. "How dare ye enter me study uninvited, proposition me despite bein' explicitly told ye were nae welcome, and then put yer hands on me without permission? Have ye completely lost yer mind?"
"I was just—"
"Ye were just remindin' me why I wanted ye gone in the first place," Ewan finished. "Ye're vain, entitled, and utterly incapable of takin' nae for an answer. And ye just made the biggest mistake of yer life."
Laura's face had gone pale. "What do ye mean?"
"I mean ye're nae just banned from me castle anymore. Ye're banned from McGill lands entirely. If I see ye here again, if I catch even a glimpse of ye on me territory, I will strip yer faither of his position on the council and exile yer entire family. Do I make meself clear?"
"Ye cannae do that."
"I can, and I will." Ewan moved around the desk, forcing Laura to back toward the door.
"And just so we're absolutely certain there's nae misunderstandin'—I would never, under any circumstances, choose ye over Maia.
Even if she were nae in me life, even if I were desperate and alone, I wouldnae want ye.
Because ye're everythin' I despise in a person, and she's everythin' I—"
He stopped abruptly, the words dying on his lips as he realized what he'd been about to say.
Everythin' I love.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
"Get out," he said again, his voice rough. "Now. Before I do somethin' we'll both regret."
Laura fled, and the door slammed behind her with satisfying force.
Leon, who'd been watching the entire scene in silence, let out a low whistle. "Well. That was entertainin'."
"Shut up," Ewan muttered, sinking back into his chair.
"Ye love her. Maia. Ye're in love with her."
"I said shut up."
"It's written all over yer face. Has been for days, if I'm bein' honest. But that little speech, 'she's everythin' I'," Leon grinned. "Ye've got it bad, friend."
Ewan dropped his head into his hands. "This is a disaster."
After Leon left, Ewan sat alone in his study, staring at the door Laura had fled through.
He loved Maia. Was in love with her in a way that made everythin' else seem insignificant.
And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.