Mairi leaned back, smug. “Try me.”
Ariella laughed, the sound spilling out easily.
Maxwell’s gaze snapped toward her, and for a moment his expression eased. Not into a smile, exactly. But something warmer than the cold distance of the last day.
Ariella took that warmth like a starving thing.
Perhaps she had misunderstood him. Perhaps he had simply been busy. Worn thin. Guarding his keep the only way he knew.
She let herself breathe again.
Maxwell stepped nearer the table and spoke quietly, aimed at Callum. “Ye are hovering.”
Callum blinked. “I am nae.”
“Ye are,” Maxwell said. “Sit. Ye’ll wear a rut into the floor.”
Moira laughed. “Look at that. Even the laird sees it.”
Callum scowled but obeyed, dropping onto the bench with a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”
Maxwell’s mouth twitched. “Good.”
Ariella stared.
He had sounded almost like Moira. Dry. Teasing. Comfortable.
It was a new side of him, and it struck her harder than it should have.
She rose slowly. “Mairi, may I hold her again?”
Mairi nodded. “Aye. Take her.”
Isla handed the baby back reluctantly, like she feared she’d miss something if she let go.
Ariella cradled the baby again, marveling at her weight, her warmth.
Ewan bounced on his stool. “Is she hungry?”
Mairi gave him a look. “She’s always hungry.”
Callum immediately stood again. “Do ye need her, Mairi?”
Mairi sighed. “Nay. Sit.”
Callum sat.
Moira leaned toward Ariella, voice lowered. “He’s worse than a maither hen.”
Ariella smiled. “It’s sweet.”
Moira snorted. “Aye. Until ye’re the one he’s clucking over.”
Ariella’s cheeks warmed despite herself, and she glanced toward Maxwell again.
He was watching her now. Watching the baby in her arms.
Something in his gaze looked careful. Controlled. But underneath it, something else flickered, like a flame trying to catch.
