His expression did not budge.
Then she saw it.
The tension in his jaw. The tightness around his eyes. It was as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and was trying not to let the burn show.
The tension between them stretched thin.
Somewhere down the corridor, a door slammed.
Neither of them moved. “What has happened?” she asked softly.
“Nothin’,” he said too quickly.
Ariella’s heart sank a fraction. “Maxwell.”
His gaze flicked away, then back. “What does yer maither say?”
Ariella studied him. “Why do ye want to ken?”
“Because, Ariella,” he said, voice controlled, “I have just asked ye.”
That was not an answer.
She rose slowly, letter still in hand. “Ye are worried.”
“I am nae,” he said, and it was almost convincing until she saw his hands. One of them was clenched, fingers flexing until the knuckles were white.
Ariella stepped closer. “What is this about? Have I angered ye?”
Maxwell’s eyes sharpened. His silence neither confirmed or denied it.
She held up her letter slightly. “This is from me maither. She speaks of the keep and me braither being busy —”
Maxwell’s gaze snapped from hers down to the parchment at that. “May I?”
Ariella hesitated only a heartbeat, then handed it over.
Maxwell took it and read quickly, eyes moving with ruthless efficiency. He looked like a man scanning a battlefield, not reading a mother’s careful words.
When he finished, he handed it back.
“I am glad yer maither is well,” he said. “And yer braither has been busy. We shall see soon enough the caliber of his plans.”
Ariella’s brows lifted. “That is all ye have to say?”
“It is sufficient enough,” Maxwell replied.
Ariella felt a flare of annoyance, sharp and familiar. “What are ye nae telling me?”
Maxwell’s gaze went cold. “Daenae leap at shadows.”
Ariella’s pulse kicked. “I am nae leaping. I am observing me husband.”
He stared at her.
For a moment, she thought he might tell her. Might admit what sat heavy behind his eyes. Might treat her as an equal the way he had agreed.
Instead, he said, “Should ye write back to her…”
