Hazy confusion wrapped itself tighter about her. She was aware of the stone beneath her feet, of the weight of silk on her shoulders, of the distant sound of someone laughing in disbelief. Her heart beat somewhere far away, as if in someone else’s chest.
It struck her then that she had come to this same alcove as a child to hide from duties, to steal a moment of quiet. Now she stood here with a man who had just calmly announced that he would take her as his wife.
“It is quieter here,” Maxwell said. His voice came from very near. She had not realized how close he had moved.
She stared at the tapestry beside her, the faded image of some long dead warrior whose face had worn away with time. Her hands had begun to tremble.
“Ariella.”
He spoke her name with a rough gentleness that tugged her gaze upward before she could resist.
He reached out and tipped her chin with two fingers. The touch was firm, but not unkind. “Look at me.”
She did. His green eyes filled her world.
“They are loud out there,” he said. “Opinions. Fears. None of that matters right now. Only this. Do ye remember what we spoke of last night.”
Her throat worked. The words were there, somewhere beneath the fog. “About O’Douglas.”
“Aye. About yer clan. About mine. About why this match was made at all.”
“For our clans,” she whispered.
The corners of his mouth softened, not quite a smile. “For our clans,” he agreed. “That has nae changed. Hunter has shown his nature. The threat from O’Douglas has nae grown smaller because me braither lacks a spine. The shield we spoke of still needs to be raised.”
“And thatshieldis me.” The words came out hollow.
“Aye,” he said. “And me. Together we are the shield.”
Something in his tone steadied her more than the words themselves. He was not coaxing her with pretty speeches. Hewas not pretending this was romance or fate or any nonsense from the songs. He spoke as he would speak to one of his captains, or so she imagined. Offering a place beside him, not beneath.
Her head cleared a little.
“Ye will nae run again,” he said, half question, half certainty.
She thought of the dark road, the cold wind, her own fear. She thought of the way the clan had looked at her this morning, hopeful and expectant, placing more on her shoulders than jewels and silk.
She thought of her brother, weary and proud, finally admitting that he needed help. She thought of her mother’s hands, wringing and wringing, desperate to keep her safe in a world where safety was a luxury.
“I will nae run,” she said. Her voice still shook, but the words were clear. “If this is what keeps me clan safe, I will do me duty as I was prepared to do this day with yer braither.”
His fingers at her chin tightened the smallest fraction, as if he acknowledged the weight of what she gave. His eyes darkened.
“Good lass,” he murmured.
The quiet praise slid over her skin like a touch. A shiver ran down her spine, unexpected and swift. She felt suddenly, acutelyaware of how close he stood. Of the breadth of his shoulders, the heat of him, the faint scent of leather and steel that clung to him.
Confusion swirled with that new awareness. It was too much. Too fast.
He seemed to sense it. His hand fell away from her chin, leaving her skin oddly cold.
“Are ye certain,” he asked. “I will nae have ye say later that ye were forced with nay choice at all.”
“Ye said yerself,” she replied, surprised to find a spark of her usual sharpness surfacing. “There is nay time for niceties. The clans are waiting. The priest is waiting. O’Douglas is waiting. I may as well decide one thing for meself and walk toward it, instead of letting it drag me.”
His gaze held hers a moment longer. Something akin to respect or approval flickered there. Then he inclined his head. “Very well. Let us give them their shield.”
They stepped back into the hall together. In step.
