His jaw flexed. “Ariella.”
“Do not Ariella me,” she cut in, fire sparking again. “Ye said ye wanted an equal. Someone to stand beside ye. But ye treat me like someone who ought to be informed only when it suits ye. That is nae equality. That is courtesy for a favored servant.”
His gaze cooled.
“Ye ought to trust yer husband.”
“Me husband,” she returned, “does nae trust me.”
Silence.
The air went thick.
His eyes moved over her slowly, assessing. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
“That’s nae howthisworks.”
“How doesthiswork?”
“I act in the clan’s best interest as it’s laird, first. And then in yer best interest second, as yer husband.”
“Ye are nae, though!” Ariella shot back before she could stop herself.
His head tilted slightly. “Nae what?”
Her breath stilled. The words slipped out before she could bite them back. “Ye are nae me husband, in truth.”
His expression changed.
Not softened.
Darkened.
“Nae in truth,” he repeated, his voice low. “Because I have nae claimed ye?”
Heat shot through her in a violent rush. “That is nae what I meant.”
“Is it nae?” he asked softly, stepping closer. “Ye speak as if it is.”
She took a step back, and then another. “I did nae — ye are twisting me words!”
He stepped even closer. “I am nae twisting anythin’… yet.”
Ariella’s spine hit the wall. He stopped a breath away, enough heat from him to melt snow.
Maxwell was so close now that she had to tilt her head back. “If ye wanted to be claimed, Ariella, all ye needed to do was ask.”
Her breath crashed out of her.
“What?” she whispered.
“Just ask me, lass. I will nae deny ye,” he murmured, eyes falling to her mouth. “I will gladly show ye the difference between a husband in name and a husband in truth.”
The room tilted toward him.
Someone made a sound.
It might have been her.
