He turned sharply toward the courtyard gates, needing distraction. Anything. But then he saw her.
Across the yard, near the well, Ariella stood laughing with Isla and Mairi. Sunlight caught in her hair, turning the dark strands warm as copper. Her smile lit her entire face. Isla said something, and Ariella threw her head back in a laugh so bright it silenced conversations around her.
And for the first time, he saw exactly what Finley meant.
Her dress was carefully mended but visibly thin. The seams had been reinforced where the fabric had worn. Her shawl was faded, the fringe frayed. Her sleeves hung looser than they should, as if the gown had once fit her better.
She looked beautiful.
She also looked like someone whose clan had not been able to provide more.
A quiet shame twisted in Maxwell’s gut. He should have noticed.
He had noticed how she bit her lip when she was nervous, how she touched the tips of her fingers together when thinking, how she always stood with her weight on one foot like she was ready to run or ready to dance.
But notthis.
That night, he told himself it did not matter.
Her gowns did not affect her worth. Or his. Her shawl did not lessen her strength.
But at supper, when she walked into the hall wearing yet another old gown something inside him twisted again with every smile and chuckle she.
She sat beside him, murmuring thanks to the servants. Her hair was neatly braided. Her cheeks flushed from work in the kitchens.
She did not notice him staring.
He approached her.
“Me lady,” he said quietly.
She looked up, but then immediately looked away, flushing.
“Me laird.”
He hated the distance in her voice. Hated that he had caused it.
“We ride to the village on the morrow,” he said.
She blinked. “Why?”
He hesitated, then said the only truth he could.
“A matter of appearance.”
Her eyes snapped up to his.
Ariella’s gaze flicked over him, confusion tightening her brow. A faint blush bloomed high on her cheeks, delicate and unguarded.
“Appearance,” she echoed. “What does that mean?”
He forced the words out evenly. “Ye wanted honesty. I am giving ye honesty.”
She waited, chin lifting slightly.
“Yer gowns,” he said. “They are outdated. Thin. Worn.”
Her blush deepened, blooming down her throat. But her gaze stayed fixed on the table.
