The moment stretched taut between them.
Then she swallowed hard and pushed back so abruptly her chair scraped.
“I must go eat,” she blurted. “Before Me supper grows cold.”
She turned and practically fled the hall, the same way she had fled his chambers the night before.
Maxwell remained rooted where he stood, hand still raised uselessly in the air.
He stared at the empty doorway.
Then, barely audibly, he muttered, “Damn.”
He stayed where she left him until Finley approached with a plate in hand and an expression that said he’d seen more than Maxwell wanted him to.
“Ye look like someone hit ye with a beam,” Finley observed.
Maxwell ignored him.
“Ye told her about the gowns, then?” Finley guessed.
Maxwell grunted.
“And she got angry with ye?” Finley nodded sagely.
“Aye.”
“Aye, that sounds right.”
Maxwell turned a warning glare on him.
Finley held up one hand. “I am only saying that ye cannae toss words like that at a woman and expect her nae to take them to heart.”
“It was nae an insult,” Maxwell snapped. “It was truth.”
“Truth is still sharp,” Finley said. “Especially from a man she is newly wed to. She doesnae ken ye or any of us. Might have come better from Isla… or Mairi, even.”
Maxwell stiffened. “Finley.”
Finley grinned. “I am only speaking what I see.”
“Stop seeing,” Maxwell muttered.
But the damage was done.
After the meal, he walked the ramparts alone. Cold wind tore at his plaid, tugged at his hair. The torches burned in golden pools along the wall, guarding the night.
He searched the horizon for threats.
He found only memories of her instead.
Ariella in the courtyard laughing like no one was watching. Ariella in the kitchen with flour on her cheek. Ariella standing in his chambers, angry and trembling. Ariella standing in front of him in the hall, lips parted, eyes soft.
He gripped the stone ledge with both hands.
He should keep his distance.
He should be careful.
