She was young. Hopeful. Bright in ways he was not. She wanted things he could not give her.
He could not let her look at him with eyes full of want.
He would break her.
He would break himself.
“Fool,” he muttered into the wind.
The next morning, before dawn, he was already saddled and waiting when she appeared in the courtyard. She moved quietly, eyes lowered, shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders.
She did not look at him.
The sight twisted like a blade.
“We ride,” he said roughly.
She nodded once.
For several minutes, they walked their horses through the courtyard in silence. Her jaw was tight. Her gaze stayed fixed ahead. Not on him.
It was frustrating.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Ariella.”
She did not look up. “Aye?”
His jaw ticked. “I… should nae have spoken so sharply last night.”
She blinked, surprised.
He forced the words out. “But the matter stands. We ride to the village. I will nae have O’Douglas thinking ye lack what ye deserve.”
Still she did not look at him.
Her voice was quiet. “I am nae ashamed of what I wear.”
“I ken,” he said.
She hesitated. Then, softly she admitted, “But I am grateful.”
His chest heated.
Then she finally lifted her gaze to him. And the moment she did, heat flooded her cheeks again, racing down her throat.
He inhaled sharply.
She scowled at him. “What is it?”
“Nothin’,” Maxwell said quickly.
“Daenae point that out either,” Ariella demanded sharply, tugging her cloak hood closer around her neck as if to shield herself from his gaze.
“I did nae say anything.”
“Well, ye didnae have to, did ye? It’s obvious that ye get a thrill from embarrassin’ me. Though, I am nae sure what I did to deserve this treatment.”
“Treatment?” he asked, brow rising.
