“I did not order it for ye.”
The vendor handed Maxwell the steaming hand-pie.
Maxwell stared at it as if it had personally offended him.
Ariella took a delicate bite of her bannock, and then eyed the pie in his hand.
“Are ye going to eat that?”
He exhaled sharply and handed it over without a fight.
She grinned around a mouthful. “Thank ye, husband.”
He muttered something incoherent, and offered a hand to help her back onto her horse. Ariella took it, letting him lift her up onto the saddle, and then followed his lead as they pulled away from the vendor.
As the roadway turned away from the old man and his cart, Ariella asked, “Is it large?”
“Large enough,” Maxwell replied with quick, firm, assurety.
She waited for more. Nothing came.
“The village… Do ye come here often?” she tried again.
“When there is need.”
He did not ask her a single thing in return.
She pressed her lips together, then tried a different tack.
“Did ye grow up riding these same hills?” she asked. “Knew every turn and stone before ye were ten?”
“Aye.”
“Ye never got lost?” she pressed.
“Never.”
“Not once?” she said, skeptical.
He glanced at her, the faintest glint in his eyes. “Nae once that anyone found out about.”
She smiled despite herself. “So ye were human at one time.”
“I had me moments,” he said.
They fell quiet again. She wished, a little foolishly, that he would turn one of those simple questions back on her. Ask if she had ever been to a village like this. Ask if she was excited.
Instead, he rode stiff and straight, gaze on the road, distance settled around him like another layer of clothing.
He is putting space between us, she realized.After the kiss. After the touch of his hand on me cheek.
The thoughts stung more than she wanted to admit.
“Have ye always used the same modiste for dressin’ the Keep?” she asked, refusing to let the conversation die.
“Aye.”
“Is she frightening?” Ariella asked. “Like Mrs. Macrae with pins.”
