Ariella had wanted distance once, she realized.
But now? Now, she did not know what she wanted at all.
10
The clatter of hooves echoed sharply across the courtyard not twenty minutes after they arrived from the village.
Ariella, halfway down the steps toward the hall, paused and turned. A lone rider approached at a brisk, angry pace. Mud splattered the horse’s legs and chest, and the rider’s cloak was darkened with rain and hard travel.
Maxwell drew his pistol and place himself between her and the rider until finally he heard one of his tower guard yell out.
McIntosh arrives!
The rider swung down before the horse even fully stopped. The hood fell back.
“Frederick!” Ariella called out, pushing herself past Maxwell.
She rushed down the steps, her heart leaping. Her brother caught her mid-run, arms closing around her with such force that it nearly knocked the air from her lungs.
“Thank God,” he muttered into her hair. “Ariella, I have been sick with worry.”
Her smile faltered. “Worry? Why?”
He pulled back, hands gripping her shoulders, scanning her face. “Because I received nay word from ye. None. Nae a single message since the wedding!”
Her stomach dipped. “It has only been days, Frederick. Laird McNeill and I have only just gotten into a rhythm.”
“Exactly,” he said sharply. “And not a single word. Nae from him. Nae from ye.” His gaze swept the courtyard, sharp and assessing, lingering on guards, walls, details he did not trust.
Ariella opened her mouth to reassure him, but Frederick’s eyes had already moved.
Maxwell stood in the entryway, cloak thrown over one shoulder, expression unreadable.
Frederick’s body straightened as if preparing for battle.
“Laird McNeill,” Frederick called out, his voice clipped.
Maxwell walked toward them with slow, deliberate steps, stopping a respectful distance away. “Laird McIntosh.”
The air between them chilled, and Ariella felt it like a pressure in her ribs.
Frederick’s jaw clenched. “I trust ye have a reason for keeping me sister from sending so much as a message.”
Ariella stiffened. “Frederick…”
Maxwell answered before she could. “The journey was long. The wedding unplanned. She has been settling in.”
“Settling in,” Frederick repeated, voice sharp with disbelief. “Without a single word to her kin.”
“It wasnae his doing,” Ariella said quickly. “I —”
Frederick cut her a look, protective and stubborn as always. “Ariella, stay out of this.”
She bristled. She was no longer a child clinging to her brother’s sleeve.
Maxwell’s gaze flicked between them, cool and unreadable. “Yer sister is free to speak. This is her home.”
Frederick’s brows snapped together. “Is that what ye call freedom? When she is carried off to a keep I’ve never visited, and sent nay word of her welfare? Our maither is miserably worried. I had to come meself.”
