Their laughter mingled, echoing in the high beams of the hall. The servants smiled. Even the guards seemed to ease in posture.
Ariella felt something inside her unclench.
She had missed the warmth of her brother’s laughter, and the shared memories of her family. She realized that she hadn’t spoken of them since arriving and that pained her chest even more somehow. The ease of teasing Frederick, the comfort of knowing he loved her beyond reason.
But between her and Maxwell, a line of silence remained.
Whenever she looked at him, he looked elsewhere. Whenever she glanced away, she felt his gaze drift back.
The memory of the kiss in the modiste shop pulsed through her, a flutter beneath her ribs. She could still feel the imprint of his hand at her waist. Still taste the faint mint on his lips.
Stop thinking of it, she told herself.
Frederick nudged her arm. “And what of ye, El? How are ye truly finding it here?”
She hesitated.
She knew Frederick would hear falsehood in an instant. He had raised her in his own way, after their mother’s worry had grown tiresome. He knew her mood by the way she twisted her fingers or pressed her lips when thinking.
So she told him the truth… mostly.
“I am comfortable here,” she said. “The household is kind. Isla and Ewan make me laugh. Mairi is a marvel. Mrs. Macrae frightens me in the way only a woman with a wooden spoon can frighten.”
Frederick chuckled. “And yer husband?”
The word sent a warmth through her stomach and a twist through her chest.
She swallowed. “He has shown me respect.”
Frederick’s brows rose. “Respect.”
“Aye.”
Maxwell’s gaze flicked up then, unreadable but focused on her.
Frederick leaned back in his seat, studying her face. He saw the faint flush there, the softness in her eyes, the way she stilled when she sensed Maxwell’s attention.
Something flickered in Frederick’s expression.
“Good,” he said at last. “Ye deserve respect. And protection.”
Ariella felt Maxwell’s gaze sharpen slightly, but he said nothing.
Supper wound down slowly. After the final platters were cleared, Frederick stood, stretching his back.
“I will retire,” he said. “I rode since before dawn. And I must return home before maither sends out the guard.”
She rose and kissed his cheek. “Sleep well, braither.”
As Frederick crossed the hall, he paused near Maxwell, hesitated, then offered a stiff, respectful nod.
Maxwell returned it.
No words. But an understanding, however fragile, passed between the two men.
Ariella exhaled softly, her heart loosening like a knot untied.
Perhaps things would be well, after all.
