“That is careless,” she said. “Even for him.”
“He has always been careless,” Maxwell said. “That is the core of him. Light feet, light heart.”
“And ye love him,” she said quietly.
His jaw ticked. “He is me braither.”
“That is nae what I asked.”
He did not answer.
She leaned her hip against the desk, close enough that the fabric of her skirts brushed the back of his hand where it rested. “Are ye close?”
He stared at the grain of the wood. “We were.”
“Because ye are the older,” she said, “or because ye are all the other has.”
He let out a breath. “Both.”
She nodded, as if that made sense. “Frederick and I are close too. But he is forever trying to wrap me in wool and keep sharp corners from me. Even the truth, sometimes. He says it is because the world is hard enough without the pieces of it he can spare me.”
“He shields ye,” Maxwell said.
“Aye,” she said. “As if me being a woman makes me likely to shatter.”
“It is nae that,” Maxwell said before he thought better of it.
She tilted her head, curious. “Nay.”
“It is older braither,” he said. “Older sibling. We are raised to think we can stand between the younger and every blow. We daenae stop to consider what happens when we are nay longer there to catch it.”
She studied him, something softening in her gaze.
“Ye do that for Hunter,” she said. “Stand between him and blows.”
“Nae as well as I thought,” he said. “He still runs toward the nearest cliff.”
She hummed, fingertip tracing a knot in the wood. “Even if it means taking his place.”
He did not move.
She looked up, eyes meeting his. There it was again, that spark that had been plaguing him since the vows. Too bright. Too questioning. Too much.
“Even if it means standing where he ought to have stood,” she continued, very quietly now. “Even if it means marrying a lass he should have taken as his duty, nae leaving ye to patch the wound.”
The room seemed smaller suddenly. The fire louder.
He could feel her warmth through the space between them. Smell the faint hint of soap and flour and something he was beginning to think of as hers alone.
“Aye,” he said.
Her gaze dipped to his mouth for a heartbeat, then lifted again. The air thickened.
Her hand rose, hesitated in the space between them. He might have stopped her. He did not.
Fingertips brushed his cheek, lightly at first, then with more surety. The pads of her fingers traced the line of the old scar that carved from brow to cheek, the rougher skin there under her touch.
“May I ask,” she murmured. “About these?”
