She had a way of making the hall feel less like a war front and more like a home.
Finley followed Maxwell’s line of sight and snorted softly.
“Ye look like a man watching a lantern in a long dark night,” he murmured.
Maxwell didn’t answer.
Finley’s brows rose. “Should I fetch a bucket of cold water?”
“Try,” Maxwell growled, “and I’ll drown ye in it.”
Finley grinned. “Ah. So ye admit?”
“I admit nothing.”
He walked off before Finley could say another word.
Hours later, the horn sounded.
The O’Douglas had arrived.
The great wooden doors opened with a heavy creak. Laird Lyall O’Douglas stepped inside first. He was a tall man with silver streaking his dark beard, his clothing fine enough to show status and bold enough to show arrogance. His son walked beside him. Archer was younger, leaner, with the hollow-eyed charm of a fox wearing a crown.
Both men wore smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.
“Laird McNeill,” Lyall greeted, spreading his arms with calculated warmth. “It has been far too long.”
“Nae long enough,” Maxwell muttered under his breath before stepping forward.
He bowed his head the faintest inch. The bare minimum respect required. “Laird O’Douglas. Welcome to McNeill.”
Archer’s gaze slid toward the hall, then toward Ariella. His smile sharpened.
Maxwell felt his spine stiffen.
Ariella stepped forward and curtsied with grace. “Laird O’Douglas. Master Archer. We are pleased to host ye.”
Lyall’s eyes skimmed her figure with far too much calculation. “Sothisis the new Lady McNeill. Word travels, of course, but none of it did yer beauty justice.”
Ariella smiled politely, not warmly. “Ye flatter, Laird.”
“Aye,” Archer said, stepping closer, “but we O’Douglas men flatter only where it’s due.”
Maxwell’s jaw worked.
Finley leaned in. “Ye are allowed to kick him,” he whispered. “As Laird, I’ll say it was justice.”
“Later,” Maxwell murmured back.
Ariella, the ever brilliant and perceptive woman, smoothly redirected the conversation.
“Please, take yer seats. Mairi has prepared a feast fit for kings.”
Lyall chuckled. “We shall see.”
Maxwell pulled a chair out for Ariella, a gesture he rarely made, but one that seemed necessary with predators circling. She murmured thanks and sat, hands folded neatly in her lap.
The feast began.
