He nodded once, regaining his composure like armor settling back onto his shoulders. Yet he felt her hope like heat against his side, and it unsettled him more than any knife at the border.
Mairi ladled the porridge into bowls with the ruthless efficiency of a woman who fed half a keep before sunrise. She slid one toward Maxwell as if daring him to refuse.
He looked down at it.
Plain oats, a pat of butter melting into the surface, a drizzle of honey that caught the firelight. Simple food. Honest food.
Maxwell picked up the bowl and spoon and, without thinking too hard about it, sat at the long table right there in the kitchen.
The silence that followed was brief, stunned, and then shattered by laughter.
Moira clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, look. He’s domestic.”
Mairi barked a laugh so loud it startled the dog by the hearth. “The laird eating in the kitchen like a common man. Someone mark the day.”
Isla’s eyes sparkled. Ariella’s mouth fell open, then she laughed too, softer, as if she could not decide whether this was absurd or endearing.
Maxwell took a bite, unbothered. “It is food. I am hungry.”
Moira set her hands on her hips. “Hungry enough to sit with us?”
“I am sitting where the bowl is,” Maxwell said.
Mairi slid bowls toward Moira and Isla, then looked at Ariella. “Eat, lass. Ye’ll need it. Market day makes fools of everyone.”
Ariella sat, cheeks warm, and accepted her bowl. Her gaze flicked to Maxwell’s face, then away, as if she were still surprised he was here at all.
Maxwell ate slowly. The porridge was good. Warming. The honey sweet without being cloying. He realized, to his own irritation, that this was how breakfast should be. Not a performance. Not a formal hall with cold stone and colder politics. Just a table, a fire, voices that did not try to cut each other down.
Moira ate with gusto. “So, me Laird. How does it feel to be among the staff?”
Maxwell looked at her. “I have always been among the staff.”
Moira scoffed. “Aye, but usually ye stand like a specter in yer own keep. Today ye’re eating porridge with the rest of us. It’s unsettling.”
Maxwell nodded solemnly. “I aim to unsettle.”
Ariella made a small sound, half laugh, half gasp, as if she could not believe he said that.
Mairi leaned forward, eyes glinting. “If ye aim to unsettle, ye can start by washing a dish when we’re done.”
Moira slapped the table. “Aye! The laird will learn the true work of a clan.”
Maxwell lifted a brow. “I daenae wash dishes.”
Moira pointed her spoon at him. “Ye said ye aim to unsettle.”
Maxwell’s mouth twitched. “I didnae mean tothatdegree.”
Ariella laughed into her bowl, shoulders shaking. The sound warmed him in a way he did not name.
When they finished, Ariella stood at once, collecting bowls. “I can wash these.”
Mairi waved a hand. “Sit, me Lady, I will do it.”
Ariella shook her head, already moving toward the basin. “I want to.”
Maxwell watched her without meaning to.
