Then he stepped closer.
Ariella stiffened. “What are ye doing?”
Maxwell leaned in and kissed her.
Not a hidden kiss in a corridor. Not a quiet one behind a door. This was in the middle of the market, with the scent of sugar on his mouth and the taste of it still on his tongue.
Ariella made a startled sound against his lips, then melted into it for half a heartbeat before reality snapped back.
The vendor whistled loud enough to draw a few heads.
Ariella jerked away, hand flying to her mouth, flustered and breathless. “Maxwell.”
He lifted a brow, entirely unbothered.
“How was it?” He asked, voice low.
Ariella’s eyes darted around, mortified. Then she looked up at him, cheeks blazing. “Decadent.”
Maxwell’s eyes darkened a fraction. “Aye?”
He wanted to say something else. Something that would make her blush harder. Something that would prove, to himself, that he could take what he wanted and still keep control of the terms.
Instead, he turned slightly, scanning the crowd again as if nothing had happened.
Ariella stood beside him, breathing too fast, smoothing her skirts, trying and failing to regain composure. He felt a grim satisfaction at that.
They bought honey cakes. They bought oat bannock. Maxwell paid without comment when Ariella’s eyes lingered on a small bundle of ribbons, and she pretended not to notice.
On the ride back, she was quieter. Still glowing, but quieter, as if the kiss had rearranged something in her thoughts.
Maxwell did not speak of it.
He did not need to.
When the keep came back into view, stone rising against the gray sky, Maxwell’s mind returned to practical things. Guards. Stores. O’Douglas. The healer who had been away in the market as well.
They dismounted in the yard.
The stable boy took their horses, and Maxwell turned toward the entrance.
Then Isla appeared at a sprint.
Her hair had come loose from its pins, cheeks wet, eyes wide with panic. She nearly slammed into Ariella.
“Me lady!” Isla gasped. “Me maither — It’s time! The pains started and they’re close and the healer is nae back yet.”
Ariella’s face sharpened instantly, all softness gone, replaced by calm competence. She grabbed Isla’s hand. “Where is she?”
“In the kitchen,” Isla sobbed. “She told me to be brave, but she is trying to be brave and I cannae.”
Maxwell’s voice cut through the panic like a blade. “Finley!” he barked right as his man stepped out of the shadow into the entryway, curious at the commotion. “Fetch the healer. Now! Ride if ye must.”
Before Finley could even acknowledge him, Maxwell turned to the nearest guard. “Send for hot water. Clean cloths. Firewood. Move, man!”
Then he looked at Ariella.
Who was already moving, pulling Isla along, steady as stone.
