1
"Ye're a disgrace to the Ferguson name, niece."
The words slicedthrough the main hall like a blade, sharp and cold. Maia's spine stiffened even further, if that were possible. Still, she kept her gaze fixed on the stone wall above his shoulder level. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. Not today. Not after six years of this.
"Look at ye."Uncle Callen's voice continued with contempt as his boots clicked closer across the flagstones. "Standin' there like a cow waitin' for slaughter. Do ye think any man of worth will want ye when ye cannae even carry yerself with dignity?"
Maia's handsbegan to tremble at her sides. She curled them into fists, pressing them against the fabric of her worn gown.
The material wascoarse beneath her palms, another reminder that while her uncle wore fine wool and velvet, she was dressed like a scullery maid.
"I asked ye a question."His breath was hot as he leaned closer. She could smell the whisky on him, even this early in the day. "Or has all the weight ye keep pilin' on crushed yer ability to speak as well?"
Heat flooded Maia's cheeks.Around them, the handful of clan members present for the morning meal had fallen silent. She could feel their eyes on her, some pitying, most indifferent. None would speak up. They never did.
"I—Uncle,I—" she began, but the words would not come. Her uncle cut into the silence with a bark of laughter.
"Stutterin'like a fool now. Christ above, what did me brother see in ye? He always claimed ye were so clever, so special." Callen circled her slowly, like a predator assessing prey. "I see nothin' but a useless,fatgirl who cannae even manage to make herself presentable for breakfast."
Maia wrappedher arms around herself, trying to create some barrier between his words and her heart. It didn't work. It never worked. Each insult burrowed deep, settling next to all the others he'd heaped upon her over the years.
"Nothin'to say?" Callen's tone shifted, becoming almost cheerful in its cruelty. "Good. I'm tired of hearin' yer voice anyway. It grates on me nerves."
He stepped back,straightening his doublet with exaggerated care. The morning light streaming through the high windows caught the gold thread in the fabric—gold that should have beenused for the clan, for repairs to the cottages, for food stores. Instead, it decorated her uncle's vanity.
"Guards,"he called out, no longer looking at her anymore. She'd been dismissed. Just another unpleasant task completed before his day truly began. "Escort Miss Maia back to her chambers. And make certain the door is properly secured. We wouldnae want our precious niece wanderin' about where she doesnae belong."
Two guards materializedat her sides. Maia recognized them both. Men who'd served her father faithfully. Neither of them met her eyes now. She couldn't blame them. To show her kindness would be to invite Callen's wrath upon themselves, and they had families to protect.
"This way, me lady,"the older of the two murmured, his voice carefully neutral.
Maia moved forwardon wooden legs, her arms still wrapped protectively around her middle. The great hall felt impossibly long as she walked its length, every step echoing in the terrible silence her uncle had created. She kept her chin up through sheer force of will, even as shame burned hot in her chest.
Behind her,conversation slowly resumed, the clan members returning to their meals, their discussions, their lives. Already forgetting her humiliation. It was just another morning at Castle MacMahon, after all.
The corridors grew narroweras they climbed the stairs to the east tower. Maia's chambers were isolated from the rest of the castle, tucked away where visitors wouldn't stumble upon the laird's inconvenient niece. The stone walls pressed close on either side, and the air grew colder with each step upward.
When they finally reached herdoor, the guard produced a heavy iron key from his belt.
The lock was new,replaced just last month after Maia had managed to pick the old one. She'd made it as far as the kitchen courtyard before being caught and dragged back. The punishment had been three days without food and a lecture about knowing her place that had lasted so long her legs had gone numb from standing.
The doorswung open with a groan of protesting hinges. Maia stepped inside without being prompted and heard the door shut immediately behind her. The key turned in the lock with a decisiveclickthat seemed to echo in the small space.
She was alone.
Maia closedher eyes and drew in a shaking breath, finally allowing her carefully maintained composure to crack. Her arms tightened around herself as tears threatened to spill over. She wouldn't cry. She'd promised herself years ago that she wouldn't waste any more tears on Callen Ferguson's cruelty.
But God,it hurt. It always hurt.
The room had onlya narrow bed pushed against one wall, a small table with a single chair, a trunk for her meager belongings, and a washstand with a cracked basin.
The only luxurywas the window, though even that had been turned into a prison. Iron bars crisscrossed the opening, rendering any hope of escape impossible.
Maia movedtoward the window automatically, drawn by the promise of fresh air and sunlight. She sank onto the wooden seat built into the wall beneath the sill, tucking her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees.
From here,she could see a sliver of the world beyond the castle walls—the rolling hills, the forest in the distance, the sky stretching endlessly above.
All of itimpossibly far away.
