Ewan headed for the door."Come on, then. Let's get movin'."
It tookanother hour to reach the village of Drummore. It had barely more than a handful of cottages clustered around a smallkirk and a market square, but it had what Ewan needed, a seamstress.
Maia had beensilent for most of the morning ride, though her eyes had tracked everything they passed with that same hungry curiosity he'd seen yesterday. She hadn't asked her usual endless questions, hadn't pointed out every deer or interesting cloud formation.
Ewan toldhimself he was grateful for the peace.
He was lying.
As they enteredthe village proper, Maia finally broke her silence. "Can we…" She stopped, started again. "Would it be possible to stop? Just for a moment? I'd like to look around."
"We need to keep movin',lass."
"Please?"The word was soft, almost tentative. "Just for a wee bit? I promise I'll nae cause any trouble."
Ewan glanced down at her.She was looking up at him with those wide grey eyes, her expression hopeful in a way that made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.
"Thirty minutes,"he heard himself say. "Nay more. And only because ye need proper clothin' anyway. I'll nae have ye wanderin' about in yer shift for the rest of the journey."
Maia's facelit up like sunrise, and Ewan had to look away from the sheer joy radiating from her.
She's been locked awayfor six years. Of course, she wants to explore a village. Daenae read more into it than that.
He dismountedand reached up to help her down. His hands spanned her waist easily, and he was struck again by how she felt in his grip, solid and real and wonderfully soft.
She steadiedherself with her hands on his shoulders, and for a moment they stood frozen, close enough that he could see the flecks of silver in her grey eyes.
Then Maia stepped back quickly,color rising in her cheeks. "Thank ye."
"Aye."Ewan's voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat and turned toward the seamstress's cottage. "Come on. Let's get ye sorted."
The seamstress,a plump woman with kind eyes and graying hair, took one look at Maia wrapped in Ewan's cloak and immediately ushered them inside.
"Oh, ye poor dear,"she clucked, eyeing Maia's bare feet and disheveled appearance. "Let's get ye fixed up proper-like, shall we?"
"I need somethin'suitable for travel," Ewan said. "Sturdy. Warm. And quickly, we daenae have much time."
"Aye.I've got just the thing." The seamstress beamed at him; clearly, she recognized him, or at least his status, and immediately began pulling out garments. "This one here, I think. Good wool, well-made, should fit the lass nicely."
She heldup a simple gown in deep green, with long sleeves and a modest neckline. Nothing fancy, but serviceable and appropriate.
Maia's eyes widened."It's bonnie."
"It's practical,"Ewan corrected. "Which is what matters."
The seamstress shooedhim toward the door. "Out with ye now, sir. A lady needs privacy to dress."
Ewan started to protest.Maia was his prisoner; he needed to keep an eye on her, but the seamstress was already closing the door in his face with surprising firmness for someone half his size.
He waited outside,keeping watch on both the door and the surrounding village. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, more from habit than any real sense of danger. Drummore was well within McGill territory; they were safe enough here.
Still,old habits die hard.
After what feltlike an eternity but was probably only ten minutes, the door opened, and Maia emerged.
Ewan's breath caught.
The green gownfit her perfectly, highlighting the curves he'd spent the past day trying not to think about. The color brought out the warmth in her skin, made her grey eyes look almost luminous. Her hair had been brushed and pinned back, though loose waves still framed her face.
