She looked lesslike a prisoner and more like a lady. His lady, some possessive part of him whispered.
"Well?"Maia asked, uncertainty flickering across her face. "Is it suitable?"
"Aye."The word came out gruff. "It'll do."
Behind her,the seamstress appeared with Maia's discarded shift. "I'll just dispose of this for ye, shall I? Poor thing is filthy and half-torn. Barely fit for rags now."
Maia's cheeks flushed,but she nodded. "Thank ye. For everythin'."
Ewan paidthe seamstress more than was due because she had been quick and discreet, before turning back to Maia. "Ye've got twenty minutes left. Where do ye want to go?"
Her whole face brightened."Really? Ye'll let me explore?"
"I said ye could, dinnae I?"He gestured toward the market square. "But ye stay where I can see ye, understand? And if I call ye back, ye come immediately. Nay arguments."
"Willye be quiet for the rest of the journey if I agree?" The words slipped out before Maia could stop them, a teasing lilt to her voice that reminded him of how she'd been during their ride yesterday.
Ewan felthis lips twitch despite himself. "Will ye?"
"Probably nae."She grinned at him, and the sight of that dimple in her cheek made his chest do something strange. "But I promise to try."
"That's what I thought."He shook his head, fighting back his own smile. "Go on, then. But remember, stay close."
Maia didn't needto be told twice. She practically skipped toward the market square, her new skirts swishing around her legs, her face alight with wonder.
Ewan followedat a more sedate pace, keeping her in sight while trying to maintain the appearance of casual indifference. He wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself.
"Oh!"Maia's gasp reached him from three stalls away. She'd stopped at a baker's stand, her hands clasped beneath her chin. "Is that... is that honey bread?"
The old womanbehind the stall beamed. "Aye, lass. Fresh this mornin'. Would ye like a taste?"
"Could I?"Maia's voice was reverent, as if she'd been offered the crown jewels.
Ewan's jaw tightened.Honey bread. She was acting as if she'd never seen honey bread before.
She movedfrom stall to stall, touching everything with reverent fingers. A basket of apples. Root vegetables still dirty from the earth. When she reached a pottery display, she actually gasped.
"Lookat the glaze on this one," she breathed, running her fingertip along the rim of a simple bowl. "The color—it's like the sky just after dawn."
The potter,a grizzled man with clay-stained hands, grunted. "Ye've got a good eye, lass."
What kindof man locked away his own niece? What kind of monster kept a young woman imprisoned from the age of sixteen, depriving her of even the most basic freedoms?
The kindof man who raided his neighbors and killed innocent people. The kind of man who deserved exactly what was coming to him.
Ewan's handtightened on his sword hilt.
Movement caught his eye.Maia had drifted farther away than he'd intended, drawn toward a stall displaying ribbons and hair combs. She was examining a blue ribbon, holding it up to the light, her expression soft and wistful.
"Bonniest color I've ever seen,"she murmured to herself.
Why woulda laird's niece be so enchanted by ribbons? She should be used to fine things, to silks and velvets and jewels.
But there she was,running her fingers over that ribbon like it was spun gold.
There was a story there.Something he didn't know, didn't understand.
He was sofocused on Maia that he almost missed the man approaching her.
