Not no.Not never. Just... later.
Maia tried notto let her disappointment show, but from the way Aisla was hiding a smile behind her hand, she suspected she wasn't succeeding.
"Fine,"she said, unable to keep the pout entirely out of her voice. "A few days."
"Good."Ewan nodded to Aisla. "Get her what she needs. And stay with her—help her get familiar with the castle, introduce her to the staff, that sort of thing."
"Aye, me laird."Aisla's smile was wide now, clearly entertained by the entire exchange. "I'll take good care of her."
The airin the room felt charged somehow, thick with something Maia couldn't quite name. Ewan was looking at her with an expression she couldn't read, something dark and heated that made her stomach flip and her skin prickle with awareness.
She rememberedhis hands in her hair. His mouth on hers. The way he'd tasted like whisky and danger.
Stop it. Stop thinkin'about that.
"I'll check on ye later,"Ewan said, his voice rougher than it had been a moment ago. "Make sure ye're settlin' in alright."
Then he was gone,the door closing behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.
Maia releaseda breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Well,"Aisla said, her voice bright with barely contained amusement. "That was interestin'."
Maia's cheeks flamed."I daenae ken what ye mean."
"Oh, I think ye do."Aisla moved further into the room, examining Maia with those sharp green eyes. "But we can pretend ye daenae, if that makes ye more comfortable. Now, let's talk about these clothes ye'll be needin'."
Relief floodedthrough Maia at the change of subject. "Ye really can get me somethin' comfortable? Nae just fancy gowns that look nice but make it impossible to move?"
"Aye,of course. We're nae prissy court ladies here." Aisla gestured at her own practical dress. "Most of us prefer clothin' we can actually do things in. I'll have the seamstress make ye some sturdy wool dresses—warm, easy to move in, suitable for walkin' and explorin'. Will that do?"
"That sounds perfect."Maia felt tears prick at her eyes and blinked them back quickly. It was such a small thing—the promise of comfortable clothing—but after six years of wearing the same worn gowns her uncle had deemed suitable for a prisoner, it felt like a gift beyond measure.
"Are ye alright?"Aisla's voice had gentled, concern replacing amusement.
"Aye. Just grateful, I suppose."Maia managed a watery smile. "It's been a long few days."
"I can imagine."Aisla sat down in one of the chairs near the fireplace and gestured for Maia to take the other. "It must be strange, bein' taken from yer home like that."
Home.
Castle MacMahon hadn't beenher home in six years. It had been her prison.
But Maia didn't saythat. Didn't know if she could trust this woman yet, friendly though she seemed.
"It's... complicated,"she said instead.
"Aye, I suppose it would be."Aisla studied her with those perceptive eyes. "Well, for what it's worth, ye're safe here. The laird may be many things, but he doesnae harm women. And I'll nae let anyone else bother ye, either."
"Thank ye."Maia felt herself relaxing slightly. There was something about Aisla, something warm and genuine, that made her want to trust her. "Can I ask, have ye been here long? At Castle McGill?"
"All me life.Me family's served the McGill clan for generations." Aisla grinned. "Though 'served' is a generous wordfor what me brother does. Mostly he just follows the laird around and makes terrible jokes."
"Yer brother?"
"Leon.Ye met him in the courtyard." Aisla rolled her eyes fondly. "He's the laird's man-at-arms and oldest friend. Which means he thinks he can get away with anythin'."
Maia foundherself smiling despite everything. "He seemed... confident."
