"Aye, well,"he said gruffly, disturbed by how much he'd wanted to pull her closer instead of pushing her away. "Daenae make me regret it."
They walked backto the castle as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Maia chattered the entire way—aboutthe lake, about the trees, about how she wanted to come back tomorrow and the day after and maybe try to sketch the view if Aisla could find her some parchment and charcoal.
And Ewan listened,letting her words wash over him while his mind churned with uncomfortable realizations.
He was in trouble.Deep, serious trouble.
Because watchingMaia's joy at something as simple as touching lake water made him want to give her the world. Made him want to tear down every barrier that had ever kept her from happiness, made him want to hunt down everyone who'd ever hurt her and make them pay.
Madehim want to keep her. Not as a prisoner, not as leverage, but as?—
His.
The possessiveness was terrifyingin its intensity. It reminded him too much of his father, of the way the old man had owned his mother, controlled her, used his strength to bend her to his will.
Ewan had swornhe'd never be like that. Had spent years learning control, learning to channel his anger into something productive instead of destructive.
But looking at Maia,at the way she smiled and laughed and found wonder in everything around her?—
He didn't wantto control her. He wanted to protect her. Wanted to see her happy. Wanted to be the reason she smiled like that, wanted to give her every freedom she'd been denied.
Wantedher in his bed and his life and his future with an intensity that terrified him.
Maia was his now.
And he hadno intention of letting her go.
17
"Ye're pullin' too tight again," Aisla said with a laugh, reaching over to loosen the thread in Maia's hands. "The weave needs to be snug, aye, but nae so tight it'll tear when someone uses the blanket."
"Sorry,"Maia muttered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I've never done this before. We had servants who did all the weavin' at Castle MacMahon."
"Well,here we believe everyone should ken the basics." Aisla settled back onto her stool, her own hands moving with practiced efficiency through the loom. "Even the laird kens how to mend his own clothes if he needs to. Says it's important to understand the work that goes into keepin' a household runnin'."
Maia watchedAisla's hands move, trying to memorize the pattern. They were in one of the castle's workrooms—a large, airy space filled with looms and spinning wheels and basketsof wool in various stages of processing. Several other women were scattered throughout the room, all working on their own projects while chatting and laughing with one another.
It was nice.Comfortable. The kind of casual female companionship Maia had only ever experienced with Mollie, and even then, their time together had always been stolen, always shadowed by the threat of discovery.
Here,no one looked at her strangely. No one whispered behind their hands or made cruel comments about her size. The women had simply welcomed her, shown her where to sit, handed her materials, and patiently corrected her mistakes without making her feel foolish.
"There,"Aisla said approvingly as Maia managed several rows without pulling too tight. "Ye're gettin' the hang of it. By the time this blanket is finished, ye'll be an expert."
"I doubt that,"Maia said, but she was smiling. "But I'm willin' to keep tryin'."
"That's the spirit."Aisla paused in her work to study Maia's face. "Ye seem happier today. Did somethin' happen?"
Maia feltwarmth bloom in her chest, remembering the lake. Remembering Ewan's words about her uncle being a fool, about her being strong for surviving. Remembering the way he'd looked at her when he'd told her she was free to wander as she pleased.
"Ewan tookme to the lake a few days ago," she said softly. "It was... it was wonderful. Just bein' outside, touchin' the water, seein' the mountains." She didn't mention the rest—the conversation about their parents, the way her heart had stuttered when he'd smiled at her, the overwhelming urge she'd had to kiss him again.
"And he toldye about the new freedoms," Aisla said knowingly. "Aye, he mentioned that. Said ye were nae to be treated as a prisoner anymore—that ye could go where ye pleased, as long as ye dinnae try to escape."
"I willnae,"Maia said firmly. "I have nay reason to."
It was true.Where would she go? Back to her uncle, who'd made it clear in word and deed that she was worthless to him? To some distant clan who'd see her as nothing more than a political pawn?
