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Kieran watched her.

He sat with his brother and sister-in-law, as well as their men, but had not once looked away from her all eve. Promising to speak to her at the end of the evening, hinting he had much to tell her, Kieran had been tended to by the healer and, thankfully, his arm no longer bled. A new shirt hid the bandage she knew was underneath.

For a moment earlier, she thought he might be killed. That Maisie feared more for his life than she had her own—and she’d been quite terrified MacBrannigan would rape or kill her before anyone, namely Kieran, could intervene—was all she needed to know about her feelings toward him.

Lady Avelina was right.

She loved him.

Maisie had gone and fallen in love with a man. Something she swore never, ever to do.

21

Chapter

The door to Maisie’s bedchamber was locked, as it should be. He knocked, having told her he would meet her here after fetching his things from his own chamber, now Niall and Lina’s.

Maisie had clearly taken so many precautions and learned to navigate running the Red Stag on her own, and yet still she’d been attacked. Shuddering at the thought of what might have happened had he not gone to her, Kieran vowed to never let her get so close to danger again.

And he would tell her so this eve.

He had no wish for a wife, given his circumstances. But seeing her earlier pinned to the stable wall by MacBrannigan . . . something powerful had stirred within him that was hard to deny. At dinner, his sister-in-law was less reticent with her appraisal of the situation.

“‘Tis a simple matter, really. You love her and she loves you. I think she is a fine woman and would make just as fine an addition to our family. You should marry her.”

Ignoring her husband’s laughter at Lina’s declaration, as well as Kieran’s attempt to change the subject of discussion, she had continued.

“Why neither of you wishes to admit it, I cannae say.”

“You spoke to her of me?”

“I did.”

“What did she say?”

“Very little, but ‘twas not what she said that matters.”

And so it went for the remainder of the night. They spoke alternatively of MacBrannigan— speculating on what his men might do to retaliate—as well as what they’d learned that day.

And, of Maisie.

“You’ve your belongings,” Maisie said, noticing his satchel as she opened the door. Her hair was wet, in a long braid, and she wore naught but a chemise.

“I do.”

She said nothing further but stood to the side, allowing him entry. Immediately upon closing and locking the door, he pulled her into him, breathing in the fresh scent of lilac. She wrapped her arms around him, and though he wanted to kiss her, to make love to her, after what she’d experienced that day, Maisie needed something different. And so, he held her for some time.

When she finally did pull back, he leaned down and placed one gentle—chaste, even—kiss on her lips. He stepped away, growing hard and not wishing to push her any further.

A wooden tub sat before the fire.

“Go on,” she said. “I’ve washed and dried already.”

He dipped his fingers into the water. “‘Tis hot still.”

She smiled. “Aye.”

A hot bath.