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The fluttering inside her stomach at his words was as unexpected as his answer. “They leave,” she said as the two remaining patrons stood to leave. As there was no tavern in the village, the men oft came here when the alewife closed for the eve. As such, neither required rooms. And both were harmless.

“Then I shall see to my room,” he said standing.

If he left before dawn, she’d not see him again. Perhaps that was the reason she found herself reluctant to leave his presence. So instead of showing him abovestairs, she took the pitcher in her hand and poured him more ale.

“Or share an ale with me?” she asked, fetching a mug of her own without waiting for his answer. By the time she returned, he’d sat back down. Filling her own mug, Maisie took a deep sip.

“You began work before dawn?” he asked.

“Aye.”

“And are the last abed each eve?”

“Aye,” she said again. “Such is the life of an innkeeper.”

“Tell me how you came to it.”

He was so very handsome. Maisie blinked and attempted to form a thought. It was his jaw. Nay, his eyes. Nay, It was the way he looked at her. Though mayhap not, as many men had come through the Red Stag with appreciation in their gaze, but never had she forgotten a question as she’d done just then.

“How I came to it,” she remembered suddenly. “My husband frequented my father’s woodmaker’s shop in Ainsley Moor. He saw me and immediately offered for my hand in marriage. Knowing already the man was quite wealthy, this inn having flourished for many years, my father agreed. Not knowing the man’s character. Not caring he was nearly the same age as my father and widowed twice already. Sadly, my mother did not come to my defense even as I begged not to marry such a man. And thus, I became the third wife of Baldwin of Blackwood. We were married less than a year when he took ill and died. Never will I be let into the gates of heaven for being glad of it.”

“Did he hurt you?”

It should be odd, that she’d shared so much with him. And that he would ask so personal a question. But it was not.

“In some ways, aye. But he dinnae strike me, if you are asking that question.”

She thought of the times he had coupled with her. Aye, he hurt her. But not in the way Kieran asked about.

“I am sorry,” he said. “No young woman should be subjected to such a man.”

“And yet they are. Every day.”

He did not disagree. “There was a girl in my village, not even ten and six, who was betrothed to a man more than twice her age. One who was known to have struck women in the past. My father attempted to intervene, but the girl insisted she wanted the marriage.”

Maisie made a sound of disagreement, even though she did not know the girl.

“Aye, it was as you are thinking. She’d been told to accept the marriage, and ‘twas her father’s decision. Not hers.”

“What happened?” Maisie asked, taking another sip of ale.

“My father discovered he had been lied to. On the day of the wedding, he demanded to speak to the bride’s father. Demanded he halt the union.”

Maisie’s eyes widened. A father could do with his daughter as he wished. It was extraordinary that the chief should involve himself in such affairs.

“Why did he do such a thing?”

“Because my father—” He stopped suddenly. Something was amiss.

“Your father?” she prompted.

The easy smile her companion had worn since she approached him faded now. He was silent for a moment, looking down into his ale. When he did look back up to her, his expression was one of sorrow. “My father is not like other men. He stopped the wedding because it was right, and just, to do so.”

“Why does it seem as if it pains you to say so? Surely that is an admirable trait in your father.”

“Aye,” he said with a deep breath. As quickly as the melancholy mood had come over him, it seemed to pass. Kieran smiled again, but this time his eyes did not crinkle at the sides. “I tell you this story to let you know, were I able to do as my father had done, and stop your wedding, I’d have done so gladly. ‘Tis true women often have no say in the course of their lives, but that does not mean all men agree with such a sentiment.”

It was perhaps the most extraordinary thing anyone had ever said to her. “You are different from most men,” Maisie said, before thinking her words through.