Page 37

Chapter

T he hall was nearly empty.

But for two of her regular customers, and him, all had either left or gone to bed. The kitchens were cleaned, her staff also abed. And with all completed for the eve, there was no way to avoid him.

Instinctively, Maisie knew she should avoid him. Whether it was simply his visage, or the way he carried himself, or his defense of her, she did not know. But one thing was clear to her.

This man was dangerous, in a very different way than MacBrannigan.

He was the kind of man to make Maisie question the vow she made to herself the day she buried her husband. That she would never, ever allow herself to be controlled by another man again. First, her father. Then, her husband.

Never.

Again.

“More ale?” she asked, approaching him for the first time since they’d come back inside.

“Nay,” he said. Indeed, Kieran of Duncraig’s tankard was empty.

“You’ve the key to your room, do you not?”

“I do.”

She let the next question linger, unasked.

“I will retire when you do, my lady.”

“I am no lady,” she said. “But to my staff.”

“You may not be nobly born, but you are indeed a lady.” He smiled cheekily. “My lady.”

Maisie could not help but return the smile. “Tell me, why do you wait for me to retire?”

Again, she had not meant for a double meaning, but that too hung between them.

“Two men remain in your hall. I would ensure your safety before I can seek my bed.”

Of all the answers he could have given, that was the least expected. “Last eve, you were not here to see to my safety. Nor will you be on the morrow.”

“But I am here now.”

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.

“Hmmm,” he murmured, taking a deep sip. “Perhaps not all. My brother—” Again he stopped. “Sir Reynard would have done the same.”

“Indeed,” she agreed. “There are, it seems, some honorable men in this world.”

“And women too,” he said.

Maisie laughed. “And women too. I hope I am one of them.”

“Hope? You control your own character, do you not?”

“Aye. But I’ve not had the opportunity to prove it. I’ll never be asked to go to battle or give my life for my clan, or defend an innkeeper, to prove as much.”

Kieran leaned forward, as if he were to tell her a secret. “You do not have to risk your life to prove you are honorable, Maisie.”

It was the first time he said her name. She rather liked it.

“Nay?”

“Nay,” he said. “Honor is simply doing what is right, even when ‘tis difficult.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Something easily said but not always easily done.”

“Well spoken, my lady.” He lifted his mug. “To honor.”

“To honor,” she said, lifting her own. “And to new friends.”

“A worthy toast.”

She quite agreed.