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Chapter

F or three days, his routine was the same.

Up and out of the inn before dawn, returning at sundown and remaining in the hall until the last patron was gone.

As promised, there were no more kisses. In fact, Maisie had not spoken to Kieran except for a “Good Morn” or “Good Den” and a few other words.

She asked if he’d made any progress, and Kieran said he had not.

Otherwise, she treated him as any other patron.

Except, he was not any other patron.

He watched her. Protected her. When one regular became unruly two nights before, it was Kieran who stepped in to calm the man. The girls began to notice his presence, calling him “scíath,” and each of them had, at one time or another, commented on his pleasing looks and protective ways.

Aye, he was handsome. Very much so. Their kiss had kept her awake each eve much past the time when she should have closed her eyes.

Maisie knew well the consequences of lack of sleep.

Those evenings when circumstances prevented it, she had difficulty the next day.

And yet, when she tried to close her eyes, to let sleep find her, it was his face she could see. His lips she could almost feel.

Being in his arms had felt good.

Safe.

Tonight, something was different. He came into the hall, and instead of immediately taking the same seat in the corner of the room, he spoke with one of her girls and disappeared.

Curious, she approached Margaret, the miller’s daughter who had come to them just before Baldwin took ill.

A meek girl of ten and five, she was one of the best workers at the inn.

When Maisie had told her parents so, they’d been so pleased that the compliment had nearly gone awry.

Perhaps, her father had said, she should return to the village to work for him.

Maisie had been forced to increase the amount of coin she paid the girl, though she did not mind as Margaret worked harder than most.

“The Scíath,” she asked. “You spoke to him.”

“Aye, my lady. He asked for a bath to be brought to him. I’ve told Alan and James.”

“James is there,” she said, spying the boy heading into the kitchens with buckets in his hand. It did seem that he, indeed, was bringing hot water to Kieran. “Thank you, Margaret.”

As the hall blessedly filled, Maisie grateful for it since an empty hall meant empty coffers, she attempted to push thoughts of a nude Kieran in his tub from her mind. Unsuccessful, Maisie busied herself with preparations for the evening meal, alternating her time between the hall and the kitchen.

And then, she saw him.

His hair still damp, he looked as she might expect of a man freshly cleaned, his clothing new as well. She would offer to launder the others.

“I will take it to him,” Maisie said of the ale Alice held in her hand, her destination clear.

“Aye, my lady.”

As she thought when he entered the hall, something was different this eve. He seemed ill at ease. Placing the ale in front of him, too curious not to ask, Maisie did so.

“Is all well?”

The way he looked at her told Maisie it was not. He glanced at the seat opposite him, and she took his hint to sit.

“After days of inquiries, my presence in the village has been noticed.”

“That is bad?”

“Not necessarily. There are some within the castle walls who know me, the chief among them. I would do well for them not to learn I am within their village, but ‘tis not a concern otherwise.”

“But something is amiss.”

He smiled for the first time that evening. “You know me not at all, and yet quite well.”

She returned his smile. “’Tis my job to know my patrons. Doing so keeps me and the others safe. It keeps the Red Stag open, the only thing important to me.”

“The only thing?”

Her answer was immediate. “Aye.”

Kieran leaned forward. “There is naught else of importance to you, Maisie?”

His gaze did not waver, Kieran’s eyes peering into hers as if they knew her well too. “Nay,” she lied, her heart beginning to pound.

“Have you thought of our kiss these past days?” he asked without warning.

She had no experience flirting, so it did not occur to Maisie to employ cunning in her answer. “Of course,” she said. “Have you not?”

He laughed. “Of course I have.”

“Why do you ask such a question?”

Kieran shrugged, leaning back into his seat. “If your life is filled only with work, and no pleasure, I fear it willnae be as fulfilling as it can be.”

“I’ve not the luxury of pleasure,” she said. “A woman in my position . . .” She trailed off.

“A woman in your position, in every position, deserves both security and pleasure.”

“Perhaps,” she mused. “But that does not answer my initial question to you.”

“Will you repeat it?” he asked. Then added, “I confess your beauty, and thoughts of our kiss, have left me unable to remember of what we spoke.”

“And this is why I’ve avoided you these past days.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Have you?”

“Aye, Maisie. I’ve noticed little else while in your hall. Except, perhaps, how capable of an innkeeper you are, though that I’d already suspected as much.”

He was twisting her thoughts. Maisie was hardly able to remember the question herself now that she knew he watched her. Thought of her.

Remembered their kiss.

Surely a man such as Kieran had kissed many women, her own innocent kiss just another of many for him.

His expression, just now, told her otherwise.

“The question,” she said, eager to change topics, “is why did you appear as if something was amiss earlier?”

Kieran sighed. “I learned something today that may see some of my questions answered on the morrow.”

Her eyes widened. Maisie waited to learn more. But he did not elaborate.

“Of course you owe me nothing of the tale,” she said finally. “I was but curious.”

“The village healer,” he said. “She was occupied with a birth, but some believe the old woman would know more of a boy gone missing around the time of the Battle of Black Friars. ‘Tis said she’s assisted every MacKinlay birth for nearly thirty years.”

“’Tis good news, aye?”

“Aye,” he agreed.

“Yet you worry,” she surmised, “what you will learn on the morrow.”

Kieran did not respond, which was answer enough.

“I will accompany you on the morrow.”

Kieran’s brows drew together in confusion.

“To Aberdale?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

A worthy question.

Since her husband died, Maisie had not spent one day away from the inn. Her mind quickly made, she made an offer. One that, given the circumstances, she should not. Her attraction to him did not bode well, and yet, she’d not felt so alive since . . . well, ever . . . in his presence.

“To support you. To give myself a much-needed break from the inn. Because . . .” This was the most difficult reason to admit. “Because I wish to.”

Would he refuse her?

Perhaps he should. The idea had been a silly one. Maisie was prepared to withdraw her offer when he said, “I will gladly accept your company on the morrow.”

“You will?”

“Aye.”

The thought of being with Kieran all day . . . chastising herself for the offer would not do now. She’d made it and would not take it back.

Nor would she wish for another kiss on the journey.

She was not so innocent that Maisie did not ken where another kiss like that one might lead. And she still had no wish for another husband, nor a babe with or without said husband by her side.

‘Tis just a kiss. And likely willlnae happen again.

Except . . .

Kieran’s slow smile as Maisie rose from her seat told her otherwise.