Page 47

Chapter

T hey did not share the same birth mother, and so Kieran and his brother should not look alike. And yet . . . there was something similar about the men, perhaps the way they sat? Or used their hands when they spoke? Something about them told Maisie that the man Kieran sat with was his brother.

He’d waved her away earlier, but now Kieran caught her eye and nodded toward them. She made her way to the men.

“Niall,” he said, much more cordially than she expected as that was, indeed, his brother’s name.

Yet Kieran was extremely angry with his brother.

Or had been. Naught about his tone suggested anger.

“This is Maisie, the owner of the inn. Maisie,” he said, the look Kieran gave her leaving no doubt about what had transpired between the brothers, “I am pleased to introduce my brother, Niall.”

Pleased to introduce . . .

Whatever Niall had said to Kieran, it was clear he forgave him. She smiled at the man who was nearly as handsome as his brother. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said.

Though he did not appear surly or unwelcoming, Niall’s smile was not as freely given as his brother’s. “As am I, my lady. ‘Tis a fine establishment, one I’ve been to just twice before. Once not many years ago, though I do remember a different owner.”

“My late husband,” she clarified.

“I am sorry to learn of your loss.”

Maisie could see Kieran watching her from the corner of her eye. She refrained from answering that it was no loss of hers that her husband had died.

“Many thanks,” she said instead. “Shall I bring two pigeon pies?”

“Aye,” Kieran said. “And a room for my brother?”

“Apologies, but the inn is full this eve. Tomorrow a room will become free. I would be pleased to keep that one aside? And can provide an extra bedroll and coverlet for your chamber.”

At the mention of the coverlet, a flash of Maisie tucked into Kieran’s side after he pleasured her nearly made her blush, but she pushed the memory aside.

“I would accept both,” Kieran began, but Niall stopped him.

“I shall send for Lina tomorrow, but then should we not stay closer to Aberdale?”

If they did that, there would be no reason for her to see Kieran again. And though she wished otherwise, Maisie could not will it to be so.

“We will remain here,” Kieran said, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

Niall appeared confused. He looked as if he would question his brother further, but did not. Instead, he looked up at her.

“Thank you for your offer. A meal and coverings for my brother’s floor are most welcome.” His wee smile told Maisie he jested with her. Like Kieran, he’d likely slept in much worse places than on an inn floor with a pillow and coverlet.

“I would speak with you privately, Maisie,” Kieran said, surprising her. She was certain he did not wish his brother to know there had been anything between them. And yet, he stood and followed Maisie to the back of the inn.

“Nay, not here. More private than this,” he said.

She glanced back at Niall.

“I will worry about my brother,” he said, and so Maisie headed instead toward the kitchens, a separate building from the inn. As they walked through the door, instead of actually entering the kitchens, she turned a corner so they were now at the back of the inn.

“Private,” she said. There was no reason for anyone to come this way. The stables were on the other side of the building. Back here, naught but tall grass and a field that was not a part of the inn’s property.

Yet.

Maisie had been saving coin to purchase it and expand on the number of rooms the Red Stag kept.

“My brother found me,” he said, standing closer to her than they’d been all day.

“Aye.” Maisie chuckled. “I’ve seen as much.”

Kieran’s smile warmed her heart. He was truly happy in a way she’d not seen him since they met. With the exception of last eve, after he’d pleasured her.

“Can I come to you this eve? As always I will remain in the hall until ‘tis empty. But we must talk, Maisie.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “If you do so, will your brother not realize there is something between us?”

“I care not for that. Unless,” he said suddenly, “you do not wish him to.”

“You are reconciled?”

“We are. I will explain all later. If you’ll allow me.”

She hesitated. Maisie wanted nothing more than to be with him again.

To have Kieran hold her, kiss her . . . pleasure her.

Again. Yet each moment that passed she could feel herself being drawn to him, a man who did not plan to marry.

Not that she would ever accept another husband.

But that simply meant, if they were not to be together, this thing between them was a passing thing.

Her heart told Maisie otherwise.

“I willnae touch you,” he said, as if to convince her. Then Kieran’s smile touched the corners of his eyes. Mischievous. Knowing. “Unless you wish it.”

Undecided, Maisie did not know how to answer.

Say no. You cannae stop thinking of this man. Being alone with him will do naught to alleviate the ache in your heart when you’re not in his arms.

Maisie looked up, into his eyes. Imploring her with their intensity.

What she should say and wanted to say were two very different things. How did one decide between what was the right thing to do and what the heart willed? The feelings he elicited in her were at war with memories of her husband.

“You hesitate. Why?”

Maisie had always found herself being more candid with him than she should. Resigning herself to the fact, she told him the truth. “I do not want to care for you.”

He said nothing.

For a moment, Maisie was certain he would not respond. Which, in truth, was as she expected. What could he say in return?

“Maisie.” Without warning, he reached out his hand, cupping her cheek with it as he moved even closer. “You already care for me. As I do you.”

She could not look into his eyes any longer. Closing them but feeling the warmth of his hand on her cheek, Maisie was lost.

Opening her eyes, she said the only word she could. “Aye.”

He did not gloat, or even widen his smile. Kieran simply dropped his hand, looked at her as if he understood what she was feeling, and nodded back toward the inn.

Mutely, she followed.

They parted.

Maisie found Margaret and asked her to bring two pigeon pies to Kieran and his brother.

And then she walked through the front door, sat on the bench in front of the inn, under the wooden sign that swung back and forth in the wind, and listened to it.

To the horses in the nearby stable. To muted voices from within the inn she’d somehow managed to keep, and allow to thrive, since Baldwin’s death.

She’d said aye when she should have said nay. And that, Maisie knew, would be all the difference not just in the night ahead, but how her life would proceed from here. Because of one simple aye .