Page 53

Chapter

T he 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.

Kieran did not have to be offered it twice and wasted little time disrobing. Maisie watched him until he was nearly stripped bare and then made to turn from him until he stopped her.

“You’ve seen me before,” he said. “And dinnae shy away.”

“Somehow it seems more . . . intimate to do so again. As if it is a common occurrence.”

“It will be,” he vowed.

Maisie seemed rightly confused.

“As I said, we’ve much to discuss.” Kieran tossed his clothing to the side, now standing before her completely nude.

He wanted her to become accustomed to him, as he would her.

The memories she had of what was between a man and a woman in the bedchamber would be completely forgotten, replaced with new ones.

She listened, though, and was no longer turning away. Maisie watched him get into the tub.

“‘Tis a shame you’ve bathed already.”

Her eyes widened as Kieran took the rag and soap on a wee table beside the tub. He began to wash himself, the feel of hot water and intensity of Maisie’s gaze upon him making him want to pull her into the tub with him.

“You’ve a magnificent body, Kieran,” she said, sitting on a chair not far from him, in front of the fire.

“As do you, Maisie.”

“Does your arm pain you still?”

It did, but he’d not have her worry. “I’ve endured much worse injuries than this.”

“I thought he would kill you,” she said, not for the first time. “I dinnae wish you to die.”

Kieran laughed. “I am glad to hear it.”

“I . . . meant only that, when I thought you were in danger . . .” Maisie stopped, but he knew what she wanted to say because he’d felt the same when he’d thought she was in danger. But before they could discuss the matter, he wanted her to know first what they’d learned that day.

“I am not the son of a clan chief,” he said, “but one of a blacksmith.”

“You learned something today?” she said, obviously surprised.

“I did. And had planned to tell you earlier.”

“But were distracted.”

He was pleased to see her smile. That she could do so, and jest about the incident, did not mean she was beyond it yet, but it was good all the same.

“Aye,” she said. “We were a wee bit distracted. Tell me.” She moved her stool closer to him, and he was pleased to see her look down into the wooden tub.

“Do you seek something in particular, my lady?”

Her head snapped up. “You are no gentleman to say such a thing.”

“I am very much a gentleman,” he responded. “As well you know. But I am also a man who has known you, Maisie. And wishes to again.”

Her eyes widened.

“Would you like that too?”

She nodded. “Aye. But we—”

“But we have much to discuss, as I’ve said before. First, my father.”

Maisie’s hand flew to her mouth. “You so distracted me, I realized only now what you said. Son of a blacksmith? Did you find your father?”

Kieran set the cloth and soap aside, draped his arms over the side of the tub, and shook his head. “I dinnae. He is dead. As are my mother and older brother.”

She leaned forward.

“We spoke to a woman as old, if not older, than the healer, who remembered my disappearance well. I’d gone to the battle, as did many, but since my mother died in childbirth and both my brother and father in the battle, when I did not return, none looked for me in earnest.”

“You are certain ‘twas you?”

“I am. The boy, she said, had a burn from his father’s smithy here.

” Kieran lifted his uninjured arm. Just beneath his elbow there was a mark from what appeared to have once been a bad burn.

“We spoke to others who knew of the boy, but tracked down this woman in particular as she was rumored to have once lived beside the blacksmith and his family. Her knowledge of this scar was the precise kind of information we’d hoped for to confirm ‘twas me the others spoke of.”

Maisie did not seem pleased. “The healer would have known as much. She likely treated you. And yet, said naught.”

“Indeed. I’ve thought the same.”

“This woman does not know the boy was you?”

“Nay. She inquired, of course, as to the reason for our questions, but answered them freely even though we remained evasive.”

He let Maisie consider the information he’d had all day.

“Your family. All dead.”

“Not all. She said there was a sister, an aunt who worked as a kitchen maid for the chief and his family. Though she no longer serves in the castle, we plan to question him on the morrow.”

“The MacKinlay chief?”

“Aye.”

“Lady Avelina’s brother.”

“The very one.”

“Your enemy.”

He shrugged. “Once my enemy, aye. But the blacksmith was indeed a member of Clan MacKinlay, which means I was once too.”

“Is he old enough to know of this kitchen maid? He is of a similar age as his sister, is he not?”

“He is,” Kieran acknowledged. “But we’re told my father’s sister—”

“Your aunt.”

He had difficulty referring to these people as family despite learning the truth of it that day. “My aunt,” he said. “Served there for many years, apparently. Until recently.”

“Where has she gone now?”

“‘Tis the precise question we aim to have answered. Having Lina with us should make the task easier. Her brother may hate me and Niall, but I do believe he will give his sister the answers she seeks.”

“You are the son of a blacksmith,” she mused. “And had a brother.”

She mourned for men she did not know. It was very much like Maisie to do so. “I have a brother still,” he said.

Maisie smiled. “You do. And perhaps an aunt who is alive.”

“Perhaps. Most importantly, as the son of a blacksmith, and a MacKinlay, I can never become my brother’s second in command. If I ever wanted such a thing,” he added, still uncertain if he could forgive his adopted father, and mother, for their deceit.

“You are sad about that.”

“Not sad, lass. But concerned it may matter to you, as my future wife.”

He stood, reached for a drying cloth, and watched Maisie’s expression turn from surprise to kenning to, unfortunately, disbelief.

“First, why would such a thing matter? I am the daughter of a farmer.”

“You are a very wealthy innkeeper, no longer simply a farmer’s daughter.”

She seemed to ignore that. “More importantly, I am not your future wife.”

“Nay?”

“Nay,” she said, looking down at him as Kieran finished drying. He took a step toward her.

“That, my dear Maisie, is the second matter we must discuss. But first, as you continue to look at me such, it seems there is another matter to address first.”

She wanted him as much as he wanted her. The desire was there, in her face, to see plainly.

“Which matter might that be?”

He was hard, fully erect. And very much ready. “Rather than discuss it, I’d show you instead.”