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That, she was not prepared for.

Maisie’s mouth opened. She stared at him, waiting for any indication he might be jesting. But of course, he was not.

“A . . . MacKinlay? Your brother told you this?”

If possible, Kieran’s expression darkened even more. “Nay, he dinnae. I discovered it only by inadvertently overhearing a conversation between Niall and his wife.”

“He dinnae tell you?”

“Nay.”

“And yet, you are close with your brother.”

“Was close. Aye. Niall is . . . was . . . my world. Him. My parents. My clan.” Kieran shrugged but was not successful in making Maisie believe he did not care. It was the opposite, in fact.

He cared very, very much.

“Perhaps he planned to?” she offered.

“Or perhaps not. I left without speaking to him, or to anyone.”

“You . . . left?”

“I did.”

“Where did you go?”

He gestured to her inn up the hill. “To the Red Stag.”

Oh dear. “This occurred just before you came here?”

“Aye.”

She wanted to hug him. To comfort him, somehow. And yet, she sensed he’d not told her for that reason. Kieran did not seem like a man to need comforting, but did not everyone? Still, she held back, as embracing him felt both too forward for their relationship and not advisable, given she had vowed never to be with a man again.

He began to walk.

“Why do you tell me this?” she asked.

He sighed. “I will inquire about the cattle while I am there, but would not continue to lie to you about my true purpose for being here.”

“You plan to learn more of your identity?”

“I do. Shall we turn around here?”

“Are you cold?” she teased him. “Without a cloak?”

Kieran’s smile was as genuine as they came. “Not so cold that I cannae continue to walk if my lady wills it. But I know you’ve many duties back at the inn.”

“Let us walk some more,” Maisie said. “I’ve duties, aye, but none so pressing that I cannae allow myself a brief respite.”

“You’ve few of them, I assume?”

“Very few. My husband was not a good man, or a kind man, but he was capable. Had run the Red Stag from a young age, alongside his own father. I am fortunate to have learned enough that when he died, I knew most tasks. I care least for the accounting but would not spend money to hire someone when the hall needs new furnishings desperately.”

“Would you tell me of him? Of your marriage?”

Usually, she would decline to do so. Maisie did not speak of him. Not to the girls who worked for her, and they’d asked often, especially the newer ones who did not know him. Not to her parents, who she’d seen but once since the wedding.