She lifted the veil herself.
Maverick saw her chin first.
Then her mouth.
One cheek.
And finally the whole of her face.
He froze.
Not because she was ugly.
Not because she was beautiful.
Because no single word could describe what he saw.
The left side of Ayasha’s face was smooth, strong, almost delicate.
The right side bore the memory of fire.
Scars stretched from her temple to her jaw, pale and uneven against brown skin.
Her right eyebrow was partly missing.
One eyelid pulled slightly tighter than the other, making that eye appear narrower.
Maverick’s chest tightened.
He could imagine the pain.
Could imagine a child screaming beneath flames.
Could imagine years of people staring.
Ayasha watched him.
Waiting for revulsion.
Pity.
Anything.
Maverick realized hundreds of eyes were upon him.
He ignored them.
Instead he asked, “Did it hurt?”
Her expression changed.
“What?”
“The fire.”
Ayasha stared.
Then she nodded once.
“Very much.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You do not have to be.”
“No.”
Maverick extended his hand.
“But I am.”
Ayasha looked down at it.
Then placed hers inside.
The entire valley exhaled.
And that should have been the beginning of a simple marriage.
It was not.
Because that night Maverick discovered his new wife spoke better English than he did.
“You knew what the documents said.”
Maverick stood inside the small cabin that had been given to them beside the northern ridge.
Ayasha was unpinning her hair.
“Yes.”
“You read English.”
“Yes.”
“Fluently.”
She glanced at him.
“Is that upsetting?”
“It’s surprising.”
“Why?”
Maverick opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Ayasha raised one eyebrow.
He surrendered.
“Fair point.”
Her mouth twitched.
It was the first time he had seen her nearly smile.
Maverick removed his boots.
“So what else haven’t I been told?”
“A great deal.”
He looked up.
Ayasha sat opposite him.
The nervous bride from the river was disappearing.
In her place sat someone entirely different.
Calm.
Alert.
Possibly dangerous.
Maverick pointed at her.
“That expression worries me.”
“It should.”
He laughed.
She did not.
Maverick’s smile faded.
“Ayasha?”
She looked toward the small window.
“The map that brought you here did not come from your father.”
His body went still.
“What?”
“You believed it did.”
“It was in his papers.”
“No.”
Maverick stood.
“I found it inside his old saddlebag after he died.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Ayasha looked at him.
“Because I put it there.”
Maverick did not move.
The fire popped behind him.
For several seconds he could hear nothing except his own heartbeat.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“My father has been dead fourteen years.”
“I know.”
“You broke into my house?”
“You did not have a house.”
“My room, then.”
“Yes.”
Maverick stared at her.
“You put that map in my belongings?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ayasha folded her hands.
“Because we needed you to come.”
“We?”
“My father.
Myself.
Others.”
Maverick’s jaw tightened.
“So the land.
The marriage.
All of this was planned?”
“The opportunity was planned.”
“You knew I would accept?”
“No.”
“That makes this better?”
“No.”
Maverick paced to the door.
Suddenly the cabin felt too small.
“What is my name doing on those documents?”
Ayasha did not answer.
He turned.
“What happened here before I arrived?”
Her silence frightened him more than any answer could have.
“Ayasha.”
She finally spoke.
“Your father came to this valley thirty years ago.”
Maverick stopped breathing.
“He was a surveyor.”
“No.
He was a ranch hand.”
“He became a surveyor.”
Maverick shook his head.
“You’re mistaken.”
“He worked for a man named Silas Rourke.”
