Chapter 20
“Mind yer feet, Isla. If ye trip on yer own doorstep again, I’ll tell the baby ye tried to murder her.”
Moira’s voice carried down the corridor before Ariella even reached the stairs. It was followed by Isla’s scandalized gasp and then Ewan’s laughter, high and bright.
“I did nae trip,” Isla protested. “The floor moved.”
“The floor,” Moira repeated, unimpressed. “Aye. It moved specifically to spite ye.”
Ariella smiled before she meant to. She stepped into the entry hall and found Isla and Ewan bundled in their best clothes, cheeks pink from excitement, with Moira hovering like a hawk, hands on her hips.
Ewan held a small parcel tied in twine. “It’s for Mam,” he announced, as if Ariella had asked. “And for the baby. But mostly Mam.”
“And what is it?” Ariella asked, indulging him.
Ewan puffed up. “A ribbon. Isla picked it.”
Isla rolled her eyes. “He insisted we bring something. As if our maither needs gifts.”
“She does,” Ewan insisted. “Because she did the hard part.”
Ariella’s smile softened. “That is true.”
Moira spotted her and made a shooing motion. “Lady McNeill. Ye’re late.”
“I am nae late,” Ariella said, amused. “It is still early afternoon.”
Moira sniffed. “Early afternoon is late when there’s a new baby involved. The Hendrys invited ye and the laird. We’ll nae show up like we’re the king’s guests.”
Ariella’s brows lifted. “We are going.”
“Aye,” Isla said, eyes bright. Then she hesitated and lowered her voice. “Is the laird truly coming.”
Ariella glanced toward the corridor leading to Maxwell’s study. “He said he would.”
Moira made a sound like a grunt. “He said it. That means he will. It’s just a question of whether he’ll scowl through the whole visit.”
Ariella’s mouth tightened. That was the worry she had not wanted to name. Maxwell had been colder than usual since the birth. Not cruel, but withdrawn. Like a door that had been open a crack and then shut again.
She forced herself to speak lightly. “He has been busy.”
Moira’s gaze flicked over Ariella’s face, sharper than Ariella liked. “Busy, aye. With whatever men are busy with when they daenae want to feel something.”
Ariella’s cheeks warmed. “Moira.”
Moira held up both hands. “I am only saying. Come on. The cottage isnae far and I am nae carrying a heavy basket.”
Ariella noticed then that Moira had a covered tray in her arms, likely oatcakes or bread or something warm from the kitchen. Practical gifts, not fussy ones.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Maxwell entered the hall, already in riding clothes, cloak fastened, sword at his hip as if he expected the Hendry cottage to ambush him. His expression was neutral, but his gaze swept the group with quiet authority.
“Are we going?” he asked.
Isla straightened so quickly she nearly snapped in half. Ewan puffed his chest like he was also a laird. Moira simply nodded once, unimpressed by titles.
“Aye,” Moira said. “We’re going.”
Maxwell’s gaze moved to Ariella. “Ready.”
It was not a question.
Ariella lifted her chin. “I am.”
They set out on foot, a small procession leaving the keep. Guards watched from the gatehouse, but Maxwell waved them back when one stepped forward.
“I daenae need an escort to walk to a cottage,” he said.
Moira muttered, “Aye, because nay one would dare stab ye within shouting distance of me.”
Maxwell’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but it vanished before Ariella could be sure.
The path down the hill was packed earth, edged with frost-touched grass. Smoke curled from chimneys in the village below. Ariella breathed in the scent of peat and woodsmoke, and something in her chest eased. The world outside the castle walls felt simpler. Less heavy.
Ewan skipped ahead, kicking a stone like it was a ball. Isla walked close to Ariella, hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“Are ye nervous?” Ariella asked softly.
Isla’s eyes widened. “Nay.”
Moira barked a laugh. “She is. She’s terrified she’ll drop the babe.”
“I will nae drop the baby,” Isla snapped. “I simply… daenae ken how to hold something that small.”
Ariella smiled. “Ye will do fine.”
Isla looked unconvinced. “What if I hurt her?”
“Ye willnae,” Ariella said. “Ye have gentle hands. Ye just forget that because ye use them to smack yer braither.”
Ewan grinned. “She does.”
Isla scowled. “Because he deserves it.”
They reached the Hendry cottage, modest and tidy, with a low stone wall around a small yard. A stack of firewood leaned neatly against one side. The door was open, and warmth spilled out in a wave.
Callum appeared in the doorway at once, face brightening when he saw them. He looked exhausted, hair damp as if he’d washed and failed to tame it, but there was a raw happiness in his eyes.
“Me laird,” Callum said, bowing his head briefly. “Me lady. Ye came.”
Maxwell nodded. “Ye asked us to.”
Callum’s mouth pulled into a grin that didn’t quite ken what to do with itself. “Aye. We did.”
Mairi’s voice floated from inside. “If he’s hovering in the doorway again, Callum Hendry, I’ll throw a pot at yer head.”
Callum winced. “She has recovered her strength.”
Moira pushed past him. “Of course she has. She’s Mairi Hendry.”
The cottage was small but warm, a single main room with a hearth at the center and a table pushed against the wall to make space. A cradle sat near the fire, lined with blankets. Herbs hung in bunches from rafters. A kettle steamed softly.
Mairi sat in a chair by the hearth, wrapped in a shawl, looking both weary and triumphant. Her hair was braided loosely, face softer than Ariella had ever seen it, though her eyes still held that same fierce spark.
“There ye are,” Mairi said, and when she looked at Ariella, her expression shifted into something gentler. “Come here.”
Ariella crossed the room at once. “How are ye feeling?”
“Like I fought a war and won,” Mairi replied. “And if anyone asks me to stand up too quickly, I’ll kill them.”
Callum immediately lifted his hands. “Nay one is asking.”
Moira set her tray down. “We brought food. Because men cannot be trusted to feed themselves.”
Callum scoffed. “I’ve been feeding everyone.”
“With what?” Moira challenged. “Ash and pride.”
Ewan darted forward. “Mam. Is the baby awake?”
Mairi’s expression softened. “She is. She’s been awake all morning, complaining like her father.”
Callum laughed. “She’s got yer lungs.”
Mairi leaned toward Ewan. “Come look. But wash yer hands first.”
Ewan froze as if she’d asked him to climb the keep wall. “Wash.”
“Wash,” Mairi repeated.
Ewan sighed dramatically and went to the basin. Isla followed him, eyes darting nervously toward the cradle.
Ariella hovered near Mairi’s chair. “Thank ye for inviting us.”
Mairi waved a hand. “It’s the least we can do. Ye kept me head on straight when the world went white with pain.” She looked at Maxwell then. “And yer laird kept Callum from fainting like a fool.”
Callum muttered, “I did nae faint.”
Maxwell’s voice was dry. “Only because ye feared Moira more than death.”
Moira barked a laugh. “Aye. That’s true.”
Ariella blinked, startled by the humor in Maxwell’s tone. It was subtle, but it was there. A glint of something less guarded.
Mairi patted Ariella’s hand. “Do ye want to hold her?”
Ariella’s breath caught. “May I?”
“Aye,” Mairi said. “If ye wash yer hands first. I am nae raising a sick baby because ye fancy yerself clean.”
Ariella laughed softly and went to the basin. The water was warm. She washed carefully, as if the act itself was a promise.
When she returned, Mairi nodded toward the cradle. “Lift her gently. Support her head.”
Ariella leaned down and slid her hands beneath the tiny bundle.
The baby was impossibly small, lighter than Ariella expected. Warm and soft and fragile. Her little face was pink, eyes squeezed shut, mouth pursed as if displeased by the world.
Ariella’s throat tightened.
“She’s perfect,” Ariella whispered before she could stop herself.
Mairi smiled, tired but proud. “Aye.”
Ariella cradled the baby close, adjusting her hold until the baby’s head rested securely. The newborn made a small sound, not a cry, but a soft coo like a question.
Ewan drifted closer, hands still damp. “Can I hold her now?”
Mairi’s brows lifted. “Can ye sit still?”
Ewan nodded vigorously. “Yes.”
Moira snorted. “That’s a lie.”
Ewan ignored her and climbed carefully onto a stool. Ariella sat beside him and tilted the baby slightly so he could see.
Ewan’s face softened into awe. “She’s tiny.”
Isla stood behind him, pale as parchment. “She’s too tiny.”
Ariella smiled gently. “Babies are.”
Isla whispered, “What if she breaks?”
Mairi laughed. “If she breaks, I’ll break ye.”
Isla swallowed. “All right. I willnae touch her.”
Ariella rocked the baby slowly, feeling something settle in her chest. Not only wonder. Not only tenderness.
A strange calm.
Like holding the baby was the most natural thing she’d ever done.
And across the room, Maxwell stood near the hearth, watching, silent, his expression unreadable.
But his gaze did not leave the baby in Ariella’s arms.
“Callum,” Mairi called, sharp as a whip. “Stop moving. Sit.”
“I am sitting,” Callum insisted, though he was absolutely not. He was hovering near the table, then the hearth, then the kettle, as if the room might collapse if he stayed in one place too long.
Moira leaned against the wall, arms folded, delight in her eyes. “He’s been like this since last night. Running in circles, making sure Mairi doesnae lift a finger.”
Mairi shifted her shawl. “As he should.”
Callum frowned. “I am only trying to help.”
Mairi’s gaze softened slightly. “I ken.”
That alone seemed to ease him. He returned to the table and began pouring cups, hands still restless but less frantic.
Ariella sat with the baby still in her arms, rocking gently. The newborn’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused, then drifted shut again. Her little fingers curled around nothing, opening and closing as if she were grasping at air.
Ewan leaned close, whispering, “She smells like milk.”