Chapter 25
“Hold still. If ye jerk again, I’ll bind ye to the table.”
The soldier on the cot tried to laugh, but it turned into a hiss through clenched teeth.
Ariella leaned closer, her sleeves rolled up, fingers slick with blood as she pressed a clean cloth against the gash on his forearm.
The cut was deep, ragged at the edges where steel had torn flesh.
He was pale beneath the soot and grime, but his eyes stayed on her face as if it were the only steady thing in the room.
“I am nae jerking,” he rasped.
“Ye are,” Ariella replied, and she did nae soften it. “And ye are bleeding because of it.”
He swallowed hard and forced himself still.
Around them the castle had become a living thing, loud and frantic.
Men groaned in pain. Buckets clanged. The healer’s assistants moved like startled birds, darting between beds, calling for water, clean cloth, boiled needles.
The scent of smoke still clung to everything, threaded through the sharper smells of iron and sweat and herbs.
Ariella’s voice carried over the noise without rising. “Moira, I need more linen here. And hot water, if ye have it.”
Moira, who had taken one look at the bloody hall and decided she was in charge of half of it, snapped, “If ye ask for hot water one more time, I’ll boil the whole river for ye.”
“Then I’ll ask one more time,” Ariella replied, and Moira’s mouth twitched despite herself.
Ariella tied the bandage with a firm knot. “There. Keep it clean. Daenae pick at it.”
“I will nae,” the man promised.
“Ye will,” Ariella said flatly. “So I am telling ye now, if ye do, I’ll have ye scrub pots for a month.”
His eyes widened. “Me lady, I am a warrior.”
“And ye’ll be a warrior with infected flesh if ye daenae listen,” Ariella replied, already turning away.
She moved down the line of cots, hands steady, mind focused.
It was strange, how quickly a person could become calm when there was no time for fear.
She had learned that over the past weeks, watching Mairi labor, watching life arrive amid chaos.
She had learned it again now, with blood and groans and the raw aftermath of battle.
“Lady McNeill,” one of the younger men called, voice hoarse.
Ariella stepped to his side, crouching. His leg was wrapped in cloth, dark with blood. His face was slick with sweat.
“Tell me where it hurts,” she said.
“Everywhere,” he whispered.
Ariella’s mouth curved, brief and reassuring. “Aye. That means ye’re alive.”
He let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh.
She pressed two fingers to his wrist, counting the beat. Fast. Too fast.
“Water,” she said over her shoulder. “And bring me willow bark if there’s any left.”
Someone moved. It startled her, sometimes, that people listened to her now without question. She had not known she could command a room until necessity demanded it.
Ariella stood again, and the world tilted.
Not dramatically. Not like in stories where women swoon prettily into waiting arms.
It was a sudden, sickening wave. Heat rushed up her throat, and her vision narrowed at the edges as if the hall had drawn curtains around her.
She blinked hard.
The floor felt too far away.
Her stomach rolled.
She pressed her palm to the edge of a table to steady herself, willing the dizziness to pass.
It did not.
“Me lady?”
Isla’s voice cut through the haze, sharper than usual.
Ariella turned her head slightly and saw her maid’s face tightening, eyes scanning Ariella with quick, practical alarm.
“I am fine,” Ariella tried, but the words felt thick.
Isla stepped close, not asking permission. “Ye are nae.”
Ariella attempted a breath. It came shallow, unsatisfying.
She set her jaw. “There are men bleeding.”
“And ye will be on the floor in half a heartbeat if ye daenae move,” Isla snapped, then lowered her voice so only Ariella could hear. “Me lady. Please.”
Ariella tried to straighten, tried to prove she could, but the room swayed again, and her knees softened.
Isla caught her elbow. “That’s it. We’re done.”
Ariella’s pride flared weakly. “Isla.”
“Nay,” Isla said, firm as iron. “Ye daenae get to be brave and stupid at the same time.”
Ariella opened her mouth to argue, but another wave of nausea hit, and she swallowed it back, breathing through her nose like she had taught Mairi to do.
Isla guided her out of the main hall and down a side corridor toward the surgery room, where the healer kept her cleanest supplies. Ariella’s boots scuffed faintly on stone. Her hands felt suddenly cold.
“I am only tired,” Ariella whispered.
Isla made a low sound of disbelief. “Ye’ve been tired for days. Ye’ve been pale for days. And ye have been eating like a sparrow.”
Ariella’s throat tightened. “I have eaten.”
“Half bites daenae count,” Isla muttered.
They reached the surgery. The healer was there, sleeves rolled, hands stained, eyes sharp and exhausted. She looked up as they entered, then frowned immediately at Ariella’s face.
“What is this?” the healer demanded.
Isla did not soften. “She is about to faint.”
“I am nae,” Ariella tried again, but her voice wavered.
The healer crossed the room in two steps and caught Ariella’s wrist, fingers pressing against the pulse.
“Ye are,” she said flatly. Then to Isla. “Sit her.”
Isla eased Ariella onto a stool, then stood with her arms crossed like a guard.
The healer studied Ariella’s face. “How long?”
Ariella tried to gather herself. “It is nothing. Just… a little weak.”
“How long,” the healer repeated, making it clear that “nothing” was not an acceptable answer.
Ariella’s lips parted. She exhaled, defeated by how little strength she had left for pride. “A week. Perhaps more.”
Isla made a sharp sound. “I told ye.”
Ariella shot her a look, but it held no bite.
The healer reached for a small bottle, uncorked it, and poured a dark tonic into a cup. The scent of bitter herbs rose immediately.
“Drink,” she ordered.
Ariella took the cup with both hands and drank. The bitterness made her eyes water.
“Now,” the healer said, “tell me. Have ye been sleeping?”
Ariella’s mouth tightened. “Some.”
The healer’s brows rose slightly. “Eating?”
“Yes,” Ariella lied, then sighed. “Nae much.”
The healer’s gaze sharpened. “Yer monthly courses?”
Ariella froze.
Isla’s expression shifted, subtle but immediate, as if her maid had suddenly understood something Ariella had been refusing to consider.
Ariella swallowed. “It… has nae come.”
The healer’s face did not change, but her eyes did. Something like confirmation settled there.
“How long?” the healer asked.
Ariella’s voice turned small despite herself. “Near two months.”
Isla’s hand flew to her mouth.
Ariella stared at the healer. “Nay.”
The healer tilted her head slightly. “Do ye feel sick in the mornings?”
Ariella’s mind spun back through days. The odd nausea when she woke. The way food had begun to taste too strong. The sudden dizziness that came in waves.
Her chest tightened. “Sometimes.”
“Tenderness,” the healer continued, brisk and unflinching. “In yer breasts?”
Ariella’s face warmed. “Aye.”
The healer nodded once, as if ticking off a list. “Ye are with child.”
The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Ariella’s breath caught.
Fear and joy collided so fast she could not separate them. A strange warmth filled her chest, blooming outward, bright and terrifying. Her hands went to her stomach instinctively, fingers flattening against her abdomen as if she could feel the secret there.
A bairn.
Maxwell’s bairn.
Her throat tightened. She could not speak.
Isla’s eyes were huge, shimmering. She whispered, “Me lady…”
Ariella looked at her maid, then back at the healer.
“Nay one can ken,” Ariella said, the words coming out sharp with panic.
The healer studied her. “Yer husband should ken.”
Ariella’s stomach clenched. Maxwell’s rules flashed through her mind like warnings carved in stone. I daenae want an heir. I already have one. Me brother.
What would he do when he learned she carried his child.
Would he be angry. Would he be cold. Would he pull away further, as if she had trapped him. As if she had broken his life open without permission.
Ariella’s voice trembled. “Nae yet.”
Isla took a step closer, quiet. “Ariella…”
Ariella turned to her maid, forcing steadiness into her tone. “Please.”
Isla’s jaw flexed, but she nodded once. “Aye.”
Ariella faced the healer again, pleading without dignity. “Swear it.”
The healer’s eyes narrowed, then softened a fraction. “I will nae shout it in the hall. But ye will nae endanger yerself by hiding it. Do ye understand?”
Ariella swallowed hard. “Aye.”
The healer nodded once. “Good. Ye will rest. Ye will eat. Ye will drink water. And ye will stop acting as if ye are made of iron.”
Ariella let out a shaky breath, half laugh, half sob. “Ye sound like me maid.”
“I sound like a woman who has seen too many mothers die because they thought they could outwork their own bodies,” the healer replied.
Ariella’s eyes stung.
She pressed her palm to her stomach again, gentler this time, as if offering comfort to the life she had not yet dared to want.
Fear of Maxwell’s reaction rose like a shadow behind the joy.
And with it came an instinct that surprised her with its clarity.
To pull away.
To protect this secret until she could decide how to place it in his hands without it being crushed by his fear.
“Isla,” Ariella whispered, voice tight. “Help me back to me rooms.”
Isla nodded at once, face drawn with worry and something like fierce loyalty. “Aye, me lady.”
As Isla guided her toward the door, Ariella’s mind spun to Maxwell.
To the battle he had just won.
To the man who had protected everyone.
And to the truth that now grew quietly inside her, demanding a future whether he wanted it or not.
Maxwell should have felt only relief.