Chapter 27
The keep woke to a different kind of silence.
Not the hush that followed battle, heavy with grief and fatigue, but a tense, expectant quiet that made the corridors feel narrowed and sharp.
Servants moved carefully, speaking in low voices.
Even the hearths seemed to crackle softer, as if the stone itself did not wish to disturb what was brewing behind closed doors.
Maxwell stood at the landing above the great hall and watched. He wondered if this was the moment everything changed, but then cut the thought off before it finished.
Ariella was preparing to leave.
He could see it in the way she moved through the entryway, cloak drawn around her shoulders, hair braided neatly, a small satchel set on the bench beside her.
Isla hovered close, trying to be brisk and normal and failing at both.
Two grooms waited near the doors, reins in hand, their faces turned respectfully away as if giving a lady privacy for her sadness.
Maxwell’s jaw tightened.
He had not slept.
Not truly.
He had returned to his chamber after leaving hers the night before and found the bed cold, the air colder. The words they had traded had followed him like ghosts. Her question. His answer. The way she froze as if struck.
Nay.
He had meant it without thought. He had said it because it was his rule, because rules were easier than truths, because he had convinced himself that if he held the line on one thing then everything else would remain controlled.
Now she was leaving.
And he was watching it happen as if he had the right to stand still.
Finley had found him near dawn in the corridor and said carefully, “She’s serious.”
Maxwell had only replied, “Aye.”
Finley had shaken his head. “Ye did that.”
Maxwell had not answered.
He descended the stairs slowly, the sound of his boots steady against stone. Heads turned. Men straightened. People made space for him without thinking. He hated that part of being laird most on mornings like this. That even grief had to step aside for him.
Ariella did not look up until he was close enough that she could not pretend she hadn’t heard him.
Her eyes lifted, and he saw it at once.
She was pale.
Not merely tired, not the pallor of a long night, but something deeper. A washed-out look that made her eyes seem too large in her face.
“Good morning,” he said, because he could not think of anything else to start with.
Ariella’s mouth tightened slightly. “Me laird.”
The title struck him like a slap.
He swallowed. “Are ye ready?”
“Aye,” she said, voice quiet. Too quiet. “Isla has packed what I need.”
Isla busied herself with tightening the clasp of the satchel though it was already secure.
Maxwell’s gaze flicked to Ariella’s hands. They were clasped before her, fingers interlaced as if she was holding herself together. He had seen her hands steady over blood and wounds. He had seen them calm a crying child. He had seen them on his chest, trembling with want.
Now they were white at the knuckles.
“Ye’re unwell,” he said before he could stop it.
Ariella’s chin lifted a fraction. “I am fine.”
The same lie she had thrown back at him after weeks of him using it.
Maxwell’s jaw flexed. “Ariella.”
Her eyes flickered. A small movement of defiance. “I will nae discuss it.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Ye should nae ride if ye are unwell.”
Ariella’s lashes lowered. “I have ridden while ill before. I will manage.”
He could hear the strain beneath her words. The determined attempt to sound strong when she was not.
Isla’s eyes darted between them, worried.
“Ariella,” Maxwell said again, softer this time. “Look at me.”
For a heartbeat, she did.
Something passed between them.
And then her face changed.
It happened so quickly Maxwell did not understand it at first. Her eyes unfocused slightly, her lips parting as if to speak but no sound coming. Her hand lifted toward the doorframe as if she meant to steady herself.
“Ariella,” Isla said sharply, stepping forward.
Ariella swayed.
Maxwell moved at the same instant, reaching for her, but she was already sinking, knees giving way as though her body had simply decided it could no longer hold her upright.
“Ariella!” Maxwell caught her before she hit the floor, her weight sudden in his arms, frighteningly limp.
Her head fell against his shoulder.
Her skin was cold.
No. Not cold. Damp. Clammy.
“Get the healer,” Maxwell barked, voice cracking through the hall like a whip.
Someone ran.
Isla dropped to her knees beside them, face white. “Me lady. Ariella, can ye hear me?”
Ariella’s lashes fluttered once.
Then her eyes rolled back.
She went slack.
Panic erupted like a spark to tinder.
Servants shouted. Boots pounded. Someone knocked over a stool. A woman began to pray under her breath.
Maxwell’s chest tightened so hard he could barely breathe.
He lifted Ariella fully, cradling her as if she weighed nothing, though his arms shook with the force of what he felt.
“Move,” he snapped, and people scattered instantly, clearing the corridor as he carried her toward the stairs.
Isla ran beside him, clutching at Ariella’s cloak as if she could anchor her.
“Stay with me,” Maxwell muttered under his breath, words meant for Ariella alone though she could not hear him. “Stay with me, mo chridhe.”
He did not know why he said it.
He only knew he could not bear the thought of losing her.
They reached her chamber. Maxwell pushed the door open with his shoulder and crossed to the bed, laying her down carefully, pulling the covers up as the healer burst into the room moments later, breathless and sharp-eyed.
“What happened?” the healer demanded, already rolling up her sleeves.
“She collapsed,” Isla said quickly, voice trembling. “She was pale and then she fell.”
The healer pressed fingers to Ariella’s wrist, then her throat, then lifted her eyelids.
Maxwell stood at the foot of the bed, unable to move, hands stained with nothing but still feeling as if they were drenched.
“Has she eaten?” the healer asked.
Isla hesitated. “Nae today.”
Maxwell’s jaw clenched.
“Has she been sleeping?” the healer pressed.
Isla’s gaze flicked to Maxwell, then away. “Aye… but she’s been… tired.”
The healer made a low sound and reached for a small bottle, uncorking it and pressing it to Ariella’s lips. “Hold her head.”
Maxwell stepped forward immediately, lifting Ariella gently, supporting her as the healer coaxed tonic into her mouth.
Ariella swallowed weakly. Her lashes fluttered again.
Lara watched her closely, then turned her gaze to Maxwell.
“Ye,” she said, voice flat. “Ye may want to sit.”
Maxwell did not sit.
He stared at the healer, heart hammering.
The healer’s expression did not soften. “Our lady is with child.”
The words landed like a blow.
Maxwell froze.
He felt the room tilt. The air seemed to thin. For a moment he could not hear anything but the pounding of his own blood.
With child?
Ariella’s question from the night before flashed through his mind, sharp as lightning.
“Have ye changed yer mind about having an heir?”
And his thoughtless answer.
Nay.
His stomach twisted.
A terrible understanding flooded him. She had known. Or suspected. She had been trying to speak. And he had crushed her with one word.
Isla gasped softly, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh.”
Maxwell’s mouth opened, but no sound came.
The healer continued briskly, as if refusing to let emotion drown practicality. “She has been overworked and underfed. Stress has been eating her alive.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened. “Is… is she —”
“Aye,” the healer cut in, “she will likely be fine if she rests. But if she continues like this, she will lose strength. And early months are fragile.”
Maxwell’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t only fear.
It was a shock of something bright and terrifying.
Happiness.
A child.
His.
Ariella’s.
Life growing inside her, secret and stubborn, despite everything he had said and done.
He felt it like a sunrise in the middle of winter.
Relief came first.
Guilt followed so quickly it felt like punishment for noticing the relief at all.
He had caused this fear. This stress. This collapse. With rules he could not even remember why he’d created.
Maxwell dragged a hand through his hair, voice rough. “She wanted to leave.”
The healer’s gaze sharpened. “Because she thinks ye will reject her.”
Maxwell’s jaw clenched. “I would never —”
The healer lifted a brow. “Wouldnae ye?”
Maxwell had no answer.
Ariella stirred slightly, making a soft sound, and Maxwell leaned over her instantly, fingers brushing her hair back from her face with a tenderness that surprised him.
“Rest,” he whispered, voice low. “Ye’ll rest now.”
She did not wake, but her brow eased as if his voice reached somewhere deeper than sleep.
Maxwell straightened slowly.
Isla stood near the foot of the bed, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
Maxwell’s gaze locked on her. “Nay one leaves this room with that news.”
Isla stiffened. “Aye, me laird.”
The healer nodded once. “Of course.”
Maxwell exhaled harshly, then moved toward the door.
As he stepped into the corridor, Hunter appeared at the far end, walking toward them with a gait that still carried battle in it, face drawn and tense.
He saw Maxwell’s expression and stopped short.
“What?” Hunter asked, voice tight. “What happened?”
Maxwell hesitated, then said quietly, “She collapsed.”
Hunter’s face went pale. “Is she —”
“She is alive,” Maxwell cut in. Then, after a beat, he forced the words out. “She is with child.”
Hunter froze.
The guilt on his brother’s face was immediate and fierce, like someone had driven a blade into him.
Hunter’s mouth opened, closed again. He swallowed hard. “And she… she didnae tell ye?”
Maxwell’s jaw flexed. “Nae outright.”
Hunter’s gaze fell to the floor for a moment. “God.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened with something he didn’t know how to name.
Hunter looked up again, eyes bright and haunted. “I am sorry.”
Maxwell frowned slightly. “For what?”
“For running,” Hunter said, voice raw. “For putting ye in this place. For making ye take her. For making her take ye.”
Maxwell’s chest tightened.
He had no answer for that either.
He only knew this truth now burned inside him.
A child.
And he had nearly driven his wife away before he ever got the chance to deserve it.
The study felt smaller than it had the night before.
Perhaps because the walls now held the echo of a new truth. Perhaps because Maxwell could not stop seeing Ariella’s pale face in his mind, slack with exhaustion, lashes fluttering as if she were fighting to stay in the world.
He stood by the window while Hunter paced, the same way Maxwell had paced in this very room when Hunter’s letter first arrived. The irony tasted bitter.
Hunter’s boots struck the stone floor in restless rhythms.
“Ye didnae ken,” Hunter said finally, stopping short and turning toward Maxwell. “She didnae tell ye?”
Maxwell’s jaw tightened. “Nay.”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “And she was leaving?”
Maxwell’s gaze flicked to him sharply.
Hunter’s mouth twisted. “Aye. Isla told me. She was saddled and ready.”
Maxwell’s hands clenched behind his back. He did not deny it.
Hunter let out a harsh laugh. “God above.”
Maxwell’s voice came out low. “Say what ye want to say.”
Hunter stared at him for a long moment, anger building behind his eyes like a storm.
Then it broke.
“What the hell is wrong with ye?” Hunter snapped. “Ye married her. Ye took her name into our line. Ye took her body into yer bed, whether ye like to admit it or not. And still ye made her fear she could never be a maither.”
Maxwell’s jaw flexed. “I never —”
“Ye did,” Hunter cut in, stepping closer. “Ye may nae have said it with those words, but ye did it all the same.”
Maxwell’s chest tightened. “I had reasons.”
Hunter’s laugh turned sharp. “Aye. Yer reasons. Yer damned rules. Yer pride.”
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed. “Watch yer tongue.”
Hunter leaned forward. “Nay.”
The refusal was shocking in its honesty.
Hunter’s voice rose, not shouting, but fierce. “Ye daenae get to be laird and hide behind that title when ye’ve done something cruel.”
Maxwell’s nostrils flared. “Cruel.”
“Aye,” Hunter said. “Deplorable. Ye took away the privilege of motherhood as if it was yers to deny.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened. “Ye daenae understand.”
Hunter’s eyes flashed. “I understand perfectly. Ye think ye’re protecting people by controlling everything around ye. Ye think if ye keep the rules tight enough, nothing will go wrong. But all ye’ve done is choke the woman who is trying to love ye.”
The words hit hard.
Maxwell looked away, staring out the window at the courtyard where men were still cleaning blood from stone.