Chapter 28
Hunter crossed the room and poured them another drink.
He sat down the glass on the table between them before he spoke again. His voice softened only slightly, but it was no less sharp. “Ye’re lucky she doesnae hate ye.”
Maxwell’s hand gripped the window frame. “She may.”
Hunter exhaled hard. “And now ye’ve got a bairn involved.”
Maxwell’s chest tightened again, not with fear this time, but with the fierce possessive surge that had struck him when he’d heard the healer’s words.
A bairn.
His.
Hunter’s gaze hardened. “Yer stubbornness is hurting yer wife and child now. And daenae look at me like that. Ye ken it’s true. She fainted at the door, Maxwell. The bairn could have been lost today.”
Maxwell’s throat worked. He forced the words out. “I ken.”
Hunter’s anger faltered briefly at the rawness of Maxwell’s voice.
But he pressed on anyway. “If that bairn does nae survive, it’ll be because she’s been living with fear in her bones. Fear ye put there.”
Maxwell’s jaw clenched.
It should have made him feel undeserving.
It should have made him feel ashamed enough to collapse.
But all he could feel, beneath the guilt, beneath the self-hatred, was that bright, terrifying happiness again.
He turned slowly to face his brother.
“I am glad,” Maxwell said quietly.
Hunter blinked. “What.”
Maxwell’s voice roughened. “I am glad she is with child.”
The confession hung in the air, shocking in its simplicity.
Hunter stared at him as if he hadn’t heard correctly.
Maxwell continued, words spilling now that the truth had been named. “When the healer said it, I… I felt—”
He exhaled hard, frustrated with himself. “Joy.”
Hunter’s mouth parted.
Maxwell’s gaze dropped for a moment, as if admitting it felt like exposing his throat. “I did nae expect it. I didnae… I daenae even remember why I made those rules in the first place. I thought they would keep me steady. Keep everything… contained.”
Hunter’s expression shifted, anger still present but now threaded with something else.
Understanding.
And relief.
“Christ,” Hunter muttered.
Maxwell’s jaw flexed. “Say it.”
Hunter’s mouth twitched, then he shook his head with a faint, incredulous smile. “Ye are a bloody fool.”
Maxwell’s brows lowered. “Aye.”
Hunter stepped closer, voice quieter now. “Ye’ll make a wonderful faither, if ye stop trying to punish yerself for surviving.”
Maxwell went still.
Hunter’s eyes held his. “That’s what all of this is, isn’t it. Ye daenae think ye deserve good things. So ye refuse them first.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened. He looked away again, because the truth of it felt too exposed.
Hunter’s voice softened. “But ye daenae get to refuse it for her. Or for the bairn.”
Maxwell exhaled slowly. “I ken.”
Hunter nodded once. “Then ye need to fix it.”
Maxwell’s jaw clenched. “How.”
Hunter’s gaze sharpened. “Ye seek forgiveness.”
Maxwell’s chest tightened.
The idea of standing before Ariella and admitting he had been wrong felt like stepping into battle without armor. He could face swords. He could face blood. He could face death.
But Ariella’s disappointment.
Her hurt.
Her love turning into distance.
That terrified him.
Hunter’s voice turned firm again. “Ye tell her the truth. Ye tell her ye’re glad. Ye tell her ye were wrong to make her fear ye.”
Maxwell swallowed hard.
Hunter’s expression softened fully now, genuine. “And ye tell her ye want her to stay.”
Maxwell’s breath came shallow for a moment, then steadied.
He nodded once, slow, determined. “Aye.”
Hunter’s grin returned, smaller but real. “There he is.”
Maxwell huffed a short laugh that surprised him.
Hunter stepped back, shaking his head. “Go on then. Before she wakes and decides she’d rather leave anyway.”
Maxwell’s mouth tightened. “She will nae see me.”
Hunter lifted a brow. “Ye sure.”
Maxwell’s gaze turned hard, not at Hunter, but at himself. “I will nae let her.”
Hunter snorted. “Careful. That sounds like the laird again.”
Maxwell’s jaw flexed. “Then I will ask her.”
Hunter nodded approvingly. “That’s better.”
Maxwell turned toward the door, heart hammering with a new kind of fear.
Not fear of enemies.
Fear of the moment he would finally have to lay down his rules and show his wife the truth beneath them.
But he knew what he must do.
And for the first time in weeks, Maxwell moved with purpose that wasn’t only war.
Maxwell stood outside her chamber staring at the door as if it were a barrier to a different world.
At last the door opened.
The healer stepped out, wiping her hands on a cloth. She shut the door behind her with deliberate care, as if guarding what lay within.
“She’s awake?” Maxwell asked.
“Aye,” the healer replied. “For a bit.”
His chest tightened. “And.”
The healer’s eyes narrowed. “And she asked for water. And quiet. And rest.”
Maxwell’s jaw flexed. “I can be quiet.”
The healer gave him a flat look. “Ye are a storm that thinks it can stand still.”
Maxwell’s hand curled at his side. “Let me in.”
“She does nae want ye in,” the healer said plainly.
The words struck.
Maxwell held himself rigid. “She’s me wife.”
The healer didn’t flinch. “Aye. And she’s a woman who has been afraid of her own husband for weeks. Yer title will nae fix what yer silence broke.”
Maxwell swallowed. “I didn’t mean to.”
The healer’s gaze sharpened. “Meaning is for apologies. She is recovering. And she is with bairn. She needs peace.”
Maxwell stared at the door again. “Tell her I am here.”
“I did,” the healer said. “She said she kens.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened. “What else did she say.”
The healer hesitated, then spoke as if she decided he deserved the truth unsoftened. “She said she doesnae want ye hovering over her like a penance. She wants ye to do what ye do best.”
Maxwell’s voice came out rough. “And what is that?”
The healer’s mouth tightened. “Lead. Protect. Handle what needs handling. Without trying to command her heart into place.”
Maxwell flinched at that, the accuracy of it too clean.
He forced a breath. “Is she angry?”
“Aye,” the healer said simply. “And frightened. And exhausted. And she has every right.”
Maxwell’s jaw clenched. “How long?”
The healer’s eyes hardened. “As long as it takes.”
Then she stepped past him and moved down the corridor, leaving Maxwell with the door and the silence and the bitter truth that he could not order this into resolution.
Bootsteps approached.
Hunter.
His brother rounded the corner with that restless, guilty energy still clinging to him from the day before. He took one look at Maxwell’s posture and slowed.
“She will nae see ye?” Hunter said quietly.
Maxwell didn’t answer.
Hunter exhaled hard. “I tried to speak with Isla. She nearly bit me head off.”
Maxwell’s gaze flicked to him. “Good.”
Hunter blinked. “Good.”
Maxwell’s voice stayed flat. “If Isla is angry, it means Ariella is nae alone.”
Hunter’s face tightened. “She shouldn’t be alone in the first place.”
Maxwell’s jaw flexed again. “Aye.”
Hunter glanced at the door, then back at Maxwell. “What will ye do?”
Maxwell stared at the wood as if he could see through it. “What I should have been doing all along.”
Hunter waited.
Maxwell turned away from the door and started down the corridor. “Come.”
Hunter fell into step beside him. “Where?”
“To the yard,” Maxwell replied. “To the stores. To the walls. To the ledgers. To the men.”
Hunter frowned. “Ye’re avoiding her.”
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed. “Nay.”
Hunter scoffed under his breath. “Sounds like it.”
Maxwell stopped short, turning on his brother. “If I walk into that room and beg her forgiveness too soon, it will be about easing me guilt. Nae easing her fear.”
Hunter went still.
Maxwell’s voice lowered. “I want her to heal. I want her to breathe. I want her to feel safe enough to speak without flinching.”
Hunter’s expression softened, the anger in him shifting into reluctant approval. “That… sounds like ye’ve grown a brain.”
Maxwell grunted and continued walking.
The keep did not pause because the laird had feelings. That was the simplest mercy. There were tasks that demanded his hands, his voice, his attention. Men needed pay. Supplies needed ordering. The smithy needed coordination. The patrols needed resetting now that the immediate threat had passed.
Maxwell moved through it all with sharp focus, and yet Ariella’s face followed him like a shadow.
And Finley waited at the end of the corridor with a rolled parchment and an expression that said he’d been waiting too long.
“Me laird,” Finley said.
Maxwell took the parchment, scanned it, then looked up. “Double watch at the east corridor. Nae for enemies. For privacy.”
Finley’s brows rose. “Privacy.”
Maxwell’s voice stayed clipped. “Nay curious tongues near me wife’s chamber. If a servant lingers, send them away.”
Finley studied him carefully, then nodded once. “Aye.”
Maxwell handed the parchment back. “And get the steward. We’ll review stores. She’ll need better meals than she’s been taking.”
Finley didn’t move at once. “She.”
Maxwell’s gaze sharpened. “Aye.”
Finley’s mouth twitched. “Ye’re planning like ye can organize her forgiveness.”
Maxwell’s jaw flexed, and for a moment he almost snapped. Then he caught himself.
“Nay,” he said quietly. “I am planning like a man who finally understands what he’s cost.”
Finley’s expression softened. “That’s a start.”
Maxwell turned away before the words could sink too deep.
He worked until his shoulders ached from responsibility rather than battle.
He spoke with the steward, the cook, the guards.
He walked the walls, checked the gates, reviewed the horses.
He listened to reports he could have delegated, not because he distrusted his men, but because he needed something to hold onto that was solid and solvable.
Unlike Ariella’s silence.
When dusk fell, Maxwell found himself back in the corridor outside her chamber again, hands empty, heart full, head too loud.
The healer stepped out once more, candlelight flickering behind her.
Maxwell straightened. “How is she?”
The healer’s face was unreadable. “She ate.”
A small relief loosened his chest.
“And,” Maxwell pressed.
“And she asked for Mairi.”
Maxwell’s brow furrowed. “Mairi.”
“Aye,” the healer said. “She wants to rest at the Hendry cottage for a few days. Somewhere quieter. Away from the keep.”
Maxwell froze.
Away.
His instinct rose sharp and immediate. Nay. Nae out of me walls. Nae when she is carrying me child.
He forced the thought down. Forced his voice steady. “Is that wise.”
The healer’s eyes held his. “It will be, if ye let it.”
Maxwell swallowed. “She wants to go.”
“Aye.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened. “Did she say why.”
The healer’s voice softened slightly, but not enough to make it gentle. “She said she needs to ken that ye will nae keep her by force. Nae with fear. Nae with duty. Nae with love used as a chain.”
Maxwell closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Then he nodded once.
“Tell her,” he said, voice rough, “she may go wherever she wishes. And she may return when she chooses.”
The healer watched him for a long beat, as if searching for falsehood.
Then she nodded. “I will.”
And Maxwell stood alone in the corridor again, realizing with a sick clarity that love did not bend simply because he finally wanted it to.
He did not sleep.
Not because he couldn’t. Because he didn’t deserve the ease of it.
Maxwell sat in the study long after the candle had burned low, staring at the table where he had once laid out maps of borders and troop movements. Tonight the table held something smaller and somehow more terrifying.
A simple list.
What Ariella needed. What the babe needed. What he could give without taking her choice away.
Finley had left hours ago, muttering that Maxwell would turn himself into a ghost if he didn’t stop. Hunter had drifted in and out, hovering like a man afraid to admit he cared. Isla had avoided Maxwell entirely, except for one stiff bow in the corridor that felt like punishment.
Maxwell deserved that too.
At dawn he rose, washed, and went straight to the kitchens.
Mairi was there already, hair pinned up, sleeves rolled, moving with the practiced economy of a woman who had run a keep through war and peace alike. She looked up when Maxwell entered.
Her expression changed instantly.
It hardened.
“Me laird,” she said, tone polite in the way a blade could be polite.
“Mairi,” Maxwell replied.
She did not offer him a smile. She did not offer him warmth. She simply waited, ladle in hand, as if daring him to say something foolish.
Maxwell respected her for it.
“I heard Ariella wishes to stay with ye,” he said.
Mairi’s eyes narrowed. “Aye.”
Maxwell nodded once. “She’ll be safer there if she wants quiet.”
Mairi’s mouth tightened. “She’ll be safe because I will keep her safe.”
Maxwell held her gaze. “Aye.”
That single agreement seemed to surprise her more than any defense would have.
Mairi set the ladle down with a careful clink. “Ye’re letting her go?”
“I am,” Maxwell said.
Mairi studied him like she was weighing him. “Why?”
Because she asked.
Because she’s carrying my bairn and I need her under my roof.
Because the thought of her leaving makes me feel like I am losing my mind.
All those answers rose in him, loud and selfish.
He chose the one that mattered.
“Because she needs to ken she is nae trapped,” Maxwell said quietly. “And because I need to ken I can love her without trying to own her.”
Mairi’s eyes flashed, not softened, but sharpened with something like approval she would never call it.
“Aye,” she said at last. “That’s closer to the right of it.”
Maxwell exhaled slowly. “I’ll send a guard at a distance. Nae to watch her. To watch the road.”
Mairi’s brow lifted. “And will she ken?”
Maxwell nodded. “Aye. Nay secrets.”
Mairi’s lips pressed together, and for a moment she looked almost satisfied.
Then she said, “Ye broke her heart.”
Maxwell did not flinch. “Aye.”
“Ye frightened her,” Mairi continued. “Nae with yer fists. With yer silence.”
Maxwell’s jaw tightened, but he held himself still. “Aye.”
Mairi stepped closer, voice lower now. “Do ye ken what it was like, watching her these past weeks? Watching her try to be cheerful with a hollow look in her eyes. Watching her take her meals alone like she was punishing herself for wanting more.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened. “Aye.”
Mairi shook her head once, anger plain now. “She is nae a girl to be left outside the truth. Nae after all she’s endured.”
Maxwell’s eyes held hers. “I ken. And I am sorry.”
Mairi stared at him for a long beat. Then she turned back to her work. “An apology rarely mends what’s been torn.”
“Nay,” Maxwell said quietly. “But it’s where mending starts.”
He left the kitchens with the taste of humility in his mouth.