“Aye,” Maxwell said.
Callum’s eyes were bloodshot. “What if something goes wrong.”
Maxwell’s gaze stayed on the door. “It will nae.”
“How can ye say that?” Callum demanded, voice cracking. “Ye’re nae the one in there.”
Maxwell looked at him then, expression hard. “If panic will help her, then panic. If it will nae, then stop.”
Callum flinched, breathing hard. Ewan sat on the floor by the wall, clutching his scraped knee as if it were proof that pain existed in the world. He looked from Callum to Maxwell, eyes wide.
“Da,” Ewan whispered. “Is Mam going to die?”
Callum froze.
Maxwell’s chest tightened, but his voice remained steady. “Nay, hush, laddie.”
Ewan swallowed. “How do ye ken?”
Maxwell looked down at the boy. “Because yer maither is nae the sort of woman death takes easily.”
Ewan’s eyes filled. “She’s scary.”
“Aye,” Maxwell said. “So are ye, when ye stop crying.”
Ewan let out a wet laugh that turned into a sniffle.
Footsteps thundered down the corridor.
A woman appeared, breathless, cloak thrown back, hair pinned tight. The healer. Older than Ariella, eyes sharp, cheeks flushed from rushing.
Maxwell stood at once. “Ye are late.”
The healer did not bow. She only pushed past him with the authority of someone who answered to life and death, not lairds. “Move.”
She reached the door, paused, and looked Maxwell up and down. “Yer lady is inside.”
“Aye.”
“She’s doing well,” the healer said briskly. “I heard her voice down the hall. Calm. Firm. That is nae a woman flailing.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened. “She is capable.”
“Aye,” the healer agreed, and the corner of her mouth lifted. “More capable than half the women I’ve met who claim knowledge.”
Then she opened the door and slipped inside.
The door shut again.
Callum lunged toward it. Maxwell caught his arm, holding him back.
“Ye’ll go in when ye’re allowed,” Maxwell said.
Callum’s shoulders shook. “I need to see her.”
“And she needs ye calm,” Maxwell replied. “Sit.”
Callum did not sit. He leaned against the wall like a man ready to slide to the floor.
