She hesitated, then asked, “Did it trouble ye? The birth.”
His jaw flexed. “Why would it?”
She considered him. “Because it reminds us of how little control we truly have.”
He stopped walking.
Ariella halted beside him suddenly uncertain if she had pushed too far.
“For some,” he said carefully, “control is the only thing standing between order and ruin.”
She nodded. “I understand that.”
His gaze searched her face. “Do ye?”
She met his eyes. “Yes.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the wind threading between them.
“Me maither,” he said at last, “stood like that once.”
Ariella’s heart skipped. “Yer maither.”
“She was called upon when folk were wounded,” he continued. “Nae because she was laird’s wife. Because she knew what to do.”
She listened, careful not to interrupt.
“She taught me which herbs dull pain,” he said. “Which poultices draw fever out. I didnae understand why a warrior needed such knowledge until later.”
“And now,” Ariella asked gently.
“Now I ken that strength takes many forms.”
She smiled softly. “Skylar says the same.”
He nodded silently.
She looked out over the land again. “She would like ye, I think.”
He gave a soft huff. “She already married someone else.”
“That is nae what I meant,” Ariella said, smiling.
The silence that followed was comfortable, but charged.
“Seeing ye today,” Maxwell said, voice lower now, “I thought of me maither again.”
Ariella’s breath stilled. “In what way?”
“In the way ye steadied others,” he replied. “Without demanding notice.”
Her chest tightened. “That is a great compliment.”
“It is an honest one.”
She looked at him then, really looked, and saw the weariness beneath the control. The fractures he kept bound tight.
“Maxwell,” she said softly, “ye carry much alone.”
