Isla straightened so quickly she nearly snapped in half. Ewan puffed his chest like he was also a laird. Moira simply nodded once, unimpressed by titles.
“Aye,” Moira said. “We’re going.”
Maxwell’s gaze moved to Ariella. “Ready.”
It was not a question.
Ariella lifted her chin. “I am.”
They set out on foot, a small procession leaving the keep. Guards watched from the gatehouse, but Maxwell waved them back when one stepped forward.
“I daenae need an escort to walk to a cottage,” he said.
Moira muttered, “Aye, because nay one would dare stab ye within shouting distance of me.”
Maxwell’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but it vanished before Ariella could be sure.
The path down the hill was packed earth, edged with frost-touched grass. Smoke curled from chimneys in the village below. Ariella breathed in the scent of peat and woodsmoke, and something in her chest eased. The world outside the castle walls felt simpler. Less heavy.
Ewan skipped ahead, kicking a stone like it was a ball. Isla walked close to Ariella, hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“Are ye nervous?” Ariella asked softly.
Isla’s eyes widened. “Nay.”
Moira barked a laugh. “She is. She’s terrified she’ll drop the babe.”
“I will nae drop the baby,” Isla snapped. “I simply… daenae ken how to hold something that small.”
Ariella smiled. “Ye will do fine.”
Isla looked unconvinced. “What if I hurt her?”
“Ye willnae,” Ariella said. “Ye have gentle hands. Ye just forget that because ye use them to smack yer braither.”
Ewan grinned. “She does.”
Isla scowled. “Because he deserves it.”
They reached the Hendry cottage, modest and tidy, with a low stone wall around a small yard. A stack of firewood leaned neatly against one side. The door was open, and warmth spilled out in a wave.
Callum appeared in the doorway at once, face brightening when he saw them. He looked exhausted, hair damp as if he’d washed and failed to tame it, but there was a raw happiness in his eyes.
“Me laird,” Callum said, bowing his head briefly. “Me lady. Ye came.”
Maxwell nodded. “Ye asked us to.”
Callum’s mouth pulled into a grin that didn’t quite ken what to do with itself. “Aye. We did.”
Mairi’s voice floated from inside. “If he’s hovering in the doorway again, Callum Hendry, I’ll throw a pot at yer head.”
Callum winced. “She has recovered her strength.”
Moira pushed past him. “Of course she has. She’s Mairi Hendry.”
The cottage was small but warm, a single main room with a hearth at the center and a table pushed against the wall to make space. A cradle sat near the fire, lined with blankets. Herbs hung in bunches from rafters. A kettle steamed softly.
Mairi sat in a chair by the hearth, wrapped in a shawl, looking both weary and triumphant. Her hair was braided loosely, face softer than Ariella had ever seen it, though her eyes still held that same fierce spark.
