Hunter was placing himself at risk.
And Maxwell, for the first time in days, felt his composure fracture at the edges.
He folded the letter carefully, as if gentleness with paper could soften the truth.
Then he strode from the study and into the corridor, already barking orders as the keep began to shift around him, the calm of yesterday giving way to the familiar tightening of war.
She had to have gotten a letter from her maither by now…
“It’s from me maither,” Ariella said, smiling to herself as Isla set the tray beside her chair.
Isla leaned over Ariella’s shoulder, eyes curious. “Does she scold ye?”
“Always,” Ariella replied fondly.
Isla grinned. “Good. Maithers should. Keeps ye sharp.”
Ariella unfolded the letter carefully. The wax seal bore her family’s mark, pressed cleanly. The parchment smelled faintly of lavender, as if her mother had tucked it near dried herbs before sending it.
Ariella scanned the first lines.
My dearest Ariella,
I pray this letter finds you well and settled in your new home, and that you are keeping warm with the first bite of winter. Your last letter eased my mind more than you know. I confess, I feared you would be unhappy, and though I would never say such a thing aloud to your brother, I have been watching the days with too much worry…
Ariella’s throat tightened briefly. Her mother’s love was often hidden beneath sharpness, but it was there.
She continued reading.
We have received word that Frederick has begun making plans should O’Douglas become bold once and for all. He has met with the men of our outer farms and has spoken with allies who still owe us favors. He will not be caught unprepared. He says he will not lose another inch of McIntosh land to the greed of a man who already has too much…
Ariella exhaled slowly.Frederick, ever dutiful. Ever protective.
She read on, her mother mentioning small household matters, a new seamstress in the village, a neighbor’s cow that had wandered into the orchard, and then a pointed line about Ariella eating properly and not letting Highlanders starve her on pride.
Ariella smiled softly.
A knock came at the door.
Before Isla could answer, the door opened.
Maxwell entered.
Ariella looked up, surprised by the intrusion. “Maxwell?”
His gaze swept the room quickly, sharp as if he expected to find a threat hidden in her curtains. “Leave us,” he demanded, and Isla bowed before sprinting out the door, closing it on her way out.
Ariella watched, miffed, as her husband’s eyes landed on the letter in her hands.
“Yer maither wrote ye,” he said, less of a question and more of an impatient statement.
She blinked. Oddly comforted that he knew without asking. That he recognized the seal, the rhythm of her receiving it. As if he had noticed enough to know the shape of her life that had grown around his.
She lifted a brow. “Perhaps it’s nae from me maither.”
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed. “Ariella.”
She tried to smile. “It could be Skylar. Or Frederick. Or some other secret admirer.”
