And for the first time since the battle, since the silence, since the ache began, Ariella felt steady.
27
The keep woke to a different kind of silence.
Not the hush that followed battle, heavy with grief and fatigue, but a tense, expectant quiet that made the corridors feel narrowed and sharp. Servants moved carefully, speaking in low voices. Even the hearths seemed to crackle softer, as if the stone itself did not wish to disturb what was brewing behind closed doors.
Maxwell stood at the landing above the great hall and watched. He wondered if this was the moment everything changed, but then cut the thought off before it finished.
Ariella was preparing to leave.
He could see it in the way she moved through the entryway, cloak drawn around her shoulders, hair braided neatly, a small satchel set on the bench beside her. Isla hovered close, trying to be brisk and normal and failing at both. Two grooms waited nearthe doors, reins in hand, their faces turned respectfully away as if giving a lady privacy for her sadness.
Maxwell’s jaw tightened.
He had not slept.
Not truly.
He had returned to his chamber after leaving hers the night before and found the bed cold, the air colder. The words they had traded had followed him like ghosts. Her question. His answer. The way she froze as if struck.
Nay.
He had meant it without thought. He had said it because it was his rule, because rules were easier than truths, because he had convinced himself that if he held the line on one thing then everything else would remain controlled.
Now she was leaving.
And he was watching it happen as if he had the right to stand still.
Finley had found him near dawn in the corridor and said carefully, “She’s serious.”
Maxwell had only replied, “Aye.”
Finley had shaken his head. “Ye did that.”
Maxwell had not answered.
He descended the stairs slowly, the sound of his boots steady against stone. Heads turned. Men straightened. People made space for him without thinking. He hated that part of being laird most on mornings like this. That even grief had to step aside for him.
Ariella did not look up until he was close enough that she could not pretend she hadn’t heard him.
Her eyes lifted, and he saw it at once.
She was pale.
Not merely tired, not the pallor of a long night, but something deeper. A washed-out look that made her eyes seem too large in her face.
“Good morning,” he said, because he could not think of anything else to start with.
Ariella’s mouth tightened slightly. “Me laird.”
The title struck him like a slap.
He swallowed. “Are ye ready?”
“Aye,” she said, voice quiet. Too quiet. “Isla has packed what I need.”
Isla busied herself with tightening the clasp of the satchel though it was already secure.
