Maxwell straightened slowly.
Isla stood near the foot of the bed, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
Maxwell’s gaze locked on her. “Nay one leaves this room with that news.”
Isla stiffened. “Aye, me laird.”
The healer nodded once. “Of course.”
Maxwell exhaled harshly, then moved toward the door.
As he stepped into the corridor, Hunter appeared at the far end, walking toward them with a gait that still carried battle in it, face drawn and tense.
He saw Maxwell’s expression and stopped short.
“What?” Hunter asked, voice tight. “What happened?”
Maxwell hesitated, then said quietly, “She collapsed.”
Hunter’s face went pale. “Is she —”
“She is alive,” Maxwell cut in. Then, after a beat, he forced the words out. “She is with child.”
Hunter froze.
The guilt on his brother’s face was immediate and fierce, like someone had driven a blade into him.
Hunter’s mouth opened, closed again. He swallowed hard. “And she… she didnae tell ye?”
Maxwell’s jaw flexed. “Nae outright.”
Hunter’s gaze fell to the floor for a moment. “God.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened with something he didn’t know how to name.
Hunter looked up again, eyes bright and haunted. “I am sorry.”
Maxwell frowned slightly. “For what?”
“For running,” Hunter said, voice raw. “For putting ye in this place. For making ye take her. For making her take ye.”
Maxwell’s chest tightened.
He had no answer for that either.
He only knew this truth now burned inside him.
A child.
And he had nearly driven his wife away before he ever got the chance to deserve it.
The study felt smaller than it had the night before.
Perhaps because the walls now held the echo of a new truth. Perhaps because Maxwell could not stop seeing Ariella’s pale face in his mind, slack with exhaustion, lashes fluttering as if she were fighting to stay in the world.
He stood by the window while Hunter paced, the same way Maxwell had paced in this very room when Hunter’s letter first arrived. The irony tasted bitter.
Hunter’s boots struck the stone floor in restless rhythms.
