Hunter’s eyes held his. “That’s what all of this is, isn’t it. Ye daenae think ye deserve good things. So ye refuse them first.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened. He looked away again, because the truth of it felt too exposed.
Hunter’s voice softened. “But ye daenae get to refuse it for her. Or for the bairn.”
Maxwell exhaled slowly. “I ken.”
Hunter nodded once. “Then ye need to fix it.”
Maxwell’s jaw clenched. “How.”
Hunter’s gaze sharpened. “Ye seek forgiveness.”
Maxwell’s chest tightened.
The idea of standing before Ariella and admitting he had been wrong felt like stepping into battle without armor. He could face swords. He could face blood. He could face death.
But Ariella’s disappointment.
Her hurt.
Her love turning into distance.
That terrified him.
Hunter’s voice turned firm again. “Ye tell her the truth. Ye tell her ye’re glad. Ye tell her ye were wrong to make her fear ye.”
Maxwell swallowed hard.
Hunter’s expression softened fully now, genuine. “And ye tell her ye want her to stay.”
Maxwell’s breath came shallow for a moment, then steadied.
He nodded once, slow, determined. “Aye.”
Hunter’s grin returned, smaller but real. “There he is.”
Maxwell huffed a short laugh that surprised him.
Hunter stepped back, shaking his head. “Go on then. Before she wakes and decides she’d rather leave anyway.”
Maxwell’s mouth tightened. “She will nae see me.”
Hunter lifted a brow. “Ye sure.”
Maxwell’s gaze turned hard, not at Hunter, but at himself. “I will nae let her.”
Hunter snorted. “Careful. That sounds like the laird again.”
Maxwell’s jaw flexed. “Then I will ask her.”
Hunter nodded approvingly. “That’s better.”
Maxwell turned toward the door, heart hammering with a new kind of fear.
Not fear of enemies.
Fear of the moment he would finally have to lay down his rules and show his wife the truth beneath them.
