Finley’s brows rose. “Privacy.”
Maxwell’s voice stayed clipped. “Nay curious tongues near me wife’s chamber. If a servant lingers, send them away.”
Finley studied him carefully, then nodded once. “Aye.”
Maxwell handed the parchment back. “And get the steward. We’ll review stores. She’ll need better meals than she’s been taking.”
Finley didn’t move at once. “She.”
Maxwell’s gaze sharpened. “Aye.”
Finley’s mouth twitched. “Ye’re planning like ye can organize her forgiveness.”
Maxwell’s jaw flexed, and for a moment he almost snapped. Then he caught himself.
“Nay,” he said quietly. “I am planning like a man who finally understands what he’s cost.”
Finley’s expression softened. “That’s a start.”
Maxwell turned away before the words could sink too deep.
He worked until his shoulders ached from responsibility rather than battle. He spoke with the steward, the cook, the guards. He walked the walls, checked the gates, reviewed the horses. He listened to reports he could have delegated, not because he distrusted his men, but because he needed something to hold onto that was solid and solvable.
Unlike Ariella’s silence.
When dusk fell, Maxwell found himself back in the corridor outside her chamber again, hands empty, heart full, head too loud.
The healer stepped out once more, candlelight flickering behind her.
Maxwell straightened. “How is she?”
The healer’s face was unreadable. “She ate.”
A small relief loosened his chest.
“And,” Maxwell pressed.
“And she asked for Mairi.”
Maxwell’s brow furrowed. “Mairi.”
“Aye,” the healer said. “She wants to rest at the Hendry cottage for a few days. Somewhere quieter. Away from the keep.”
Maxwell froze.
Away.
His instinct rose sharp and immediate.Nay. Nae out of me walls. Nae when she is carrying me child.
He forced the thought down. Forced his voice steady. “Is that wise.”
The healer’s eyes held his. “It will be, if ye let it.”
Maxwell swallowed. “She wants to go.”
“Aye.”
Maxwell’s throat tightened. “Did she say why.”
