It was not a request.
It was a test.
Maxwell swallowed. “Aye.”
Ariella nodded once, small and decisive. Then she nodded toward Isla.
Maxwell stood and bowed to his lady as he stepped away and out of her chambers.
He closed the door quietly.
He did turn back around.
He stood in the passageway and let her choose herself, even as it tore at him in two.
Because this was the cost. Or rather, the consequence.
And if he wanted her trust, he would earn it the only way it could be earned.
With patience, humility, and a love that was given freely and without strings attached to it.
30
Ariella woke to the sound of birdsong and the soft clatter of crockery from the hearth.
For a moment, she did not know where she was. The ceiling above her was low and dark with age, the beams rough-hewn rather than carved. Sunlight crept in through a narrow window, warming the patchwork quilt drawn up around her shoulders. The air smelled faintly of bread and herbs and woodsmoke.
Mairi’s cottage.
The memory settled gently this time; without the sharp edge it had carried the first few nights at the cottage. Ariella shifted carefully onto her side, one hand resting over her stomach out of instinct rather than fear, and let herself breathe.
She had slept. Truly slept. No dreams of stone corridors or unanswered questions. No ache of waiting.
Just quiet.
Voices murmured beyond the door. Callum, low and steady. Mairi, softer now that the babe was finally settled. The sounds of a life lived close and honestly, without pretense.
Ariella stared at the slant of sunlight on the wall and felt something in her chest loosen.
Maxwell’s face rose unbidden in her mind. Not as he had been these past weeks, distant and guarded, but as he had been when he apologized. When his voice had broken, just slightly. When he had looked at her as if the ground beneath his feet had shifted and he was learning how to stand again.
I had forgiven him then.
Not because the words were perfect. Not because everything had been resolved. But because she had seen the truth in him at last.
He had not withheld love out of cruelty. He had withheld it out offear. Fear that had shaped him since boyhood, hardened into rules he had mistaken for safety.
And she finally understood that.
Understanding did not erase the hurt. It did not undo the loneliness or the doubt. But it did something quieter and perhaps more powerful.
It allowed forgiveness to take root.
Ariella closed her eyes, a faint smile touching her mouth.
She had spent days here resting, thinking, letting the ache soften into clarity. She had chosen motherhood without waiting for permission. She had chosen herself.
Now, she would choose him again.
