An Obese Noblewoman Was Handed Over to an Apache as Punishment by Her Father, But He Loved Her Like

Chapter 8

Everything happened in an instant.

His hand emerged clutching a small pistol — concealed, meant for malice. He raised it.

Not at the soldiers. Not at Arabella.

At Maka.

“If I can’t have her back,” he snarled, “then neither will you, *savage.*”

The gun fired.

Maka was already moving — not away from the bullet, but *toward* Arabella, his body interposing itself between her and the threat.

But the bullet never reached him.

An Apache warrior had lunged forward, throwing himself in front of his chief. The impact spun him around, blood blooming across his shoulder.

Chaos erupted. Soldiers scrambled. Warriors surged forward. Lord Worthington was tackled to the ground, his pistol knocked from his hand.

“*Hold.*”

Maka’s voice cut through the tumult like a blade.

“*No more blood.*”

The warriors hesitated, weapons still raised. The lieutenant — to his lasting credit — ordered his men to stand down.

“This man,” Maka said, pointing at Lord Worthington with a hand that did not shake, “has broken the peace. Take him. He will face your justice.”

The lieutenant nodded grimly. “He fired without provocation. He’ll face military tribunal.”

As Lord Worthington was dragged away — sputtering, raging, reduced to a thrashing silhouette against the setting sun — Arabella rushed to the wounded warrior. Her hands moved with practiced precision, drawing on the knowledge Maka had taught her, the hours of practice, the patient lessons by firelight.

She saved his life.

—

That night, as the village tended to its wounds, Maka found Arabella sitting alone by a small fire.

“You’re troubled,” he observed, settling beside her.

“He would have killed you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “My own father.”

Maka was silent for a moment.

“Some men cannot see beyond themselves.” He took her hand, his touch gentle. “Your father sees you as a possession. Not as a person. A thing that belongs to him.”

Tears slipped down Arabella’s cheeks. “All my life, I believed I was worthless. Because he told me so. Because I wasn’t thin enough, or graceful enough, or obedient enough.”

Maka turned her face toward his.

“To me,” he said softly, “you are perfect as you are. Strong. Wise. Beautiful.”

He touched her cheek, wiping away a tear.

“Your body carries life well. Your heart carries kindness. Your mind carries wisdom. What more could a man want?”

In that moment, surrounded by the night and the distant sounds of a village healing, Arabella felt the last chains of her past finally break away.