She let out a soft hum, unconvinced, and said, “Aye, I see, and it has nothin’ at all to do with the way he held me?”
His gaze darkened slightly at that, though he kept his voice steady. “I’ve already told ye, it’s nae jealousy.”
“Then perhaps it’s somethin’ else. I ken that it is nae desire since ye show much restraint toward me,” she said quietly.
James held her gaze. “Do ye take me for an animal, lass?”
For a moment, neither spoke, the tension between them growing as the music carried on around them.
James became keenly aware of the warmth of her beneath his hand, the closeness of her, the way her gaze held his without flinching. He exhaled slowly, forcing the thought aside even as it lingered.
“Careful, me Laird,” she said softly, though there was no mockery in her tone now. “Ye might begin to believe yer own farce is true.”
He gave a faint, humorless smile at that, though his eyes did not soften.
“Daenae worry, lass,” he replied, his voice steady once more, though the edge remained. “I ken exactly what this is.”
The music slowed, the dance nearing its end, but neither moved to step away just yet. James felt something lingering between them, unspoken and unresolved, refusing to be dismissed so easily.
The morning air lay soft over the lower gardens, the scent of damp earth and herbs rising as Eloise followed Fiona along the narrow path. Sunlight filtered through the trees, catching on leaves and warming the chill that had lingered through the night.
“This is where ye’ll find the heart of the place, miss,” Fiona said brightly, glancing back with a knowing smile.
Eloise nodded, though her steps slowed as raised voices carried toward them.
“If ye’d only listen, ye stubborn fool, ye’d ken the carrots must be pulled now!” came a woman’s sharp cry.
“And if ye’d stop meddlin’ in me soil, woman, they’d grow twice as fine!” a man’s voice answered just as loudly.
Eloise blinked, startled, before Fiona let out a quiet laugh.
They rounded the corner to find an older couple standing amidst neat rows of vegetables, both red-faced and animated.
“Mairi MacLaren, ye’ll ruin the lot if ye keep pluckin’ them before they’re ready!” the man barked, planting his hands on his hips.
The woman turned on him at once, her eyes blazing. “Ewan MacLaren, I’ve been cookin’ longer than ye’ve been diggin’, and I ken what’s needed for supper!” she shot back.
Eloise hesitated at the edge of the garden, unsure whether to intrude, but Fiona stepped forward without concern.
“Mairi, Ewan, ye’ve a guest,” she called lightly. Both turned at once, their argument forgotten in an instant.
“Well, why did ye nay say so?” Mairi huffed, smoothing her apron as she approached.
“Och, Miss Eloise.” Mairi bowed. “Ye’ve brought her to us lookin’ like she’s seen a battle.”
Ewan snorted and said, “Or worse, a council meetin’, I’d wager.”
Eloise could not help it, a small laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “I assure ye, I’ve seen both, and I cannae say which is worse,” she replied, her voice soft but genuine.
Mairi’s stern expression melted at once. “Good, she’s got spirit, this one,” she said, glancing at Ewan with approval.
Ewan nodded, though he added, “We’ll see how long that lasts once she’s had to deal with this one’s cookin’.”
“Mind yer tongue, ye old goat,” Mairi snapped, swatting lightly at his arm. “Me meals keep this castle standin’, whether ye admit it or nay.”
Eloise laughed again, the sound freer this time as she stepped closer. “It seems ye both keep it runnin’, in yer own way,” she said, glancing between them.
Ewan gave a small grunt of agreement. “Aye, I grow it, she burns it, and together we manage well enough,” he said dryly.
