“The Laird will be furious,” Fiona said, though her tone held more concern than reprimand.
Eloise rose slowly, brushing the dirt from her hands. “Then he’ll be furious,” she said simply, though her gaze remained on the place where the bird had vanished.
Fiona studied her for a moment, then gave a small, thoughtful nod. “Ye’ve a kind heart,” she said. “That can be a dangerous thing in a place like this.”
Eloise let out a faint breath, her lips curving slightly. “So I’m beginnin’ to learn,” she replied.
They began to walk again, though more slowly now, searching for snares. Eloise’s thoughts turned inward once more, the image of the bird replaying in her mind. It had hesitated, uncertain, even after the snare was gone, as though it feared another unseen trap. She understood that feeling more than she cared to admit.
“Freedom is a strange thing,” she murmured quietly, almost to herself.
Fiona glanced at her but did not press. “Aye,” she said simply, “it is.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
James stood at the edge of the courtyard, beneath the stone arch as he watched her move through the morning bustle. Eloise knelt beside a small cluster of children, her skirts gathered as she listened intently to their chatter, her laughter light and unguarded.
One of the boys tugged at her sleeve, and she feigned shock at whatever tale he told, drawing a chorus of giggles.
“Och, ye’ll be the death of me with such stories,” she said, tapping his nose gently.
The sight should have meant little to him, yet he found himself watching longer than he intended. There was an ease to her here, a natural warmth that did not feel practiced or false. It unsettled him.
I must stop watchin' her. She is nae truly mine.
He turned and walked away, yet later, when he saw her near the kitchens, a small basket balanced in her hands as she passed out fresh bread to the servants.
“Ye’ve worked harder than any of us this morn,” she told one of the maids, pressing an extra piece into her hands.
Mairi stood nearby, arms crossed, though her expression betrayed a fondness she tried to hide.
“If ye keep givin’ away me bread, lass, there’ll be none left for supper,” she grumbled.
Eloise turned to her with a teasing smile. “Then I'll simply have to help ye bake more,” she replied lightly.
Mairi snorted, though the corner of her mouth lifted.
James watched it all from a distance, arms folded, his gaze narrowing slightly as he took it in. She moved through the castle as though she had always belonged, her presence settling easily among his people. There was no force to it, no command, only quiet attention, small kindnesses, and a willingness to listen. And they responded in kind, their wariness softening, their respect growing with each passing day.
“Miss Eloise will be a fine Lady MacAllister,” he overheard one of the older women say.
“Aye,” another agreed, “the laird chose well.” The words struck him harder than they should have.
He turned away then, as unease settled deep within him.
They believe it. They believe this lie as though it were truth.
His gaze drifted back to her, just in time to see her rise from where she stood, brushing flour from her hands as she laughed at something Mairi said.
And she makes it easy for them to believe.
He had meant this to be temporary, controlled, contained, but already it had begun to slip beyond that.
“I’ll be lettin’ them down,” he muttered under his breath. Yet even as the guilt pressed in, another truth stood firm.
Better that than send her back to Drummond. I'd die before allowing that.
By midday, he had taken to the forest with Callum, the familiar weight of bow and blade offering some measure of clarity. The quiet there suited him, the world stripped down to what could be seen, tracked, and understood.
