Yet as she unfolded the parchment, the handwriting was lively. Recognition hit her a heartbeat later, and a smile broke across her face before she could stop it.
“Beatrice,” she whispered with clear relief.
Dearest Eloise,
When ye had vanished from the river without word, I thought I would lose me mind entirely. I should have ken better than to let ye wander off. Ye should have confided in me, of all people. I can be trusted with such things, ye ken that well enough.
But I must admit, I am glad to hear ye are safe, and more than that, engaged. Laird MacAllister? I can hardly believe it, but I am thrilled for ye. And frankly, anything is better than that old Laird Drummond.
Ye must write to me at once and tell me everything. Do not keep me waiting too long, Eloise. Write in return.
Yers always,
Beatrice
Eloise let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, her hand pressing lightly to her chest. Relief washed through her in a quiet wave, loosening something that had been tight within her since she arrived at Calibroch.
“Of all people,” she murmured, a faint laugh escaping her lips. Beatrice’s tone, so familiar and sharp-edged in affection, felt like a tether to something real.
She moved toward her writing desk, already forming replies in her mind, when another knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Miss,” a servant called from the corridor. “Supper is served in the great hall.”
Eloise straightened, folding the letter carefully.
“Aye, I’ll be there,” she replied, smoothing her dress and tucking the letter aside. As she prepared herself, she caught her reflection in the small mirror, noting the faint flush still lingering on her cheeks.
“Compose yerself,” she told her reflection firmly. “It’s only supper.” Yet even as she said it, her thoughts betrayed her, drifting once again to James and the unpredictable pull of his presence. With a final breath, she left her chamber.
The great hall was alive with warmth and noise. The long tables were filled with food, roasted meats, steaming vegetables, fresh bread, and bowls of thick stew. The MacAllister clan filled the space with conversation and laughter, their voices overlapping in a familiar rhythm of kinship and routine.
Eloise paused at the entrance for only a moment before stepping inside, her presence drawing brief glances that quickly softened into welcome. She made her way through the hall, finding her place at the high table beside James.
He was already seated when she arrived, leaning back slightly as though he had been waiting longer than necessary. His gaze lifted as she sat, and for a brief moment, neither spoke.
“Ye’re late,” he said at last, though there was no true reprimand in it.
Eloise raised a brow as she adjusted her chair. “Am I?” she replied lightly. “Or are ye simply early and impatient?”
A faint smirk touched his mouth. “Perhaps both,” he admitted.
Then, with deliberate calm, he slid a plate toward Eloise. She looked down at it and immediately frowned.
“Vegetables, only,” James did not look apologetic in the slightest. “Thought I’d help ye survive longer.”
Eloise turned her head slowly toward him. “Ye mean to tease me for me compassion toward the wee beasts,” she asked. “Or are ye simply enjoying yerself a bit too much?”
James leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “I’m suggesting ye’ve been meddlin’ in snares again,” he said. “Figured I’d start ye on the simpler prey first.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I will continue to do it.”
He studied her for a moment, then took a bite of his own food, roasted venison, as if entirely unbothered.
“Ye’re consistent, I’ll give ye that,” he said. “Consistently stubborn.”
Eloise huffed softly. “And ye’re consistently infuriating.”
“Yet here ye still are,” he said simply. “Sittin’ beside me, so I must nae be all that infuriating.”
