She entered the kitchen. The scullery maids bustled about. Mairi greeted her with surprise and warmth.
“Well, what’s brought ye down here, Miss?” she asked, arms crossed as she eyed Eloise suspiciously.
Eloise rolled up her sleeves without hesitation. “Teach me somethin',” she said simply.
Mairi blinked. “Teach ye what, Miss?” she asked. “I daenae ken what ye mean.”
Eloise nodded toward the counter. “Whatever it is ye’re doin’ that makes the whole castle smell like comfort. I want to learn. I hate feelin' useless.”
Mairi snorted, but there was approval in her eyes. “A fruit pie then,” she decided. “But daenae blame me if it turns out more burn than bake.”
Eloise worked beside her, learning quickly as flour dusted her hands and sleeves.
“Ye press the dough like this,” Mairi instructed, guiding her hands with surprising gentleness. “Nay too hard, or ye’ll anger it.”
Eloise frowned slightly. “Dough doesnae get angry,” she said.
Mairi laughed. “Aye? Tell that to a ruined crust.”
As they worked, Eloise found a strange comfort in the rhythm of it, measuring, mixing, folding.
“Ye’re nae bad at this,” Mairi admitted after a while.
Eloise smirked faintly. “I’ve been told I’ve many hidden talents.”
When she left the kitchen later, the scent of baked fruit clung to her clothes as she wandered toward the weaving hall. The women there greeted her with mild surprise, but no hesitation.
“Ye’re back again?” one of them asked.
Eloise nodded. “I’ve learned to bake a pie, and now I would like to learn the weavin',” she said simply.
A few of them chuckled as they handed her a spindle and showed her how to work the wool.
“Slow hands,” one instructed. “Patience is what makes the thread strong.”
Eloise listened, though patience was not something she had ever been naturally gifted. Still, she tried. Still, she stayed.
By midday she found herself outside with Ewan in the gardens, where the earth was damp and rich beneath her boots.
He handed her a small spade without ceremony. “Weeds daenae care who ye are,” he said gruffly. “They grow anyway.”
Eloise crouched beside him, pulling stubborn roots from the soil. “Sounds familiar,” she murmured.
Ewan grunted in agreement, though he did not ask what she meant. They worked in silence for a time, broken only by the sound of birds and the distant rhythm of castle life.
“Ye’ve a steady hand,” he said at last.
Eloise glanced up. “It’s the only steady thing I’ve had lately,” she replied before she could stop herself.
Yet even as she moved from task to task, she knew it was all distraction. Flour, wool, soil, none of it was enough to keep her thoughts from drifting back to James. His voice, his presence, the way he commanded space without effort. She would catch herself pausing mid-motion, only to realize she had been thinking of him again.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath as she brushed dirt from her hands. But it continued anyway, persistent as breath.
Later, as she crossed the outer yard to return inside, she saw him.
James stood near the stables, speaking to a group of guards, his posture rigid with authority.
His voice carried clearly across the courtyard. “Double the patrol on the east ridge,” he ordered. “Nay gaps in the watch. I want reports every two hours.”
