Beatrice clapped her hands lightly. “Then there are only two more weeks until the wedding,” she said excitedly.
Eloise’s smile faltered slightly. “Aye,” she said.
Beatrice leaned closer. “What will ye wear?” she asked eagerly. “And when will ye send word to invite the clans?”
Eloise’s heart sank to her belly, her thoughts scrambling.
She hesitated, her gaze dropping briefly.
I hate this, hate the lie sitting heavy on me tongue. But I cannae risk telling Beatrice the truth, not now.
“I… have yet to decide,” she said carefully. Before Beatrice could press further, a voice interrupted.
“The gardens seem lively today,” Mairead said as she stepped around the corner.
Eloise stiffened slightly, then forced a polite smile. “Mairead,” she said. “This is me cousin, Miss Beatrice Whitmore.”
Beatrice curtsied lightly. “A pleasure,” she said.
Mairead returned the gesture with a composed smile. “The pleasure is mine,” she replied. “I was just tendin’ to the plants, as I often do.”
Beatrice glanced around admiringly. “They are very lovely,” she said.
Mairead’s smile deepened, though something beneath it remained unreadable. “Aye,” she said. “I’ve admired them since I was a wee bairn.” She paused, then added softly, “I had always hoped they would be mine one day.”
Beatrice blinked, confusion flickering across her face. “Yers?” she echoed.
Eloise stepped in quickly. “We should go,” she said, her tone light but firm. “It is nearly time for luncheon and the Mairi would have put a lovely meal together for us.”
Beatrice glanced between them, then nodded. “Aye, of course,” she said. “It was lovely meetin’ ye.”
Mairead inclined her head. “And ye as well,” she said.
As Eloise led Beatrice away, she felt Mairead’s presence linger behind them. They had not gone far when voices carried faintly through the garden.
“Ewan, ye’ve overwatered this row again,” Mairead was saying, her tone calm but precise. “These roots will rot if ye’re nay careful.”
The older man huffed. “I’ve tended these longer than ye’ve been alive, lass,” he replied.
Mairead’s voice did not waver. “And yet I’ve studied them longer than ye realize,” she said. “Trust me on this.”
Eloise slowed slightly, listening despite herself. “Shift the drainage,” Mairead continued. “There’s a dip in the soil there. It’s subtle, but it will collect too much water.”
Ewan grumbled, but there was reluctant respect in his tone. “Aye, I’ll see to it,” he said.
Beatrice glanced at Eloise. “She speaks like she commands the place,” she whispered.
Eloise nodded faintly. “Aye,” she said.
As they continued toward the castle, Eloise could not shake the unease settling in her chest. Mairead’s words lingered. And though she smiled for Beatrice’s sake, she knew something beneath the surface of Calibroch was shifting, and she was no longer certain where she stood within it.
Does James speak sweet nothings to Mairead behind me back? Why else would Mairead behave in such a way?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
James stood outside Eloise’s chamber door, his hand lifted, poised to push it open as he had done so many times before. He hesitated. A flicker of restraint crossed his face, and instead, he knocked, once firm but measured.
There was a pause, then the soft sound of movement within. The door opened, and Eloise stood before him, her hair loose and tousled from sleep, falling in soft waves over her shoulders.
