Eloise glanced down at her hands, then back at the instrument. A quiet thought stirred within her, nervous, but hopeful. “Perhaps…” she said slowly.
Mairead’s smile lingered, subtle and knowing. “Aye,” she said. “Perhaps.”
Eloise smiled.
“I'm glad I see ye now. I have news. I wrote to me father and he has said there are nae one but two Lairds that want me hand in marriage. So it seems that we shall both have happy endings.”
“That is wonderful news, Mairead. I am glad to hear it.”
“A part of me thinks this is how it should be. I am to find me destiny and love somewhere else, that is me path. I have ye to thank for that,” Mairead said.
“Me?” Eloise said.
“Aye, yer arrival caused James to face our connection and tell me the truth, that I have been waiting for. Now I am free to find me life elsewhere and it wouldnae have happened if ye had nae come here,” Mairead smiled a genuine smile.
“That is good to hear, lass,” Eloise said.
Then Mairead hugged Eloise. She was taken aback at first, but then hugged her back. Relieved that she was no longer the cause of hurting this young woman.
The solar was warm with afternoon light, where Eloise and Beatrice sat. Before them lay a modest but rich luncheon, trencher bread soaked with gravy, roasted capon glazed with herbs, soft cheese wrapped in cloth, and a bowl of stewed apples spiced with cinnamon.
A pitcher of small ale sat between them, along with cups still steaming faintly. Eloise picked at her food more than she ate, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Beatrice, by contrast, watched her closely, noting every distracted motion. “Ye’ve barely touched yer plate. Is somethin' amiss?” Beatrice said at last, breaking the silence.
Eloise sighed softly, setting her fork aside. “I am… uncertain,” she admitted.
Beatrice blinked. “Uncertain?” she repeated. “About what?”
Eloise hesitated, then met her cousin’s gaze. “About the weddin’,” she said quietly.
Beatrice gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Why?” she demanded. “Ye seemed certain enough before.”
Eloise looked down at her hands. “Things have changed,” she said slowly. “If I was poisoned after all… and it wasnae an accident…” She trailed off, her voice tightening. “Then I am nae wanted here.”
Beatrice frowned deeply. “That doesnae mean the whole clan wishes ye harm,” she said firmly. “One person’s malice doesnae speak for all.”
Eloise shook her head slightly. “But it means I must always wonder,” she said. “Always look over me shoulder.” Her voice dropped. “I cannae live that way.”
Beatrice leaned forward, her expression sharpening. “And what of Drummond?” she asked pointedly. “Would ye rather return to him?”
Eloise stiffened. “Nay,” she said immediately. “Of course nae.”
Beatrice held her gaze. “If ye leave this engagement he may come for ye. Ye would be lookin’ over yer shoulder there as well,” she said. “Only worse.”
Eloise exhaled slowly, her shoulders sinking. “Aye… that is true,” she admitted. Silence settled between them again, heavier this time.
If only ye knew. If only I could tell ye the truth… that this is nae real… that I will be gone soon enough.
The lie pressed against her, sharp and suffocating.
Beatrice reached for her hand gently. “Cousin,” she said softly, “ye must think carefully. This Laird MacAllister… he seems a good man. The way he went to yer side when ye were ill. He seemed to care deeply.”
Eloise’s lips pressed together faintly. “He is a good man,” she admitted, almost reluctantly.
Beatrice smiled slightly. “Then perhaps ye are safer here than ye think.”
Eloise said nothing for a moment, her thoughts drifting unwillingly to James, his voice, his presence, the way he had held her hand through the night. Her chest tightened again, though she could not say why.
