“Safety isnae the same as peace,” she said quietly.
Beatrice studied her closely. “There is more ye are nae sayin’,” she said.
Eloise looked away quickly. “There isnae,” she replied, though the words rang hollow even to her own ears.
To shift the conversation, she reached for her cup. “Have ye heard anythin' of Laird Drummond?” she asked, her tone carefully casual. “Has it been said if he has taken another wife?” she asked.
Beatrice shook her head. “Nae that I have heard,” she said.
A chill passed through Eloise despite the warmth of the room. “I feared as much,” she murmured.
Beatrice leaned forward again, her voice firm. “All the more reason to hold fast to this match,” she said. “Ye are safer as the betrothed of a powerful Laird than having to face Drummond.”
Eloise nodded slowly, though unease still lingered within her. “Aye,” she said. “Perhaps ye are right.” But as she sat there, surrounded by warmth and food and family, one thought refused to leave her.
Nothing about this feels safe or certain anymore.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
James had just banked the fire when the pounding came, sharp and insistent against the heavy wood of his chamber door. James stilled, jaw tightening, before striding across the room and wrenching it open.
There she stood, breath quick, hair loose about her shoulders, clad in nothing but a thin chemise that clung to her form in the flickering torchlight. His gaze dropped before he could stop it, tracing the pale line of her throat, the rise and fall of her chest, the bare curve of her legs.
“Have ye lost yer senses, woman?” he growled low, stepping aside as she pushed past him without waiting for permission. “Ye walk the halls half-dressed at this hour, have ye nay regard for yerself?”
She turned on him at once, eyes blazing, as though his words were naught but sparks to a flame already raging.
“I have regard for somethin' far more pressin' than yer rules, me Laird,” she shot back, pacing the chamber like a storm caged in stone.
“The four weeks are near spent, and the whole castle whispers of a wedding that isnae to happen.”
James shut the door firmly behind him, the sound echoing between them like a challenge.
“Lower yer voice,” he warned, though his own pulse had begun to thunder in his ears.
She laughed, breathless and sharp, turning on him again with wild frustration in her gaze. “Lower me voice? I have been silent for weeks while ye parade me before yer people like a prize ye’ve already claimed.”
His eyes darkened, stepping closer, drawn despite himself. “Mind yer words, lass,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous calm, “for ye ken well why this farce exists.”
“Aye, I ken,” she snapped, lifting her chin, refusing to yield even as he loomed nearer. “But ye cannae expect me to come up with so many lies for why the preparations for the wedding have nae began. Many wonder why the clans have nae been called to the castle already.”
He exhaled slowly, forcing control into his voice even as heat coiled low in his chest. “All of this was meant to protect ye,” hesaid, quieter now, though no less firm. “And it has done just that. Let them all wonder why the preparations are nae done.”
She stepped closer instead of retreating, her voice softening but growing more intense.
“And what of now, James?” she asked, “What do we tell them when the day comes and there is nae wedding to be had?”
His hand flexed at his side, resisting the urge to reach for her. “We will find a way,” he muttered, though the certainty he once carried had begun to fracture.
Eloise shook her head, frustration bleeding into something far more vulnerable. “That isnae an answer,” she whispered, and that whisper carried more weight than all her earlier fury. He swallowed, his gaze dragging over her again despite himself, the sight of her undoing the careful distance he had tried to maintain.
“Ye shouldnae be here,” he said instead, grasping at discipline like a lifeline.
She let out a disbelieving breath, stepping even closer until scarcely a breath separated them. “Stop telling me what I shouldnae do,” she murmured, her voice trembling now for an entirely different reason. “For once, tell me what ye feel.”
“What I feel doesnae matter,” he said at last, though his voice had roughened, betraying him. “This is an arrangement, nothing more.”
Her eyes flashed, hurt and anger warring within them. “Ye lie,” she said softly, and that softness cut deeper than accusation.
