They fussed over hairstyles next, braiding and unbraiding, pinning and loosening strands until they found something that pleased them both.
Beatrice stepped back at last, studying her cousin with a knowing look. “Ye are different,” she said suddenly.
Eloise blinked, startled. “Different how?” she asked, smoothing her skirt.
Beatrice smiled slowly. “Ye are glowin',” she said simply.
Heat rushed to Eloise’s cheeks, and she turned away slightly. “It is nothin',” she murmured.
Beatrice crossed her arms, unconvinced. “Does the Laird have anythin' to do with it?” she pressed.
Eloise hesitated, then let out a small, breathless laugh. “He may,” she admitted, unable to keep the softness from her voice.
Beatrice gasped, her eyes widening with delight. “Tell me everythin',” she demanded, grabbing Eloise’s hands.
Eloise’s heart fluttered, her thoughts racing, but she could not bring herself to confess the full truth.
“He kissed me,” she said instead, the words slipping out in a quiet rush.
Beatrice’s gasp was louder this time, filled with scandalized excitement. “And?” she pressed eagerly.
Eloise’s gaze softened, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “It was better than I ever imagined.”
Beatrice beamed, squeezing her hands. “Then it is a good thing ye are to marry him,” she said warmly.
The words struck like a stone dropped into still water, ripples of unease spreading through Eloise’s chest. Her smile faltered, though she tried to hide it.
“Aye… a good thing,” she echoed faintly. Beatrice continued on, unaware of the shift. “Yer parents will be arrivin' soon, will they nae? And the clans as well?”
Eloise nodded, her throat tightening. “Aye,” she said carefully. “That is… the way of it.”
Inside, her thoughts churned with growing urgency. There would be no wedding, no grand union to bind their names together. Letters would need to be sent, explanations given, though she could not yet see how any of it would be done without chaos. She forced a smile for Beatrice’s sake, nodding along as her cousin spoke of dresses and music and dancing.
“We shall make ye the finest bride in all the Highlands,” Beatrice declared brightly.
Eloise let out a soft laugh, though it rang hollow to her own ears. “Aye,” she said quietly, “the finest indeed.”
And as she looked at her cousin, so full of joy and certainty, she felt the weight of the truth pressing heavier than ever upon her heart.
The corridors of Calibroch felt quieter than usual, or perhaps it was only that Eloise’s thoughts were too loud to allow for anything else. Her fingers trailed lightly along the cold stone as she walked, her pace unhurried, though her mind churned restlessly.
What had passed between us is nothing more than a moment of weak hearts. I cannae mean more.
And yet, the memory of his hands, the heat of his presence, refused to fade no matter how she willed it away.
“Ye will leave,” she murmured under her breath, as though speaking it aloud would make it truth. Still, her heart did not feel convinced.
Determined to quiet her thoughts with work, she turned toward the kitchens, where the warmth and noise might offer distraction. The moment she stepped inside, the scent of fresh bread and herbs wrapped around her like an embrace.
“Ah, Miss Eloise,” Mairi called from across the room, her sleeves rolled and hands dusted with flour.
Eloise smiled faintly, stepping forward. “I thought I might make meself useful,” she said.
Mairi snorted, thrusting a lump of dough toward her. “Then ye can knead that.”
Eloise laughed softly, taking the dough and setting to work.
“I am happy to put meself to use,” she replied, earning a knowing look from the older woman.
