James’s gaze didn't waver. “I ken ye have knowledge of herbs,” he said evenly. “Of plants that heal… and plants that harm.”
The shears stilled in her hand, and something uncertain flickered in her eyes.
“What are ye sayin'?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
“I am askin',” he corrected, his tone sharpening as he stepped closer still, “if ye had anythin' to do with what befell Eloise.”
Mairead’s breath caught before she shook her head quickly. “Nay,” she said. “I would never harm her.”
James studied her, searching her face for truth, for guilt, for anything that might betray her.
“She was poisoned,” he said bluntly, watching her reaction with careful attention.
Mairead’s hand trembled slightly before she lowered it, her expression shifting into wounded disbelief.
“Ye think I would do such a thing?” she asked, her voice breaking. “After all these years, James?”
“I think,” he said slowly, “that ye have reason.”
Her eyes flashed then, hurt giving way to anger as she stepped toward him.
“Why? Because ye were to be mine?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Because I have waited for ye while ye ignored what was always meant to be?”
James’s jaw clenched, but he didn't retreat. “This was never promised,” he said firmly. “Nae by me.”
She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Ye can say that now, when ye have chosen another,” she shot back. “But ye ken well what was expected of us, and now ye think I would harm yer betrothed. I would never do such a thing.”
“I have seen the way ye look at her. I would never hurt someone ye care for,” she said. “I swear it, James. I may be foolish, but I am nae cruel.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, weighing her words, measuring the truth he couldn't fully grasp.
Then his expression hardened once more. “If I find that ye lie,” he said each word edged with steel, “ye will have hell to pay, Mairead.”
She flinched at that, but recovered quickly, lifting her chin in defiance. “Then find yer proof,” she said, though her voice wavered just slightly. “Because I have nothing to hide.”
She reached for him then, her hand brushing his arm in a gesture that might once have softened him. “James,” she murmured, her voice dipping into something more familiar, more intimate. “Ye cannae truly cast me aside for a stranger.”
He stepped back at once, breaking the contact as though it burned him.
“Daenae,” he said sharply, his tone cutting through her attempt.
Her hand fell to her side, her expression tightening as the rejection settled between them.
“Whatever ye think this is, it ends now,” he said.
Mairead’s lips pressed into a thin line, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the storm beneath. “We shall see,” she said softly, the words carrying a weight he didn't miss.
Eloise stepped out into the gardens beside Beatrice, drawing in a slow breath of fresh air as though it might settle the restless unease within her. The afternoon had been quiet until a sharp rise of voices broke the stillness, carried faintly on the breeze from beyond the garden wall. She paused mid-step, her brows knitting as she tilted her head.
“Do ye hear that?” she asked.
Beatrice stilled beside her, listening, then nodded. “Aye… someone is arguin', though I cannae make out the words.”
The sound rose again, sharper now, edged with tension that made Eloise’s stomach tighten.
Without thinking, she moved toward it, her skirts brushing against the gravel path as Beatrice hurried to keep pace. They rounded the corner of the garden wall, and there beneath a broad-limbed tree stood James and Mairead, their bodies angled toward one another in a charged confrontation.
Though the distance kept their words from reaching clearly, the intensity was unmistakable in the rigid set of James’s shoulders and the movement of Mairead’s hands.
