Beatrice frowned, clearly unconvinced. “If ye are to be his wife, it is very much yer place,” she countered.
Eloise looked away, her heart twisting painfully at the reminder.
“Aye… his wife….”
Eloise didn't knock when she reached the study door. She entered without warning.
James stood by the hearth, a glass in his hand, his broad shoulders tense as though he had been expecting a battle rather than a visitor. His gaze lifted at once, his eyes settling on her with sharp awareness.
“Ye should knock,” he said.
Eloise lifted her chin, her composure brittle. “I see ye daenae hold yerself to the same rule,” she replied coolly, stepping further into the room.
He set the glass aside as he straightened. “What is it ye want, Eloise?” he asked.
She hesitated only a moment before speaking, forcing the words. “I came to tell ye… I will still leave, as planned,” she said.
“Ye have already made that clear when we were in the glen. So what is it ye truly wish to say, lass? Is this about Mairead?” he asked.
Eloise looked away at once, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
“Ye saw us in the garden,” he continued, stepping closer, his gaze intent upon her. She said nothing, her silence louder than any accusation. He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration seeping into his voice. “What ye saw was nothin',” he said firmly.
Eloise let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, her arms folding tightly across her chest. “Nothin'?” she repeated. “Then what did ye argue over?”
James hesitated, and that hesitation cut deeper than any harsh word. “I cannae tell ye… nae yet,” he said at last.
Her breath caught, the fragile control she held slipping further. “Of course ye cannae,” she said bitterly, shaking her head. “Another secret in a castle full of them.”
“Eloise…” he began, stepping toward her, but she drew back at once, as though his nearness burned.
“Nay,” she cut in sharply, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. “I am weary of it, James. Weary of half-truths and hidden things.”
He frowned. “There are matters I daenae understand yet,” he said.
She let out a soft, broken laugh, her eyes glistening now. “Aye, that much is clear,” she said. “I understand so little that I begin to wonder if I understand anythin' at all.”
He reached for her then, his hand lifting as though to steady her, but she stepped back again, putting distance between them.
“Daenae touch me,” she whispered, shaking her head as she blinked rapidly. “Daenae pretend concern when ye willnae even trust me with the truth.”
His hand fell slowly to his side, something conflicted flashing across his face.
“It isnae about trust,” he said.
Eloise swallowed hard, her voice softening but no less pained. “Then what is it about?” she asked.
When no answer came, the silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Eloise drew in a shaky breath, lifting her chin once more as she forced herself back into composure.
“I want to go home,” she said quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
James’s expression shifted, something like surprise, or hurt, flickering briefly in his eyes. “Home?” he repeated.
She nodded, though her gaze dropped. “Aye… to me parents,” she said. “To a place where I ken what is real and what isnae.”
“Ye cannae go. Drummond would come for ye. Ye are safe here,” he said.
Eloise shook her head slowly. “Safe…” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I am nae at peace. I will stay until after the ceilidh, so that many see me here. Then I will return home. Ye may create whatever lies and secrets ye wish to explain me absence, but I will be leaving.”
