James took a step toward her, but she had already turned away.
“Good night, me Laird,” she said softly, the formality of it cutting sharper than anger as she dipped into a curtsy.
Before he could answer, she reached the door, her hand trembling slightly as she pulled it open.
She didn't look back as she left, though she could feel his gaze upon her like a weight she couldn't shake. The door closed behind her with a quiet finality, and the sound echoed through the corridor as she walked away.
Only then did she allow the tears to fall, silent and hot against her cheeks.
I must leave… and soon. Me heart cannae handle seein' him with Mairead.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The corridors of Castle Calibroch thrummed with life as James made his way toward the great hall, the distant sound of music and laughter echoing off the stone walls. Torches burned bright, and servants hurried past with platters of food and casks of ale.
Yet none of it touched him, for his thoughts were far from celebration. He replayed the garden in his mind, Mairead’s raised voice, his own sharp words, the moment Eloise had seen them.
“Fool,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as regret settled heavy in his chest. He should have spoken to Mairead in private, should have handled it with care, but anger had ruled him instead. And now Eloise looked at him as though he were something she couldn't trust, and worse still, she had spoken of leaving.
He slowed just outside the great hall doors, drawing in a steadying breath. The thought of her gone struck deeper than he cared to admit, a sharp ache that made him restless.
“It isnae a real engagement," he reminded himself firmly. “It was never meant to be.”
Yet the words rang hollow, for nothing about this had remained simple. He pushed the doors open at last, and the noise of the hall swelled around him in a wave of warmth and celebration. Conversations faltered, heads turned, and one by one the clan rose to their feet in respect. James acknowledged them with a brief nod, his expression composed though his thoughts churned beneath the surface.
His gaze swept the dais and found her at once. Eloise sat at the head table beside Beatrice, her posture poised, her presence commanding in a way that unsettled him.
For a fleeting moment, he simply watched her, struck by how naturally she filled the space beside his seat.
She would make a fine Lady MacAllister.
The thought came unbidden, and he crushed it at once. This was a farce, a necessity, nothing more.
Callum stepped forward, breaking the moment with an easy grin.
“There ye are, me Laird,” he said, clapping a hand against James’s shoulder. “We were beginnin' to think ye had abandoned yer own ceilidh.”
James gave a faint huff of amusement. “Hardly,” he replied.
They took their seats, James settling with Eloise to his left and Callum to his right, the weight of her nearness immediate and distracting.
“Good evenin',” he said quietly to her, his tone softer than he intended.
Eloise didn't look at him, offering only a small nod in return. The coolness of it struck sharper than anger would have, and he clenched his jaw as he turned away.
Callum leaned closer, his voice low enough for only James to hear. “Ye’ve done somethin' to sour her mood,” he murmured.
James shot him a look. “Mind yer own affairs,” he said curtly. Callum only smirked, unfazed.
As the feast began, platters were laid before them, roasted venison glistening with herbs, buttery neeps and tatties, thick slices of oat bread, and steaming bowls of broth rich with barley and root vegetables. The scent alone was enough to stir appetite, though James found his attention wandering elsewhere.
Each time Eloise shifted, her arm brushed lightly against his, sending an unwelcome awareness through him. He tried to focus on the conversation, on the duties before him, but his senses betrayed him.
“The clans will begin arrivin' within days,” Callum said, tearing a piece of bread. “Word has already spread far and wide.”
James nodded, forcing himself to engage. “And Drummond?” he asked, his tone sharpening.
Callum’s expression sobered slightly. “Nay word of him takin' another bride,” he replied. “He waits.”
