Francesca smiled. She didn’t reply anything. She could only hope Eloise was right. For all of their sakes.
Later that afternoon, as the shadows began to lengthen across the castle grounds, Francesca returned to her chambers with Betsy and Krista, the maid that had led her to the study the previous day, to prepare her for the evening meal. The confrontation with Declan had left her emotionally drained, but in the hours that followed she found herself thinking mostly of the tender moments between him and Eloise.
“Ye handled yerself well in the garden today, Me Lady,” Betsy said as she helped Francesca out of her day dress. “The Laird is nae accustomed to havin’ his word questioned.”
Krista, who was laying out a fresh gown, snorted softly. “Aye, and it’s about time someone did. Our laird carries the problems of the entire clan on his shoulders and sometimes forgets to just breathe.”
“Problems?” Francesca paused in washing her hands at the basin. “What do you mean?”
The two maids exchanged a meaningful look before Betsy continued, “The MacGhee clan has faced hard times these pastfew years, Me Lady. Poor harvests, cattle raids from rival clans, and pressure from the English authorities. The people look to their laird for everything from protection to prosperity and even wise guidance.”
“And they expect him to be strong at all times,” Krista added, shaking out the skirts of an evening dress. “Nay weakness, nay hesitation. They want stability, heirs to secure the future, and a leader who never falters.”
Francesca felt a pang of understanding as she absorbed this information. No wonder Declan seemed so guarded, so determined to maintain emotional distance. The burden of so many lives depending on his strength would be crushing for any man.
“He’s never married before?” she asked as Betsy began helping her into the fresh gown.
“Nay, Me Lady. There was talk of matches over the years, but…” Betsy’s voice trailed off delicately.
“But what?”
“The Laird has never seemed inclined toward tender feelings,” Krista said bluntly. “Too focused on duty, some say. Others whisper that he fears havin’ any family that enemies might exploit.”
As the maids worked to arrange her hair, Francesca found herself sharing more than she had intended. “Eloise is not truly my daughter, you know. She is my twin sister’s child.”
Both women paused in their ministrations. “We wondered, Me Lady,” Betsy said gently. “But it matters nae to us. Love makes a family, nae blood.”
“Violet and I were very close when we were young,” Francesca continued, surprised by how much she wanted to talk about it. “We did everything together, shared all our secrets. But as we grew older, she became… different. Bitter. I suppose a place like London, where every little thing you do is under scrutiny, does that to a person.”
“What happened to her?” Krista asked softly.
“A carriage accident along with her husband. Poor Eloise was left alone, and my parents wanted to send her away.” Francesca’s voice caught slightly. “I could not bear the thought of her growing up feeling unwanted and unloved.”
“So ye took her as yer own,” Betsy said with warm approval. “That was brave of ye, Me Lady.”
“Brave or foolish,” Francesca replied with a bitter laugh. “It cost me my reputation in London society and led me here to marry a man who sees me as nothing more than a broodmare.” Shocked at how much she had said she quickly added, “I am sorry, I did not mean to speak ill of the Laird, I just?—”
“The Laird is a complicated man,” Krista said carefully. “But he’s nae cruel. Give him time, Me Lady. Sometimes the strongest walls take the longest to crumble.”
As they put the finishing touches on her appearance, Francesca wondered if time would be enough. Could she truly reach the heart of a man who seemed determined to keep everyone at arm’s length? And more importantly, did she even want to try? His rules had been perfectly clear after all.
“I miss her,” she said instead, forcing herself not to think about the Laird. “Violet, I mean. Despite everything that came between us, she was my twin. Half of my soul.”
“The heart holds space for both love and grief, Me Lady,” Betsy said wisely. “One doesnae cancel out the other.”
As the dinner bell sounded in the distance, Francesca took a deep breath and prepared to face another meal with her enigmatic future husband. Armed with a new understanding of the pressures he faced, perhaps she could find a way to bridge the chasm between them, if she wanted to.
A few minutes later, Francesca was in the great hall with the small group gathered at the high table. She had expected something more intimate for their first family meal, but the formal dining arrangement seemed to suit Declan’s preference for maintaining distance.
“Lady Francesca.” Declan’s voice carried across the hall as they approached. “Allow me to present to ye me cousin, Fraser McArthur.”
A tall, broad-shouldered man rose from his seat at the high table, his black hair and beard giving him a formidable appearance that was softened by surprisingly warm dark eyes. A scar ran across his chest, visible at the open neck of his shirt, marking him as clearly a warrior.
“Me Lady,” Fraser said with a respectful bow, though his manner was far less formal than his laird’s. “Welcome to Castle MacGhee. And this must be the wee lass we’ve heard about.”
“This is Eloise,” Francesca introduced, placing a gentle hand on the child’s shoulder. “Eloise, this is Mr. McArthur.”
“Fraser will do just fine, lassie,” he said, crouching down to Eloise’s level with an easy smile. “I hear ye’ve found yerself a Highland rabbit already.”
