Eloise’s shyness melted away at his friendly demeanor. “Yes, sir. His name is Bluebell.”
“A fine Scottish name for a fine Scottish rabbit,” Fraser approved, rising to his full height. “We’ll have to introduce ye to some of the other castle creatures soon.”
Declan sat at the head of the long oak table with Fraser to his right and herself to his left, while Eloise had been placed besideher. As the meal began, Francesca noted how different the two men were. Where Declan was all cold control and watchful silence, Fraser seemed more at ease with casual conversation.
“How is Bluebell settling in, darling?” Francesca asked, cutting a small piece of roasted lamb for Eloise while trying to ignore the way Declan’s presence dominated even this domestic scene.
Eloise’s face brightened immediately. “Oh, he loves his new home! Betsy helped me make a little nest for him in my chamber, and he already knows his name. Watch this.” She made a soft clicking sound with her tongue. “That calls him to me.”
“How clever of you to train him so quickly,” Francesca said, genuinely impressed by the child’s dedication.
“The Laird told me how Highland rabbits need care and attention,” Eloise continued, glancing shyly toward Declan. “And I thought Bluebell would feel safer if he had somewhere to burrow.”
Francesca noticed Declan’s jaw tighten slightly at being brought into the conversation, though he continued his low discussion with Fraser about clan business without acknowledging Eloise’s comment.
“Fraser,” Eloise said suddenly, her natural curiosity overcoming her usual shyness, “When she was helping me get ready, Betsy told me you have the finest horse in all of Scotland. Is that true?”
Fraser’s dark eyes crinkled with amusement as he turned his attention to the child. “Well now, lass, I wouldnae want to boast, but Midnight is indeed a fine stallion. Black as a starless night and faster than the Highland wind.”
The way Eloise’s eyes widened was almost comical.
“Could I see him sometime? I have never beenona horse before.”
“Eloise,” Francesca said gently, “we should not impose on Fraser’s time.”
“’Tis no imposition at all,” Fraser replied with a grin. “Though ye’ll need the Laird’s permission before ye go near the stables.”
As Fraser continued to regale Eloise with tales of his horse’s adventures, Francesca found herself with an opportunity she had been waiting for. She turned toward Declan, who was methodically working through his meal with the same focused intensity he seemed to bring to everything.
“The castle is quite impressive,” she began, keeping her voice light and conversational. “How long has it been in your family?”
“Three centuries,” he replied without looking up from his plate.
“And the gardens? They must require considerable care to maintain such beauty.”
“Aye.”
The monosyllabic response hung in the air between them. Francesca tried again, determined not to be discouraged by his obvious reluctance to engage.
“I believe Eloise will be adapting well to Highland life. The fresh air and freedom to explore have been good for her so far.”
This time, he did glance at her, those storm-grey eyes unreadable. “She is young. The young adapt.”
“Yes, but it speaks well of your household that she feels safe here. Betsy and Krista have been wonderfully kind to both of us.”
“They do their duty.”
Francesca felt her patience beginning to fray at his determined curtness. She was making every effort to bridge the gap between them, but it was like trying to have a conversation with a stone wall.
“The meal is excellent,” she tried once more. “Do you have a skilled cook, or do you oversee the kitchen arrangements yourself?”
“Mrs. MacLeod has served the clan for twenty years. I daenae interfere with the kitchen menu. That will be part of yer duty when ye settle in.”
Each response was polite enough, technically answering her questions, but delivered in such a flat, uninviting tone that it made clear he had no interest in expanding the conversation. He answered what was required and offered nothing more.
Francesca studied his profile as he returned his attention to Fraser’s discussion of patrol schedules and boundary disputes. There was something almost deliberate about his withdrawal, as if he were testing her resolve or perhaps protecting himself from any attempts at genuine connection.
The irony was not lost on her that she was to be married to a man who seemed more comfortable discussing clan warfare than sharing a simple meal with his future wife and stepdaughter. Whatever walls he had built around himself, they were clearly designed to keep more than just enemies at bay.
