The voices grew fainter as they moved down the corridor, but Eloise’s delighted laughter still echoed faintly in the distance.
Francesca felt something tight in her chest begin to loosen. These were the sounds of her new life. A child’s innocent joy, a servant’s gentle care, the everyday rhythms of a home where Eloise could run free and dirty her boots without fear of harsh punishment.
This was her home now, for better or worse. Whatever challenges lay ahead with Declan, whatever difficulties they might face in their unusual arrangement, at least here she could make her own choices. Here, no one expected her to smile andlie and pretend that scandal had never touched the Watson name.
I’ve been meaning to check the stables to see if I can find a mare gentle enough for Eloise to begin learning how to ride.
There was a choice she could make. In fact, she could do it right now, and no one would stop her. She had to be thankful to her betrothed for that, at least.
The afternoon air carried the scent of hay and spring blossoms as Francesca made her way across the castle courtyard toward the stables.
The sound of voices and movement from within the stone building made her pause at the entrance. Through the shadows, she could see Declan’s tall form moving beside a magnificent black stallion, his hands gentle but firm as he worked a brush along the animal’s sleek coat.
“Ye can approach,” he said without looking up, somehow sensing her presence despite her attempts to remain quiet. “I’m nearly finished here.”
Francesca took a tentative step forward, studying the way his powerful shoulders moved beneath his linen shirt as he worked. There was something almost meditative about his movements, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the laird’s armor.
“I wanted to ensure the area would be safe for Eloise tomorrow,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “She has been asking about the horses, and I thought perhaps a brief visit…”
“The horses are well-trained,” he replied, his attention still focused on the stallion. “She’ll come to no harm here, provided she follows instructions.”
The simple acknowledgment that Eloise would be welcome brought an unexpected warmth to her chest. So there was hope for building some kind of family harmony after all.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “That means a great deal to both of us.”
Declan set aside the brush and stepped back to admire his work, finally turning those storm-grey eyes in her direction. “I’ll be visiting yer chamber tonight.”
The words were delivered with the same matter-of-fact tone he might use to discuss the weather or clan business, and they hit Francesca like a physical blow. After the morning’s letter from her father, after being ordered about like a chess piece to be moved at will, the casual assumption in his voice was the final straw.
“No.”
The word escaped before she could stop it, sharp and definitive in the quiet stable. Declan’s eyebrows rose in surprise, clearly not accustomed to being refused.
Declan stared at her, certain he had misheard.
“Repeat what ye just said. Now.”
The words came out sharp.
The audacity of the woman.
In all his years as laird, no one had ever refused him so directly, so definitively.
“I said no.” Her chin lifted with a defiance that made his blood heat in ways he was not prepared for. The afternoon light streaming through the stable entrance caught the gold in her hair, and he found himself momentarily distracted by how the anger transformed her features. Gone was the polite English rose; in her place stood a woman with fire in her green eyes and steel in her spine.
Ye are so magnificent in this moment, I could forget about comin’ tonight and take ye right now.
The thought came unbidden, and he forced it down. This was not the time to be admiring her spirit, no matter how unexpectedly arousing it was to see her stand her ground against him.
“You do not simply announce your intentions and expect my compliance like some broodmare awaiting service,” she continued, her voice gaining strength with each word.
The comparison stung, partly because there was truth in it. He had approached this like any other clan business, issuing commands and expecting obedience. But watching her now, seeing the proud set of her shoulders and the way she refused to back down despite their vast difference in size and power, he could see how it might have looked to her.
“I am yer husband,” he insisted, forcing steel in his voice though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. His gaze dropped momentarily to her lips, noting how they parted slightly with her quickened breathing, before he forced himself to look away.
“You are my betrothed,” she corrected, and the distinction hit him with unexpected force. “And even when we are wed, you do not command my bedchamber like you command your men.”
Christ.The woman was defying him openly, challenging his authority in a way that should have enraged him, yet her anger made her even more beautiful, if such a thing were possible.
