“Oh yes! And you were both smiling. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile before, Laird MacGhee.”
Francesca shot him a sideways glance. “Neither have I, come to think of it. Perhaps Highland dancing is the key to unlocking your more agreeable nature.”
“Daenae get used to it,” he replied, but there was heat as the warning was only half mild.
The evening had been progressing well with most of his clan showing genuine warmth toward Francesca and clear fascination with Eloise’s refined English manners. Declan had begun to relax, thinking the worst of the introductions were behind them.
Then a grizzled man opened his fool mouth.
“Aye, she’s a bonny enough lass,” the man said loudly, his words slurred from too much ale. “But what place does an English bastard have among true Highland children?”
The words cut through the music and conversation like a blade. Declan felt his blood turn to ice as a hush fell over the nearby tables. Eloise, who had been laughing at something Fraser had said, went very still, her small face crumpling with confusion and hurt.
But before Declan could move, Francesca was on her feet.
“How dare you!” Her voice carried clearly across the suddenly silent gathering, every word sharp as a dirk. “That child has more grace and kindness in her little finger than you possess in your entire body.”
The man swayed slightly, emboldened by drink and the attention he had drawn. “Grace and kindness willnae make her Scottish, will it? She’s still nothin’ but an unwanted English?—”
“Enough.”
Declan’s single word silenced the man mid-sentence. He rose slowly from his seat, his height and presence commanding absolute attention. The temperature around their table seemed to drop several degrees as he fixed the drunken man with a look that had made grown warriors reconsider their life choices.
“Ye will apologize,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “Now.”
“Me Laird, I only meant that… “
“I ken exactly what ye meant.” Declan took a step toward the man, who suddenly looked far less bold than he had moments before. “And I’m telling ye that ye’re wrong. That child is under me protection, as is her aunt. They are family now.”
He let his gaze sweep the gathered crowd, making sure every person present understood his words. “Let me be clear to all of ye. Lady Francesca will be me wife and the lady of this clan.Eloise will be me daughter in every way that matters. Any man or woman who shows them disrespect shows disrespect to me.”
The threat in his voice was unmistakable. Several people shifted uncomfortably while others nodded in understanding.
“But Me Laird,” the man, Tavish, persisted though his voice had lost much of its earlier bravado, “surely ye can see the difference between this English child and our own bairns.”
“What I see,” Declan interrupted, his tone growing even more dangerous, “is a man too deep in his cups to show proper respect to his betters. What I see is someone who would insult a child to make himself feel important.”
He moved closer still until he loomed over the shorter man. “Apologize to Lady Francesca and her niece. Do it now, or find yerself at the end of me sword.”
The man paled visibly, turning frantically to look around, but he found no support among the other villagers, many of whom were glaring at him with obvious disapproval.
“I... Me Lady, I apologize,” he mumbled, not quite meeting Francesca’s eyes. “And to the wee lass as well. I spoke out of turn.”
“Yes, you did,” Francesca replied coolly, though Declan could see her hands trembling with suppressed emotion. “And if you everspeak of my niece in such terms again, you will answer to me as well as to your laird.”
The steel in her voice surprised several of the onlookers, and Declan felt a surge of fierce pride at her courage. This was no wilting English flower, but a woman with backbone enough to stand beside a Highland laird.
“Eloise,” he said, turning to the child who had remained frozen throughout the confrontation, “would ye like to try some honey cakes? I believe Mrs. MacLeod brought her finest tonight.”
The gentle redirection seemed to break the spell of tension. Eloise nodded mutely, still close to tears, and Fraser immediately swept her away toward the dessert table, chattering brightly about Highland sweets.
Declan remained standing until the man slunk away to nurse his ale in a corner, properly chastened. Only then did he return to his seat, aware that every eye in the village square was watching him.
“Thank you,” Francesca said quietly, her voice barely audible over the slowly resuming conversations.
“No one insults those under me protection,” he replied, his voice carrying the authority of a laird defending his clan’s interests.
The words were calculated and deliberate. They were intended as a public declaration of his responsibility. These two Englishlassies were part of his household now, whether by choice or necessity, and an insult to them was an insult to his authority.
