“Two kittens,” he said gruffly. “Nay more. And if they scratch me furniture or disturb me work, they’ll be livin’ in the stables. Understood?”
Francesca and Eloise nodded eagerly and clapped their hands excitedly.
Declan’s eyes flicked briefly to Francesca. “If ye’re willin’ to ride to the village,” he said carefully, “I suppose we could retrieve them.”
“We don’t need to go together,” she said, surprised that he saidwe. The idea of him joining them felt like an unexpected shift in their dynamic.
“I’ll escort ye,” he replied abruptly, his tone brokering no argument, “to the village.”
“Me Laird. You don’t need to go. Fraser or even any of your guards can escort me to the village.”
Francesca did not miss the sharp glance her husband sent Fraser and instantly regretted the suggestion.
“Ye’re me wife now,” Declan said, his words direct and unwavering, his voice lower than before. “Me duty is to protect ye. When ye travel, I’m the one to travel with ye. That’s how it works.”
There was no room for disagreement in his voice, and though it was not a suggestion, the meaning of his words was clear.
The possessive edge to his voice sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. He might not want her sharing his bed, butapparently, he took his responsibilities as her protector seriously enough.
She glanced at Eloise, who had already clasped her hands together in her most pleading gesture, and turned to Declan with a softened tone.
“Yes, Me Laird.”
Eloise bounced in her seat. “Will both of you go, then?”
“Someone needs to ensure yer aunt doesnae get lost in the Highlands,” Declan replied dryly.
Fraser’s grin turned positively wicked. “How romantic. A newlywed couple’s first outin’ together—to fetch kittens.”
“Daenae ye have patrols to oversee?” Declan growled.
“Actually, cousin, ye assigned me to rest today. With ye and yer new family,” Fraser stood, stretching lazily. “But I’ll make meself scarce. Clearly, ye need time alone with yer lovely bride to discuss… kitten logistics.”
He sauntered out before Declan could respond, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.
“We’re leaving in two hours,” Declan announced abruptly, rising from the table, “if that suits ye.”
“That would be perfect.” Francesca kept her voice carefully neutral despite the flutter in her stomach. “Thank you for agreeing to escort me.”
His eyes darkened at her formal tone. “I’m yer husband, Francesca. Ye daenae need to thank me for protectin’ what’s mine.”
The possessive words sent heat racing through her veins,. though she refused to let it show. “Of course, Me Laird.”
“Declan,” he corrected sharply. He leaned close until they were merely an inch apart. She gasped, knowing if he moved even slightly, his lips would be on hers. “Ye only call me Declan now, wife.”
Then he was gone, striding from the breakfast room with his usual commanding presence, leaving Francesca to wonder what exactly was happening between them.
11
Declan stood beside his black stallion in the stable yard, watching Francesca approach with obvious reluctance written across her features. His gaze swept over her. “So, the fine English lady does ken how to dress for the Highlands after all. Didn’t imagine ye would leave yer English silk for what seems like sackcloth in comparison.”
Francesca arched a brow. “This is hardly a sackcloth. It’s perfectly proper.”
“Aye, proper enough,” he allowed, his eyes lingering on the braid down her back. The simple style exposed the elegant line of her neck, and he found himself imagining what it would feel like to press his lips to that soft skin, to feel her pulse quicken beneath his mouth. “Though I daenae recall seein’ yer hair tied like that before.”
Her hand brushed the plait lightly. “It should keep out of the way when riding. Practical.”
“Practical suits ye,” he said gruffly, his voice rougher than intended as his gaze traced the curve of her waist in the riding habit. The way the fabric hugged her figure was driving him to distraction. He cleared his throat. “We’ll take one horse.”
