“Ye didnae have that with yer sister?”
The question made her go still in his arms. Around them, the forest had grown denser, the canopy filtering the late morning light into dappled patterns across the path. A breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying the scent of pine and earth.
“No. Violet and I were close once when we were very young, but as we grew older…” she trailed off, and he felt her shoulders slump slightly. “She was always… ambitious. Always wanting everything for herself. She never spared a thought for how it left me.”
“That must have been hard.” The words felt inadequate, but he wasn’t certain what else to say. His hands tightened reflexively on the reins, acutely aware of her warmth seeping through the layers of clothing between them.
“It was lonely.” She shifted slightly, and the subtle press of her back against his torso and the way her braid brushed his shoulder sent fresh awareness coursing through him. “Being a twin should mean having someone who understands you completely. Instead, I had someone who resented my very existence.”
He felt a sharp tug inside, something protective and fierce. The horse’s steady rhythm beneath them seemed to echo the beating of his heart.
“Did ye ever confront her?”
Francesca gave a bitter little laugh, her breath visible in the cool air. “Confront Violet? It would have done no good. She’d have smiled sweetly and convinced everyone I was the envious one. She was clever that way, always knew how to twist people’s perception.”
Declan’s grip tightened around her waist, protective instinct flaring. “Then she didnae deserve ye.”
Her breath caught, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, very softly, “Perhaps. But it didn’t stop me wishing, all the same. Wishing she would look at me and see a sister she could love.”
“Ye have Eloise now,” he pointed out. “That’s its own kind of bond.”
“Yes.” Warmth flooded her voice. “She’s been my salvation in so many ways. Giving me purpose when I thought I had none.”
“What do ye mean?”
She hesitated, then let out a shaky breath. “After Violet’s death, I felt as though I was drowning. My parents had no interest in grief, only appearances. I couldn’t breathe in that house, couldn’t be anything. She was still my sister, and I felt sad for her, and so…guilty. So very guilty that we had somehow lost what we shared in childhood and now we’d never have a chance to find it again. I felt guilty that I was the one who got to live, and she did not. It makes no sense, I know that, but I still could not shake the feeling. And then Eloise came… she looked at me with those wide eyes, trusting me when she had no one else. I swore I’d never let her down.”
He didn’t know what to say. He could only hope his presence offered her the comfort she deserved.
The village came into view just as clouds began gathering overhead, dark and heavy with the promise of rain. Declan cursed under his breath, recognizing the signs of a Highland storm brewing.
“We need to make this quick,” he said, dismounting and reaching up to help Francesca down. His hands lingered on her waist a moment too long before he forced himself to step back. “The weather’s turnin’.”
The village stirred to life the moment they rode in. Men paused in their work, women looked up from their baskets, and children darted to doorways, wide-eyed.
“Good day, Me Laird. Me Lady.” A broad-shouldered farmer bowed low. “The barley’s comin’ in strong this year.”
Declan inclined his head. “Glad to hear it, Fergus. A strong harvest keeps the clan strong.”
Francesca leaned forward slightly, her voice warm. “It must take long hours in this damp weather, but you make it sound as though the land is generous to you.”
The farmer’s chest swelled with quiet pride. “Aye, Me Lady. She gives back when ye treat her right.”
They moved on, greeted by a woman with a basket of linen. She dipped into a curtsy, eyes bright. “The bairns still speak of ye,Me Laird. They’ve done naught but chatter since ye came with sweets the last time.”
Declan’s smile softened. “Then I must remember to bring more. Sweets belong with children.”
The woman beamed, her gratitude plain, and stepped back to let them pass.
An older man raised his hand in salute. “Fine day for a ride, Me Laird. Will we see ye both at the autumn fair?”
“Aye,” Declan said, his deep voice carrying. “The fair will be held as always.”
A ripple of pleased murmurs spread through the small crowd. Francesca inclined her head, her eyes sweeping over the faces gathered. “I look forward to it. I’ve heard your weavings are the pride of these parts. I should like to see them with my own eyes.”
Several women exchanged delighted looks. One spoke up, cheeks flushed. “We’ll set our looms to work, Me Lady. Ye’ll have plenty to look upon.”
Their laughter and chatter followed as the horse carried them further down the lane, the air humming with warmth.
