“They’re perfect!” Eloise took the kittens with reverent care, cradling them against her chest. Then, to everyone’s shock, she threw herself against Declan’s legs in an exuberant hug, squashing the kittens between them. “Thank you, Laird MacGhee! Thank you for letting Aunt Francesca bring them home!”
Declan stood frozen, clearly unprepared for the child’s affection. His large hands hovered uncertainly over her golden head before settling awkwardly on her shoulders. “Ye’re welcome, lass.”
“I’m going to name the grey one Declan,” Eloise announced seriously, “because he’s brave and strong like you. And the orange one will be Bluebell’s friend, so she needs a Scottish name too. Maybe… Flora?”
“Flora’s a fine name,” Declan managed, and Francesca caught something that might have been tenderness flickering across his features before he shuttered it away.
Eloise gathered both kittens and rushed back toward the castle, calling for Krista to come see.
Francesca bit back a smile. “Declan the Brave. How does it feel to be immortalized in fur?”
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “If the beast scratches the furniture, I’ll have words with it.”
“Of course, you will,” she said sweetly. “How did she fare while we were gone?” Francesca turned to ask Betsy before the woman could disappear.
“She near wore herself out waitin’, Me Lady. Kept askin’ when ye’d return,” she started, “But she read her stories and played with Bluebell.” Betsy’s eyes sparkled. “She’s a credit to ye.”
“Thank you for watching her.”
“It was nay burden.” The maid curtsied, then bustled off toward Eloise’s direction.
Declan cleared his throat. “I have clan business to attend to. If ye’ll excuse me.”
And just like that, he strode toward his study, leaving her standing alone in the courtyard with the taste of disappointment sharp on her tongue.
What did you expect?You know what this marriage is.
But knowing and accepting were two very different things.
Declan shut the study door behind him with more force than necessary, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“Broodin’ again, cousin?”
Declan’s head snapped up to find Fraser leaning against the table, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised in obvious amusement.
“Ye’ve a habit of takin’ liberties with me furniture. And I’m nae broodin’. I’m here to work.” He gestured to the ledgers spread across his desk.
“Aye, and I’m the King of England,” Fraser said, dropping into the chair across from Declan with casual ease. “So, how was the village?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine? Ye left yesterday morning and didnae return until today. Surely more than ‘fine’ took place?”
Declan’s jaw tightened. “The storm delayed us. We stayed at the inn.”
“Ah.” Fraser’s grin widened. “The inn. How… convenient.”
“Daenae start.”
“Start what? I’m simply observin’ that me cousin and his new bride were forced to seek shelter together. In a private room. Durin’ a storm.” His dark eyes gleamed with mischief. “Nothin’ scandalous about that at all.”
“Fraser,” he growled.
“And now, ye’re hidin’ in yer study instead of spendin’ time with said bride. Who, I might add, looked rather happy when I passed her in the corridor. Almost as if somethin’ significant happened that ye’re both pretendin’ didnae.”
Declan slammed his palm down on the desk. “What do ye want me to say? That I lost control? That I broke every rule I set for this marriage? I’m losin’ focus, Fraser. I should be focused on the clan, but instead, I’m getting kittens for a child that is nae even mine.”
Fraser’s brows shot up. “Saints preserve us, ye’re a Da now.”
