Declan’s eyes narrowed. “Mind yer tongue. She’s calling the kitten Declan,” he said abruptly. “Eloise. She named the damned cat after me.”
Fraser leaned forward, grin wicked. “All ye need is an heir, and ye and the Lady will be the picture of wedded bliss. Settlin’ into domestic life already.”
“Ye think this is a jest?” Declan’s tone cut sharply. “I lost control. Should’ve been thinkin’ of the clan, of alliances, of everythin’.”
“I’m a laird,” he continued, the words coming out harsher than intended. “I have a clan that depends on me to be strong, to make decisions based on logic and strategy. I cannae afford to care.” Declan pushed back from his desk, stalking to the window that overlooked the courtyard.
Below, he could see Francesca walking with Eloise, the child chattering excitedly about the kittens while his wife smiled down at her with obvious love.
“Ye’re already carin’,” Fraser said quietly from behind him. “Ye’re a laird, aye, but ye’re also a man. Keepin’ her at arm’s length will cost ye more than givin’ in.”
Declan clenched his fists, then bit out. “Everythin’ I do now, I’m thinkin’ about how it affects them. Her.”
“And that’s a problem because…”
“Because love destroyed me father!” The words exploded out of him, raw and painful. “I watched him waste away after me mother died. Watched him become a shell of himself, useless to the clan, unable to lead because he couldnae bear livin’ without her. He chose death over his responsibilities, over his people, over me.”
Fraser was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentle but firm. “Yer father didnae die from lovin’ yer mother, Declan. He died because he never learned how to love and still remain strong.”
“There’s nae difference.”
“There’s all the difference in the world.” Fraser stood, moving to stand beside him at the window. “Look at them. Really look.”
Declan’s eyes found Francesca and Eloise again. The child had produced one of the kittens from somewhere, and Francesca was laughing as the tiny creature batted at her trailing sleeve.
“She makes ye want to be better,” Fraser continued. “I’ve seen it. The way ye gentle yer voice when ye speak to the wee one. The way ye defended them both at the ceilidh. The way ye look at yer wife.”
“I daenae.”
“Ye do. And keepin’ her at arm’s length willnae change that, cousin. It’ll only make ye both miserable.” Fraser clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“I willnae make me father’s mistake.”
“Then daenae. Care for her and remain strong. Protect her and still lead yer clan. Let her be yer partner instead of another burden to carry alone.” Fraser’s grip tightened. “Or keep pushin’her away and become the very thing ye fear, a man so isolated by duty that he has nothin’ left worth fightin’ for.”
Declan stared down at Francesca, watching as she scooped up Eloise and spun her in a circle, both of them laughing with pure joy. Something in his chest cracked open at the sight, painful and raw and terrifying in its intensity.
Fraser’s laugh was warm. “Aye, cousin. Ye’re a father now, whether ye meant to be or not. Congratulations.”
He left before Declan could formulate a response, the door clicking shut with finality.
Declan returned his gaze to the window, to the woman and child who had somehow become the center of his carefully ordered world. Fraser’s words echoed in his head, mixing with memories of last night, Francesca gasping his name, her nails digging into his shoulders, the way she’d looked at him afterward with something dangerously close to tenderness in her green eyes.
I told her it changed nothing. That it was merely duty.
But it had changed everything, and they both knew it. The question was whether he had the courage to admit it.
13
“Can we go see the horses now? Please?”
Eloise tugged on Francesca’s sleeve for the third time in as many minutes, her eyes bright with anticipation.
It had been days since the night in the inn, days of perfect avoidance between Francesca and her husband once again. At least she had a child, a bunny, and two kittens to distract her from the fact that she actually missed Declan. She had hoped the inn had changed something between them, no matter what her husband had said, but she had been wrong. She wouldn’t be making the same mistake again. Next time he said something, she’d believe him. If he ever spoke to her again, that was.
Today, she and Eloise had spent the morning reading in the library, but the child’s restlessness has grown with each passing page until Francesca finally surrendered to the inevitable.
“Yes, darling. But you must promise to be gentle and quiet around them. Horses can startle easily.”
