“I promise! Fraser said his stallion is the fastest in all of Scotland. Do you think he’ll let me touch him?”
“We’ll have to ask Fraser when we see him.” Francesca took Eloise’s hand as they made their way out of the castle and across the courtyard toward the stables. The afternoon sun was warm on her face, a rare gift after days of Highland mist and rain.
The stable’s interior was dim and cool, smelling of hay and leather and horses. Francesca’s eyes took a moment to adjust, and when they did, she found him.
Declan stood beside his black stallion, running a brush along the animal’s sleek coat with steady, methodical strokes. He wore simple work clothes, a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms that made her mouth go dry. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and there was something almost peaceful about him at this moment, away from clan business and the weight of leadership.
“Laird MacGhee!” Eloise’s delighted cry shattered the quiet. “We came to see Fraser’s horse!”
He looked up, and his grey eyes found Francesca’s before dropping to the child. “So I see, lassie.”
Francesca couldn’t look away as he spoke.
“Come here then, but slowly. Horses daenae like sudden movements,” Declan coaxed Eloise toward Fraser’s stallion.
Eloise approached with exaggerated care, her small hand extended toward the horse’s velvet nose.
“He’s so big,” Eloise breathed, wonder in her voice. “And so beautiful.”
Francesca produced a polished apple from her pocket and crouched to show her how to hold it flat on her palm.
“See? Fingers straight, like this. Horses are gentle if you trust them.”
Eloise bit her lip, mimicking her aunt’s hand. “Like this?”
“Exactly.” Francesca nodded encouragingly. “Now hold it out, and don’t snatch it back.”
The stallion stretched his neck, lips tickling Eloise’s hand as teeth crunched through the apple. Eloise squealed with delight, giggling as the horse’s whiskered lips brushed her skin.
Declan leaned against a stall post, watching silently.
“He likes me!” Eloise crowed. “Mama, did you see? He really likes me!”
Francesca’s breath caught in her throat.Mama.Not “Aunt Francesca” or even just “Francesca”—but Mama. The word wrapped around her heart and squeezed, filling her with a warmth so intense it brought tears to her eyes.
She blinked them back quickly, not wanting to make Eloise self-conscious about the precious gift she’d just given.
“I saw,” Francesca managed, her voice thick with emotion as she laughed and tucked a loose curl behind her child’s ear. “You were very brave. Horses can feel when you are afraid.”
Eloise grinned up at Declan, her cheeks flushed. “Did you see, Laird MacGhee? He likes me!”
“Aye, I saw.” For the briefest moment, his mouth curved. “Seems the beast has good taste.”
Eloise glowed under the praise, then suddenly spotted Betsy entering the far end of the stable. With a gasp, she dropped Francesca’s hand. “Betsy! Tell me a story!”
“Oh aye, wee one!” the maid replied, laughing. “Come, yer afternoon tea is ready, and Cook made those honey cakes ye love.”
Eloise skipped off with Betsy, her chatter about ‘being the horse’s favorite’ fading as they crossed the courtyard.
Francesca rose slowly, brushing straw from her skirts. When she turned, Declan was bent over his stallion again, comb dragging stubbornly through a knot in the mane. His shoulders were tight with the effort.
“You’re fighting a losing battle,” Francesca said lightly, stepping closer.
“I’ve faced worse.” His tone was clipped.
She tilted her head, watching him struggle. “You’ll break the comb before you break that tangle. Here, let me.”
“I daenae need help.” He yanked again, the horse tossing its head in protest.
