“Clan business?” Declan’s lips twitched despite everything.
“I panicked.” She was still clutching his shirt, still pressed against him with only a sheet between them. “What was I supposed to say?”
“The truth?”
“That my husband is driving me to distraction? That I want him so badly I can barely think straight? That I’m falling—” She stopped abruptly, horrified at what she’d almost said.
“Falling what?” His hands tightened on her face. “Tell me, Francesca. Falling what?”
“Apart,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m falling apart every time you touch me.”
It was a lie. They both knew it. But he didn’t call her on it, just pressed his forehead to hers and breathed like a man who’d run for miles.
“I should go,” he said, but made no move to leave.
“You keep saying that.”
“Aye, and I keep nae doin’ it.” He pulled back enough to look at her properly. “What are we doin’, lass? What is this between us?”
“I don’t know.” She touched his face, tracing that scar beneath his eye. “But I’m tired of fighting it.”
“So am I.” He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. “God help me, so am I.”
They stood like that, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air. Then suddenly, the serenity was broken by an urgent rap on the door.
“Me Lady.”
Impatient, Francesca turned toward the door.
“Betsy, I told you I?—”
Her words were cut off by Betsy’s sharp response. “Nay, Me Lady. Where’s the Laird? I cannae find little Eloise. The lass isnae in her chamber!”
18
Francesca's heart slammed against her ribs as she ran down the corridor, Declan's footsteps pounding behind her. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but she barely noticed.
"Eloise!" She burst into the child's chamber, her eyes frantically scanning the room.
The bed was empty, covers thrown back as if Eloise had risen in a hurry. Bluebell's basket sat undisturbed in the corner, the rabbit sleeping peacefully. Both kittens were curled on the windowsill. But no Eloise.
"She's not here." Francesca's voice cracked as Declan entered behind her, already half-dressed, his shirt unlaced. "Declan, she's not here!"
He moved past her, checking under the bed, behind the heavy curtains, anywhere a child might hide. "Eloise! Lass, if ye're hidin', now's nae the time for games!"
Silence.
Betsy hovered in the doorway, wringing her hands. "I came to check on her before retirin' for the night, me Laird. Found her bed empty, just like this. “When did anyone last see her?” Declan’s voice cut through the growing chaos in the great hall, sharp and commanding. He’d been in his study when word reached him, and now, he stood at the center of the room like a general preparing for battle.
“Last night, Me Laird,” Betsy said, wringing her hands. “I tucked her in meself with all her wee beasties. She was fast asleep.”Francesca's mind raced. "Her nightdress." She moved to the small trunk where Eloise's clothes were kept, rifling through it. "It's still here. She got dressed. She left on her own."
"Or someone took her after she'd risen." Declan's jaw tightened, his grey eyes going hard as granite. "Betsy, wake Fraser and Duncan. Have them gather the men. I want every room in this castle searched. Every chamber, every storage room, every corner."
"Aye, me Laird!" Betsy fled.
Francesca stood frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the empty bed. Her breath hitched. "What if someone?—"
"Nay." Declan gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Daenae think that. Not yet. She could be anywhere in the castle. The kitchens. The stables. Ye ken how she wanders."
