As the men dispersed to prepare, Declan pulled Francesca aside. “Are ye certain about this? Truly certain? Because once we leave these walls, I need ye completely focused. No panickin’, no rushin’ in without thinkin’.”
“I won’t panic.” Her green eyes met his steadily. “I’ll follow your lead. But I need to be there, Declan. I need her to know I’m coming for her.”
He studied her face—the fear she was barely controlling, the determination burning beneath it, the love for a child that had brought her all the way to Scotland and into a marriage witha stranger. This woman who’d defied her father, sacrificed her reputation, faced down Highland prejudice—all for a little girl who needed her.
She’s magnificent. Fierce and brave and absolutely terrifying in her love.
“Then we go together.” He touched her face briefly, allowing himself one moment of softness. “And we bring our daughter home.”
The word hung between them like a promise. Francesca’s eyes widened slightly, but before she could respond, Betsy appeared with their traveling cloaks.
“Everything’s ready, Me Laird. The horses are saddled, and Cook’s packed provisions in case ye’re gone overnight.”
“We willnae be gone overnight.” Declan’s voice carried absolute certainty. “We’ll have Eloise back before dark.”
Lady Gretchen stood watching them prepare, her aged face lined with worry. “I’ll wait here. When you return, and you will return, I’ll have everything ready to welcome that child home properly.”
“Thank you, Aunt.” Francesca embraced her quickly. “Take care of the animals? She’ll want to see them first thing.”
“Of course, dear.” Lady Gretchen’s voice wavered slightly. “Just... be careful. Both of you.”
Declan helped Francesca mount, then swung into his own saddle. Fraser and a carefully selected group of men waited at the gates, enough to handle trouble, few enough to move quietly.
“Remember,” Declan addressed them all, his voice carrying the weight of command, “we move silent and we move smart. These bastards think they’re clever, think they can take what’s mine and walk away unscathed. We’re going to teach them otherwise.”
A chorus of grim agreement met his words. These men had trained together, fought together, bled together. They would follow their laird into hell itself if he asked.
And hell was exactly where Declan planned to send anyone who’d dared harm Eloise.
As they rode out through the gates, he glanced back once to see Lady Gretchen standing in the courtyard, Betsy beside her. The old woman raised one hand in farewell, then turned to Betsy with words Declan’s sharp ears just caught. “Prepare me a cup of tea, girl. It’s going to be a long wait.”
“Aye, Me Lady. But they’ll bring her home. The Laird always protects what’s his.”
20
The old kirk rose against the twilight sky like a skeletal finger pointing accusingly at heaven. Francesca’s hands trembled on the reins as they approached, every nerve screaming that this was wrong, dangerous, a trap they were walking into with open eyes.
“Easy,” Declan murmured beside her, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Steady, lass. We’re nae alone out here.”
She knew that. Knew Fraser and his men were hidden in the surrounding rocks and trees, watching, waiting. But knowing and feeling safe were two different things entirely.
The clearing before the kirk was empty, save for shadows lengthening in the fading light. Francesca’s eyes searched desperately for any sign of Eloise but saw nothing.
“They’re here,” Declan said quietly. “I can feel them watchin’.”
As if summoned by his words, a figure emerged from behind the kirk’s crumbling wall. Small. Blonde. Blindfolded.
“Eloise!” Francesca’s voice cracked on her daughter’s name.
The child’s head turned toward the sound, and even from this distance, Francesca could see her trembling. A rope bound her hands, and she stumbled slightly as someone pushed her forward into the clearing.
“Daenae move.” Declan’s hand shot out, gripping Francesca’s arm hard enough to bruise. “Nae yet. Wait.”
Every instinct screamed at her to run to Eloise, to grab her daughter and flee. But she forced herself to remain still, to trust Declan’s judgment even as her heart shattered at the sight of Eloise standing alone and frightened in the dying light.
Another figure stepped from the shadows, cloaked and hooded. Taller than Eloise. Female, based on the silhouette. She moved with practiced grace, positioning herself behind Eloise with one hand resting possessively on the child’s shoulder.
“I see you brought company.” The voice that emerged from beneath the hood was cultured, English, achingly familiar. “I specifically said to come alone.”
