Her knees buckled, shock and blood loss catching up with her. Declan caught her before she could fall, his arms locking around her with desperate strength.
“I’ve got ye.” His voice was rough, shaken. “Christ, I’ve got ye.”
Their foreheads pressed together, both of them breathing hard. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her against him like she was precious, breakable, his.
“Eloise is safe now.” His grey eyes met hers, blazing with emotion he’d kept locked away for so long. “We did it, lass. We brought her home.”
Eloise was struggling to be in their middle, and they didn’t even know when she got there, reaching for them with desperate hands. “I knew you’d come! I told the bad lady you’d come for me!”
Declan released Francesca carefully, making sure she was steady before moving to take the child in her arms. She burst into tears, her small body shaking with sobs.
“I was so scared,” she hiccupped against his shoulder. “But I knew, I knew you’d find me. Both of you.”
“Always.” Declan’s voice was fierce as he held her tight. “We’ll always find ye, lass. Always protect ye. That’s what parents do.”
Francesca moved to them, wrapping her arms around them both despite the pain in her shoulder. They stood together in the gathering darkness—blood-stained, exhausted, traumatized—but together.
A family forged in fire and sealed in blood.
“Let’s go home,” Francesca whispered.
“Aye.” Declan’s arm came around her waist, supporting her weight. “Let’s take our daughter home.”
And as Fraser organized the men to deal with Violet’s body and gather evidence, the three of them stood in the shadow of the old kirk, holding each other like they’d never let go.
21
The torches lining the castle walls blazed like beacons in the darkness as they rode through the gates. Francesca held Eloise in front of her on the saddle, the child’s small body still trembling with aftershocks of fear despite being safe now.
“We’re home, darling,” Francesca whispered into her hair. “You’re home.”
“Is the bad lady really gone?” Eloise’s voice was so small, so broken. “She won’t come back?”
“She willnae come back.” Declan’s voice, rough but gentle, came from beside them. “I promise ye, lass. No one will ever hurt ye again.”
Lady Gretchen stood in the courtyard, her face creased with worry that transformed to relief the moment she saw them. “Thank God. Oh, thank God.”
Francesca dismounted carefully, wincing as her wounded shoulder protested. Betsy was there immediately, reaching for Eloise, but the child clung harder to Francesca.
“Don’t leave me,” she whimpered. “Please don’t leave me.”
Francesca pressed a kiss to her head. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
Lady Gretchen approached, her sharp eyes taking in the blood on Francesca’s dress, the haunted look in Eloise’s eyes, and the grim set of Declan’s jaw. “What happened? Did you find who took her?”
“Yes.” Francesca’s voice cracked. “It was Violet. My sister. She—” The words wouldn’t come, too horrible to speak aloud.
“Violet?” Her aunt’s face went pale. “But she’s dead. She died in the carriage accident.”
“She faked her death. Staged the whole thing.” Francesca felt Eloise shaking harder and forced herself to steady. “She wanted money. Took Eloise to force a ransom.”
“Dear God.” Lady Gretchen’s hand flew to her mouth. “Where is she now?”
“Dead.” Declan dismounted, moving to stand beside Francesca. “This time for real.”
The old woman looked between them, reading the truth in their faces. “I see. Well.” She straightened her spine, composing herself with visible effort. “Then it’s over. Truly over.”
“Aye.” Declan’s hand settled on Francesca’s lower back, steadying her. “It’s over.”
