“We should get Eloise inside,” Lady Gretchen said, her voice gentling. “The child needs rest and comfort. And you—” she fixed Francesca with a stern look, “—need that shoulder tended to.”
“I’m fine?—”
“You’re bleeding through your dress. Don’t argue with me, girl.” Her aunt’s tone brooked no disagreement. “Betsy, fetch the healer. And tell Cook to prepare something warm and soothing for the child.”
The castle staff mobilized with practiced efficiency, but Eloise refused to release her grip on Francesca. They made it as far as the great hall before she released herself and bolted to Declan.
Eloise’s voice was barely a whisper. “Can I call you Da?”
She trailed off, looking at him with such desperate hope it made Francesca’s chest ache. Declan’s jaw worked, emotion flickeringacross his face—the same man who’d sworn never to let himself care, never to let anyone close.
“I’ll insist on it.” His voice was rough, thick with feeling. “From this moment on, I’m yer da. And that means I’ll protect ye with me life, just like I protect yer mother.”
Eloise launched herself into Declan’s arms with such force that he nearly toppled backward. She buried her face in his neck, her small body wracked with sobs—but these were different. Relief. Release. The tears of a child who’d finally found safety.
“I love you, Da,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”
Declan’s arms tightened around her, one large hand cradling the back of her head. His eyes met Francesca’s over Eloise’s shoulder, and the raw emotion in his gaze nearly undid her.
“I love ye too, lass. More than I knew I could love anyone.”
Francesca pressed her hand to her mouth, tears streaming down her face as she watched them. Her daughter and her husband, holding each other like they’d never let go.
Lady Gretchen appeared with the healer, a stern-faced woman carrying a basket of supplies. “Come now, let’s get that shoulder cleaned up. And Eloise needs to be checked for injuries as well.”
The next hour passed in a blur. The healer cleaned and stitched Francesca’s shoulder with efficient care while examining Eloisefor any signs of harm. Apart from some rope burns on her wrists and bruises on her arms, the child was physically uninjured.
“She’s been through a terrible ordeal,” the healer said quietly to Francesca as she finished wrapping her shoulder. “Daenae be surprised if she has nightmares or if she’s afraid to be alone. Time and patience will help her heal.”
Francesca nodded, too exhausted to speak. Every part of her ached—body, heart, soul. But they were all alive. All together. That was what mattered.
By the time they’d gotten Eloise bathed and into her nightgown, it was well past midnight. The child refused to be left alone in her chamber, clinging to Francesca with desperate strength.
Francesca ended up in Eloise’s bed for a while, her small body finally relaxing as exhaustion claimed her. Within minutes, she was asleep, one hand fisted in Francesca’s nightgown.
Francesca ran her fingers over the little girl’s hair, pushing some stray tendrils away from her face. She leaned close to kiss her forehead before gently pulling herself free from the sleeping child.
She left the room and made her way to Declan’s chamber—larger than hers, more masculine, with a massive bed that dominated the space.
“What are ye doing here. Ye’re hurt; ye should be restin’.” He followed her to the window seat on the far side of the chamber. Moonlight streamed through the glass, painting silver across his features.
“I’m fine, I just needed to see you.”
His hand reached for her bandaged shoulder, touch feather-light. “Ye could have been killed today.”
“So could you.” She caught his hand, pressing it to her cheek. “When Violet lunged at you with that dirk, I was scared.”
“I ken.” His jaw tightened. “Christ, Francesca, when I saw her blade at yer throat, I—” He broke off, breathing hard. “I’ve never felt fear like that. Nae in any battle, nae facin’ any enemy.”
“And how has that changed your feelings?”
“Well, now, I’m done lyin’ to meself.” He cupped her face, his touch achingly tender despite the violence those same hands had committed hours before. “This marriage is real. It’s been real since the moment ye stood up to that drunk at the ceilidh. Maybe even before that.”
“When?” She needed to know, needed to understand when this fierce, guarded man had let her into his heart.
“The stables.” A small smile curved his lips. “When ye refused to let me visit yer chamber without invitation. Ye stood there inyer ridin’ habit, chin lifted, tellin’ a Highland laird he couldnae command ye like one of his men. I wanted to throttle ye and kiss ye in equal measure.”
“You did kiss me. Eventually.”
