The moment broke with laughter, but the truth of it remained, settling warm and certain in Declan’s chest. They were a family—bound not by blood but by choice and love and the promise to always, always choose each other.
24
“Hold the reins like this, lass. Firm but gentle. The horse needs to ken ye’re in control.”
Francesca paused in the stable doorway, watching Declan lift Eloise onto the back of his most docile mare. The morning sun slanted through the high windows, illuminating the concentration on her daughter’s face as she gripped the leather straps.
“I’m doing it!” Eloise’s voice rang with pride.
“Aye, ye are.” Declan kept one hand on the horse’s bridle, the other hovering protectively near Eloise’s waist. “Now, when ye want her to walk forward, ye give a wee squeeze with yer legs. Gentle now.”
The mare took a slow step. Then another. Eloise’s squeal of delight echoed through the stable.
Francesca’s chest tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. Love, yes. But also something deeper—a sense of rightness, of pieces finally falling into place after a lifetime of feeling slightly out of alignment.
“Mama, look!” Eloise waved enthusiastically, nearly losing her grip on the reins.
“I see you, sweetheart!” Francesca moved closer. “You’re doing wonderfully.”
“Da says when I get better, I can ride by myself. Maybe even go on the border patrols with him one day.”
“Does he now?” Francesca raised an eyebrow at her husband.
Declan had the grace to look sheepish. “In many years. When she’s much older.”
“Many, many years,” Francesca emphasized, though she was smiling.
They spent the next hour in the stables, Declan teaching Eloise about caring for horses—how to brush them properly, check their hooves, and recognize signs of illness. Eloise absorbed every word, asking questions that ranged from practical to wildly imaginative.
“Could a horse swim across the loch?”
“Aye, they can swim, but I wouldnae recommend tryin’ it with this one. She’s nae fond of deep water.”
“What about carrying messages? Could I train Bluebell to carry messages like the birds do?”
Declan’s lips twitched. “Rabbits are nae quite as reliable as messenger birds, lass, but ye could try.”
Francesca leaned against a post, content to watch them together. This had become her favorite part of the day—these moments when Declan showed Eloise his world, patient and kind in ways she suspected surprised even him.
“Mama, are ye listening?” Eloise called.
“I am, darling.”
“Da says tomorrow he’ll show me how to tell if a horse is healthy just by lookin’ at its eyes and teeth. Isn’t that clever?”
“Very clever indeed.”
When they finally emerged from the stables, Eloise ran ahead to find Betsy, chattering about everything she’d learned. Declan fell into step beside Francesca, his hand finding hers as naturally as breathing.
“She’s happy,” Francesca said softly.
“Aye. She is.”
“You’ve given her that. Given us both that.” She squeezed his fingers. “Do you know how extraordinary you are?”
“I’m nae?—”
“Yes, you are.” She stopped walking, turning to face him. “Three months ago, I was terrified. I thought I was bringing Eloise to a cold marriage with a distant man who would tolerate us at best. Instead, I found…” She gestured helplessly. “This. You. A real family.”
