The child, however, noticing his presence, was staring up at him with open curiosity. “Sir!” she called out, her voice carrying clearly in the morning stillness. “Do rabbits live very long in Scotland?”
Only by force of will did he turn his attention to the child. “That depends on many things, lassie,” he said, his voice gentler than usual as he looked down at Eloise. “But Highland rabbits are strong creatures.”
The child beamed up at him, apparently undaunted by his imposing presence. “Will Bluebell be safe here?”
“Me mother used to say that white rabbits were harbingers of peace,” he heard himself saying, the words coming from some long-buried memory. “She believed they brought good fortune to any household that sheltered them.”
Why had he shared that? He had not spoken of his mother’s superstitions in years, had not thought of her gentle voice whispering Highland folklore to soothe his childhood fears.
“Did she really?” Eloise’s eyes went wide with wonder. “Then Bluebell will bring us luck!”
“Perhaps he will,” Declan found himself agreeing, though his gaze had drifted back to Francesca. She was watching him with an expression he could not quite read, before offering him a small, shy smile.
“Would you like to pet him?” Eloise asked suddenly, holding up the rabbit with careful hands. “His name is Bluebell, and he’s very soft.”
Declan hesitated. He was a Highland laird, a man who commanded warriors and defended clan lands. He did not pet rabbits with English children in garden settings that felt far too domestic for his comfort.
But something in the child’s hopeful expression made him reach out with large, calloused hands to gently touch the rabbit’s soft fur. Bluebell’s nose twitched, but the creature seemed unafraid.
“There,” he said quietly. “He knows he’s safe here.”
When he glanced up, he found Francesca watching the scene with her hand pressed to her chest, something unguarded andalmost painful flickering across her features. The sight of it made his own chest tighten in response, though he could not say why.
Eloise ran away giggling a moment later, but Francesca was still looking at him as she headed towards a nearby bench. And he couldn’t bring himself to look away either.
This was dangerous territory indeed.
And he had to do something about it. Soon.
5
“The child cannae be allowed to run wild.”
Declan’s voice was low, meant only for her, and close. Too close. It shattered the contentment Francesca felt as she watched Eloise play with Bluebell among the bushes, and the hope she had allowed herself to feel when her future husband had actually pet the bunny.
She should have known better. Now he’d probably make up a new rule: ‘Noone should ever invite me to pet cute creatures again.’ If her situation wasn’t so dire she might have laughed at her thoughts. Now, she shivered. She turned around from where she sat on the stone bench to find him looming over her from behind. His lips had been too close to her ear, but now he stood up straight, his expression stern as he watched the little girl chase the rabbit in circles.
“That is hardly running wild,” Francesca replied, rising to her feet and facing him with as much dignity as she could muster.“Eloise is playing. Something she has had little opportunity to do in recent months.”
“This is not some English garden party,” he said, his grey eyes fixing on her with that familiar intensity. “Highland children learn discipline early. They must be strong.”
Heat flared in Francesca’s chest at his dismissive tone. “And you believe playing with a rabbit will somehow weaken her character?”
“I believe coddlin’ her will ill-prepare her for the realities of life here.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, making himself appear even more imposing. “She needs structure. Rules. Not indulgence.”
“Structure?” Francesca stepped closer, her own temper beginning to rise. “She is nine years old, My Laird. Nine. She has lost both her parents, been torn from everything familiar, and been brought to a foreign land where nothing is as she has ever known it. If a small rabbit brings her comfort, then I fail to see the harm.”
Something flickered across his features, but his expression remained implacable. “Comfort is a luxury here, Me Lady. The sooner she learns that, the better.”
“She is a child who has lost everything!” The words burst out of her with more force than her bearing would usually allow, and her voice carried across the garden. “She deserves kindness, not constant reminders of how harsh the world can be.”
Declan’s jaw tightened, and she could see a muscle tick beneath that intriguing scar. “The world is harsh whether we remind her or not. Better she learns to face it with strength than cling to false comforts.”
“And better she learns that strength and compassion are not enemies,” Francesca shot back, her chin lifting with the same defiance that had once made her mother despair. “That caring for something vulnerable does not make one weak.”
For a long moment, they stared at each other across the space between them, the air crackling with tension. She could see something working behind his eyes, some internal struggle she could not quite decipher. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less firm.
“She is yer responsibility, Francesca. But she lives under me roof now, and she will learn Highland ways.”
