“I have watched ye and me braither,” Catriona continued, lowering her voice just enough to lend the words a conspiratorial air. “The way he looks at ye, though I admit, he daes his best tae disguise it, and the way ye pretend nae tae notice, which, I assure ye, is nae nearly so convincing as ye might hope.”
Elaina felt a faint warmth rise to her cheeks. “Ye… are mistaken.”
“I am rarely mistaken,” Catriona corrected her cheerfully. “And in this instance, I should be delighted tae be proven correct.”
She stepped closer, her tone softening once more.
“I would be very happy tae call ye me sister.”
Elaina’s breath caught, the simplicity of the statement striking her more deeply than she had anticipated.
“While ye are most kind tae say so, that is… a great deal tae assume,” she replied carefully, though there was less certainty in her voice now than she might have wished.
“Is it?” Catriona returned gently. “Or merely a truth nae yet spoken aloud?”
Elaina hesitated, then looked away, her composure giving way just enough for honesty to find its place. After all, she had already started divulging her life story, mentioning her mother. It was so easy to continue along the same path, revealing more.
“I care fer him,” she admitted, quietly. “More than I intended tae, even more than I thought meself capable of.” A small, uncertain breath followed. “But naething has been said of marriage, nae by him and nae by me.”
Catriona regarded her with an expression of fond assurance.
“Me braither,” she said, “has spent the greater part of his life avoiding precisely such sentiments. If he has allowed himself tae feel them at all, ye may be certain they are nae lightly held.”
Elaina said nothing, allowing the words to nestle within the confines of her trembling heart.
“And I ken him,” Catriona added, her voice steady now in its conviction. “Better than anyone. If he loves ye, and I would stake a great deal upon the belief that he does, then he will nae rest until he has made ye his wife.”
The words felt like a warm and certain embrace. Elaina did not immediately reply. They had only taken a few steps further along the corridor when the light from a narrow window caught her attention. It spilled across the stone floor in a pale wash, drawing her gaze outward and there, in the courtyard below, she saw him.
Duncan was crossing the open space with a pace that was far from his usual measured stride. There was something hurried in it, something urgent. His shoulders were set too tightly and his head was slightly bowed as though weighed by thought, and even from that distance she could see the strain in him.
He did not look like a laird in command. He looked like a man under siege. It made Elaina’s breath catch.
“I must…” she began, turning toward Catriona, already searching for some suitable excuse.
But Catriona was already watching her with unmistakable understanding, her lips curving in a knowing smile.
“Go tae him,” she said at once, with gentle insistence. “Go now.”
Elaina hesitated only a moment longer before a small smile broke through her concern. She reached out, pressing her hand briefly to Catriona’s shoulder in silent gratitude.
“Thank ye,” she murmured.
Then she turned and hurried away. Not even a whole minute later, she was outside, feeling the sharp, cool air against her skin. Elaina gathered her skirts as she crossed the courtyard, feeling her heart beating faster than the pace alone could account for.
She had seen the direction he had taken.
The chapel.
By the time she reached it, her breath had grown uneven, though she scarcely noticed. The heavy wooden door stood slightly ajar, and she slipped inside without pause.
At once, the world seemed to still. The chapel was dim, lit only by the soft glow of candles that flickered along the stone walls. The scent of wax and aged wood lingered in the air, and the hush within pressed gently around her, as though demanding reverence.
And there, near the front, stood Duncan.
He had not yet turned. His head was bowed, and he had one hand braced against the back of a pew.
“Duncan…” she called out softly, his name lingering on her lips like a prayer in that holy place.
