Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
The knock came sharp against the chamber door, pulling Eloise from sleep with a startled breath as morning light crept pale through the narrow window.
She sat up at once, the warmth of the bed falling away as she realized she wore nothing but her thin chemise. Snatching the blanket, she wrapped it tightly about herself and crossed the room with cautious steps.
“Who’s there?” she called, her voice still rough with sleep, though it carried a note of wary command.
The latch lifted without answer, and the door swung open before she could protest. James stepped inside as if the chamber were his, his gaze finding her instantly.
Eloise gave a small squeal, clutching the blanket tighter as she snapped, “I am nae decent, ye brute!”
A slow smirk curved his mouth, though his eyes remained cool and assessing.
“It doesnae matter,” he said easily, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality. “I’ve business with ye, and as ye agreed, ye’ll obey me commands.”
Eloise drew herself up, chin lifting despite the flush rising to her cheeks. “And ye agreed to nae lay a hand on me,” she shot back, her voice sharp with indignation.
He stepped closer, looming over her. She held her breath. The heat of his body enclosed around her. His scent, a manly mixture of whiskey and Earth, flooded her senses. She felt her heart drop to her stomach as he inched closer.
Does he mean to kiss me? But he promised.
James brushed past her toward the center of the room.
“Daenae fash yerself,” he said over his shoulder, his tone dry, “I’ve nae interest in touchin’ ye, only speakin’ with ye.”
She turned quickly to face him, her grip tightening on the blanket as she followed a few steps behind.
“What couldnae wait till I was properly dressed?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him.
James glanced back at her briefly, one brow lifting as he replied, “Time isnae a luxury we have, lass, nae if we’re to make this farce hold.”
Eloise bristled at the word, her voice cooling as she said, “Then speak plain, for I’ve little patience for riddles this early.”
He nodded once, folding his arms as his expression sharpened. “I’ll be tellin’ the council about ye today,” he said, his tone firm, “so we’ll need our story set straight before a word is spoken.”
Eloise stilled slightly at that, the weight of it settling in. “And what story is that?” she asked carefully.
“The betrothal is sudden,” James said, pacing once as he began to lay it out. “I’ll say ye were found in the stables, which is close enough to truth, since the guards already saw ye, we cannae lie about that.”
Eloise frowned faintly, though she listened closely as he continued. “I’ll say yer strength caught me eye, that ye spoke boldly, and I offered ye marriage on the spot as I had never met a woman like ye.”
She let out a soft, incredulous laugh and lifted a brow at him. “And they’ll believe that, will they?” she asked, skepticism plain in her tone.
James gave a short huff of amusement and shook his head. “Nay, they’ll suspect it well enough, but they’ll nae challenge me openly if I stand firm.” There was a quiet certainty in his voice that made her pause.
“I’ll tell them the wedding is set for four weeks' time,” he went on, his tone measured now. “That gives us space without drawin’ too much pressure.”
Eloise shifted slightly, the blanket slipping before she caught it quickly, her fingers tightening as she adjusted it.
He stepped closer again, his expression sharpening as his tone dropped. “And hear me on this, there’ll be nay mention of Laird Drummond to anyone, nae a whisper, do ye understand?”
Eloise held his gaze, the seriousness in his voice cutting through her irritation. “Aye,” she said quietly, though there was no lack of resolve in it. “I understand well enough.”
Silence lingered a moment, though it was not entirely comfortable, nor entirely tense. Eloise became suddenly aware of her state once more, the thin chemise beneath the blanket offering little protection from the awareness of his presence.
It was the first time she had stood so before a man, and though she told herself to feel only indignation, something else stirred beneath it…strange, unwelcome, and entirely new.
She shifted slightly, pulling the blanket as if to shield herself from both the cold and her own thoughts. “Ye’ve a habit of bargin' in unannounced? Am I to expect this often?” she said at last, her tone edged with annoyance to cover the flush moving across her cheeks.
James’s brow lifted slightly as he closed the space between them. He looked her up and down, “And ye’ve a habit of forgettin’ whose castle ye stand in. I'll do as I please.”
She bristled at that, stepping forward despite herself and pressing a finger in his chest. “I’ve forgotten nothin',” she said sharply, her eyes flashing. “Only that I expected a measure of decency.”
Hard. His chest is like a rock.
He gave a faint, humorless smile at that, his gaze steady upon hers. “Ye’ll find I offer what’s needed, nae what’s expected,” he said.
The words lingered between them, sharp and unyielding.
Eloise huffed softly, turning her face away for a moment before muttering, “Aye, that much I’ve already learned.”
“Is that why ye blush?” he asked.
“Och, I daenae blush,” she lied.
He smirked. “If ye say so. I will announce our betrothal at supper. I expect ye to look the part and nae in tattered rags as ye were last night. Lookin' like an urchin.”
He made his way to the door.
“Och! How dare…” she grabbed a cushion from the chair and flung it at him. But it hit the door with a soft thud as he had already stepped out and closed the door behind him.
An urchin…. I'll show him.
The great hall glowed with firelight and noise when Eloise stepped through its doors, yet the moment she crossed the threshold, the sound faltered and dimmed.
Conversations died mid-sentence, heads turned, and a hundred curious eyes settled upon her as if she were something rare, or dangerous. Her breath caught, though she kept her posture straight, her chin lifted just enough to mask the unease stirring within.
Keep yer head high. Act the part.
The gown Fiona had chosen clung softly to her form, the deep green catching the light and drawing out the green of her eyes, her hair braided with care and pinned to show her face.
For a fleeting moment, she considered turning back, but the thought vanished as James appeared before her, solid and unyielding as ever.
Without a word, he took her hand, his grip firm and certain, and led her forward through the parted crowd. Heat rushed through her at the contact, startling in its intensity, though she gave no outward sign as she followed him toward the dais.
Can he feel me heart poundin'?
At the high table, he released her hand only to turn and face the gathered clan, his presence commanding silence once more.
“This is Miss Eloise Whitmore,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the hall, “and she is me betrothed.”
The words fell like a stone into still water, rippling outward into murmurs of confusion and disbelief. Eloise felt her stomach drop, her pulse quickening as the weight of their attention sharpened. No one spoke at first, the silence stretching thin and uncertain.
Then, abruptly, Callum loudly clap. “Well, then!” he called, grinning broadly, “to the Laird and his bonnie bride.”
A few others joined in, hesitant at first, then louder, until the tension broke into scattered cheers of, “to the Laird and his bonnie bride.”
Eloise inclined her head slightly, offering the faintest smile, though inside her thoughts raced without mercy.
They’ll never accept this. It’s too sudden, too strange…too false.
Yet she forced her shoulders to remain steady, her expression calm, as James guided her to sit beside him.
The noise of the hall resumed, though it felt different now, edged with curiosity and quiet speculation.
She folded her hands neatly before her, aware of every glance cast in her direction.
This was no longer a quiet refuge, it was a stage, and she stood at its center whether she wished it or not.
Anythin' is better than Drummond.
“Ye look… well,” James said at last, his voice low enough that only she could hear, though it held that same measured restraint.
Eloise turned her head slightly, studying him, her brow lifting just a fraction.
“I look… well?” she repeated, her tone cool, though a spark of irritation flickered beneath it. “Is that all?”
He did not answer, his gaze fixed ahead as though the matter required no further comment.
She let out a quiet breath, her annoyance rising at his refusal.
Fiona had taken such care, braiding her hair, choosing the gown, ensuring every detail was just so, and for him to dismiss it so plainly stung more than she cared to admit.
Why do I care what he thinks?
“So I am better than an urchin, then?” she pressed, her voice edged now, though still soft enough to remain between them.
James glanced at her briefly, his expression unchanged. “It will do,” he said simply, before turning his attention back to the hall.
Eloise stared at him for a beat, disbelief flashing across her face before she huffed quietly and looked away. Her appetite vanished entirely, and she began to push the food around her plate with little care.
“It will do,” she muttered under her breath, the words sharp with frustration. If he noticed, he gave no sign, his composure as steady as ever.
The meal passed in a blur of half-heard conversations and careful glances, until at last it came to an end and the hall shifted into a looser, livelier atmosphere.
Fiona appeared at Eloise’s side with a bright smile, dipping into a small curtsey. “Come, miss, ye cannae sit here all night lookin’ like a statue. Come meet some of the folk,” she said lightly, her tone warm and encouraging.
Eloise allowed herself to be guided away from the dais, grateful for the chance to move, to breathe without the full weight of the room upon her.
“Is it always like this?” she murmured as they stepped into the throng.
Fiona gave a soft laugh and replied, “Only when somethin’ unexpected happens, and ye, miss, are as unexpected as they come.”
As they moved among the gathered clansfolk, Eloise felt the eyes upon her once more, though now they were closer, more pointed.
Snatches of whispered conversation reached her ears, too soft to catch in full but sharp enough to unsettle.
She kept her expression composed, offering polite nods and small smiles where needed.
“They’re only curious,” Fiona said quietly, as if sensing her unease. “It’ll pass in time.”
Eloise nodded, though she was not entirely convinced, her gaze flickering from face to face.
A name drifted to her then, carried just loudly enough to be heard.
“Mairead,” someone whispered, followed by a hushed murmur she could not quite make out. Eloise’s brow furrowed slightly, though she did not ask, uncertain whether she wished to draw attention to it.
Who is Mairead?
Eloise let it pass, though the name lingered at the edges of her thoughts, unanswered and uneasy.
Before she could dwell on it further, a young man stepped forward, offering a respectful bow.
“Would ye grant me a dance, me Lady?” he asked, his tone polite though his eyes held clear curiosity.
Eloise hesitated only a moment, her instincts urging caution, yet she knew refusal would draw more notice than acceptance as all eyes were upon her.
She inclined her head slightly and said, “Aye, I will.”
As he led her toward the center of the hall, she cast one brief glance back toward the dais. James stood where she had left him, watching, his expression unreadable as ever, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered what he truly thought of it all.
He doesnae care… nor do I… and that is the agreement.