Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
She is bonnie.
James had thought himself prepared when she entered the hall, yet nothing had braced him for the sight of her now.
The green of her gown caught and deepened the color of her eyes, making them seem brighter, sharper, impossible to ignore.
He felt it then, a brief heat, a momentary lapse in the control he held so carefully.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, swallowing hard as he forced his gaze away.
This is nae more than a ruse. Remember that.
A temporary deception meant to serve a purpose, she was not his, nor would she be, and it was folly to think otherwise. Yet he found the reminder did little to quiet the pull she held over his attention.
When she stepped into the dance, guided by another man’s hand, something shifted within him, sharp and unexpected.
What is she doing? Testing me?
The man’s hand rested at her waist, his touch too familiar, too comfortable for James’s liking. Eloise laughed at something said, her head tilting slightly, and the sight struck deeper than it should have.
“Who is that fool?” James muttered, his gaze narrowing as he watched the pair turn.
Callum, standing nearby, followed his line of sight and let out a quiet chuckle.
“Aye, I was wonderin’ how long it would take,” he said lightly.
James shot him a look. “Take for what?”
Callum only smirked and said, “For ye to notice ye daenae like another man’s hands on yer betrothed.”
“I daenae care who dances with her,” James replied sharply, though the edge in his voice betrayed him.
Callum raised a brow, unimpressed. “That man is Silas. He is a new landowner in these parts. He has come to the castle to be introduced to ye during yer audience tomorrow.”
James exhaled sharply and turned his attention back to the dance, though his hands had curled into fists at his sides. The man’s hand shifted slightly against Eloise’s waist, and that was enough.
“I’ve seen enough of this,” James muttered, already stepping forward. Callum’s quiet laughter followed him, though he paid it no mind.
The music swelled as James crossed the floor, his steps steady and purposeful as he approached the pair. Without hesitation, he reached out, placing a firm hand upon the man’s shoulder.
“That’ll be enough, Silas,” he said coolly, his tone leaving little room for protest.
The man blinked in surprise but stepped back at once, bowing slightly. “Me apologies, me Laird,” he said, retreating without question.
Eloise turned to face James, her expression shifting from surprise to curiosity. “And what do ye think ye’re doin’?” she asked, though she did not pull away as he took her hand.
“Dancin' with me betrothed,” James replied, drawing her into the movement.
She let out a soft huff, though she followed his lead, her steps falling easily into rhythm. His hand settled at her waist, and the contact sent a quiet tension through him, sharper than he had expected.
She was warm beneath his touch, steady and unyielding, her gaze lifting to meet his with that same defiance he had come to recognize.
“Ye’ve a strange way of askin' me to dance,” she said, her voice low, edged with challenge.
He held her gaze, his expression controlled, though something darker flickered beneath. “I didnae ask,” he said evenly, guiding her through the turn.
She arched a brow at that, her lips curving faintly. “Aye, I suppose that is true,” she replied dryly, her tone laced with quiet amusement.
They moved together in silence for a moment, the music carrying them as the hall faded slightly around them. James became acutely aware of every detail, the way her hand rested in his, the light brush of her skirts against his legs, the steady rise and fall of her breath.
He tightened his grip ever so slightly, as though to remind himself of the control he must maintain.
“If I didnae ken better,” she said suddenly, her voice softer now but no less pointed, “I’d think ye were jealous.” The words landed cleanly, and for a brief moment, he said nothing.
He let out a short, dismissive breath, his gaze sharpening as he looked down at her.
“Jealous?” he repeated, as if the notion were absurd. “Daenae flatter yerself, lass, it’s nae jealousy.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying him with clear skepticism. “Then what would ye call it?” she pressed.
His hand at her waist tightened just enough to be felt, though not enough to draw notice from others. “I’d call it necessity,” he said coolly. “It’s important they all ken ye’re mine, for the sake of this farce.”
Eloise’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her lips curved with faint amusement. “Is that so?” she said. “And ye couldnae let that man finish a single dance without remindin’ them?”
“I’ve nae patience for half measures,” he replied. “If we’re to convince them, then it must be done properly.”
She let out a soft hum, unconvinced, and said, “Aye, I see, and it has nothin’ at all to do with the way he held me?”
His gaze darkened slightly at that, though he kept his voice steady. “I’ve already told ye, it’s nae jealousy.”
“Then perhaps it’s somethin’ else. I ken that it is nae desire since ye show much restraint toward me,” she said quietly.
James held her gaze. “Do ye take me for an animal, lass?”
For a moment, neither spoke, the tension between them growing as the music carried on around them.
James became keenly aware of the warmth of her beneath his hand, the closeness of her, the way her gaze held his without flinching. He exhaled slowly, forcing the thought aside even as it lingered.
“Careful, me Laird,” she said softly, though there was no mockery in her tone now. “Ye might begin to believe yer own farce is true.”
He gave a faint, humorless smile at that, though his eyes did not soften.
“Daenae worry, lass,” he replied, his voice steady once more, though the edge remained. “I ken exactly what this is.”
The music slowed, the dance nearing its end, but neither moved to step away just yet. James felt something lingering between them, unspoken and unresolved, refusing to be dismissed so easily.
The morning air lay soft over the lower gardens, the scent of damp earth and herbs rising as Eloise followed Fiona along the narrow path. Sunlight filtered through the trees, catching on leaves and warming the chill that had lingered through the night.
“This is where ye’ll find the heart of the place, miss,” Fiona said brightly, glancing back with a knowing smile.
Eloise nodded, though her steps slowed as raised voices carried toward them.
“If ye’d only listen, ye stubborn fool, ye’d ken the carrots must be pulled now!” came a woman’s sharp cry.
“And if ye’d stop meddlin’ in me soil, woman, they’d grow twice as fine!” a man’s voice answered just as loudly.
Eloise blinked, startled, before Fiona let out a quiet laugh.
They rounded the corner to find an older couple standing amidst neat rows of vegetables, both red-faced and animated.
“Mairi MacLaren, ye’ll ruin the lot if ye keep pluckin’ them before they’re ready!” the man barked, planting his hands on his hips.
The woman turned on him at once, her eyes blazing. “Ewan MacLaren, I’ve been cookin’ longer than ye’ve been diggin’, and I ken what’s needed for supper!” she shot back.
Eloise hesitated at the edge of the garden, unsure whether to intrude, but Fiona stepped forward without concern.
“Mairi, Ewan, ye’ve a guest,” she called lightly. Both turned at once, their argument forgotten in an instant.
“Well, why did ye nay say so?” Mairi huffed, smoothing her apron as she approached.
“Och, Miss Eloise.” Mairi bowed. “Ye’ve brought her to us lookin’ like she’s seen a battle.”
Ewan snorted and said, “Or worse, a council meetin’, I’d wager.”
Eloise could not help it, a small laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “I assure ye, I’ve seen both, and I cannae say which is worse,” she replied, her voice soft but genuine.
Mairi’s stern expression melted at once. “Good, she’s got spirit, this one,” she said, glancing at Ewan with approval.
Ewan nodded, though he added, “We’ll see how long that lasts once she’s had to deal with this one’s cookin’.”
“Mind yer tongue, ye old goat,” Mairi snapped, swatting lightly at his arm. “Me meals keep this castle standin’, whether ye admit it or nay.”
Eloise laughed again, the sound freer this time as she stepped closer. “It seems ye both keep it runnin’, in yer own way,” she said, glancing between them.
Ewan gave a small grunt of agreement. “Aye, I grow it, she burns it, and together we manage well enough,” he said dryly.
“Burn it?” Mairi repeated, her voice rising once more. “Ye’ve the palate of a mule, Ewan MacLaren, and the sense to match!”
Fiona shook her head with a smile, stepping back as Eloise found herself drawn further into their orbit.
“I would like to help,” Eloise said.
The group came to silence.
“Oh, I am nae sure the Laird would like his betrothed in the dirt,” Fiona warned.
“Then I shall do it all the more,” Eloise teased. The group laughed.
“Here now,” Mairi said, grabbing Eloise’s hand and guiding her toward the rows.
Eloise hesitated only a moment before kneeling in the soil, the earth cool beneath her fingers.
“Like this?” she asked, glancing up uncertainly.
“Aye, that’s it,” Ewan said, nodding with approval. “Though ye’ve softer hands than most, ye’ll have to toughen them if ye mean to keep up.”
“I’ve done harder things than pull carrots,” Eloise replied lightly, though there was truth beneath the words.
Mairi glanced at her sharply, then softened, patting her shoulder. “Aye, I’ve nay doubt of that, lass,” she said.
The three of them worked together, though the bickering never truly ceased. Eloise found herself laughing again, the sound surprising even her as it came easily. For the first time since her arrival, her anxiousness eased, replaced by something lighter, almost safe.