Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
James stood at the edge of the courtyard, beneath the stone arch as he watched her move through the morning bustle. Eloise knelt beside a small cluster of children, her skirts gathered as she listened intently to their chatter, her laughter light and unguarded.
One of the boys tugged at her sleeve, and she feigned shock at whatever tale he told, drawing a chorus of giggles.
“Och, ye’ll be the death of me with such stories,” she said, tapping his nose gently.
The sight should have meant little to him, yet he found himself watching longer than he intended. There was an ease to her here, a natural warmth that did not feel practiced or false. It unsettled him.
I must stop watchin' her. She is nae truly mine.
He turned and walked away, yet later, when he saw her near the kitchens, a small basket balanced in her hands as she passed out fresh bread to the servants.
“Ye’ve worked harder than any of us this morn,” she told one of the maids, pressing an extra piece into her hands.
Mairi stood nearby, arms crossed, though her expression betrayed a fondness she tried to hide.
“If ye keep givin’ away me bread, lass, there’ll be none left for supper,” she grumbled.
Eloise turned to her with a teasing smile. “Then I'll simply have to help ye bake more,” she replied lightly.
Mairi snorted, though the corner of her mouth lifted.
James watched it all from a distance, arms folded, his gaze narrowing slightly as he took it in.
She moved through the castle as though she had always belonged, her presence settling easily among his people.
There was no force to it, no command, only quiet attention, small kindnesses, and a willingness to listen.
And they responded in kind, their wariness softening, their respect growing with each passing day.
“Miss Eloise will be a fine Lady MacAllister,” he overheard one of the older women say.
“Aye,” another agreed, “the laird chose well.” The words struck him harder than they should have.
He turned away then, as unease settled deep within him.
They believe it. They believe this lie as though it were truth.
His gaze drifted back to her, just in time to see her rise from where she stood, brushing flour from her hands as she laughed at something Mairi said.
And she makes it easy for them to believe.
He had meant this to be temporary, controlled, contained, but already it had begun to slip beyond that.
“I’ll be lettin’ them down,” he muttered under his breath. Yet even as the guilt pressed in, another truth stood firm.
Better that than send her back to Drummond. I'd die before allowing that.
By midday, he had taken to the forest with Callum, the familiar weight of bow and blade offering some measure of clarity. The quiet there suited him, the world stripped down to what could be seen, tracked, and understood.
“Ye’ve been broodin’ more than usual,” Callum remarked, glancing over at him as they walked.
James huffed softly. “I’ve reason enough,” he replied.
Callum smirked faintly. “Aye, I’ve eyes, I’ve seen her too,” he said.
James shot him a look. “Daenae start,” he warned.
Callum only chuckled. “What is there to brood over. Ye have a bonnie lass ready to be yer wife. 'Tis a blessing.”
James didn't answer. The farce was taking its toll and he didn't want to lie to his right-hand man.
They came upon the first snare not long after, and James slowed, his brow furrowing slightly.
“That’s nay right,” he said, crouching to examine it. The cord had been loosened, the mechanism disturbed but not fully dismantled.
“It’s been tampered with,” Callum said, stepping closer.
James nodded once, his fingers brushing over the altered knot. “Aye, but not ruined,” he added. “Just enough to let whatever was caught slip free.”
Callum tilted his head. “Strange thing to do,” he said. “Who would bother?”
James straightened slowly, his gaze shifting back toward the castle. “I’ve a guess,” he said.
Callum’s brow lifted. “Do ye now?” he asked, amusement already creeping into his tone.
James did not answer at once, though his expression spoke plainly enough.
Callum let out a short laugh. “Yer betrothed?” he said, grinning openly. “A woman. Aye, that sounds about right.”
James exhaled sharply. “It’s nae somethin’ to laugh at,” he said. “She’s interferin’ with what keeps this place runnin’.”
Callum shrugged lightly. “Or she’s doin’ what comes natural to her,” he countered.
James glanced at him, irritation flickering. “And what would that be?” he asked.
Callum gestured vaguely toward the snare. “Showin’ a bit of mercy,” he said simply.
“This is nae about mercy, 'tis about survival. She must learn that,” James said.
Callum nodded. “Aye, and she’s survived well enough so far, has she nae?”
They moved on, though James’s thoughts remained tangled. “She’ll cause trouble if she keeps this up,” he said after a moment.
Callum glanced at him sidelong. “Or she’ll change a few things for the better,” he replied.
James scoffed softly. “Ye sound like the rest of them, the household love her,” he muttered.
Callum grinned. “And I cannae say I blame them.”
Callum said nothing more, though the knowing look did not leave his face. They walked on in silence, the forest closing around them once again. Yet even there, in the stillness he had once trusted, James found no peace from the truth pressing in.
The snares were loosening, the people were changing, and somewhere in the midst of it all, so was he.
James leaned against the mantle in the solar, one arm braced against the stone as the fire cast a low, flickering glow across the room. He had meant for this to be a simple conversation, controlled and measured, yet his thoughts refused to settle.
Keep yerself together, man. She is but a lass.
The door opened with a soft creak, and he straightened slightly as a servant ushered Eloise inside.
His breath caught before he could stop it.
The gown she wore dipped low at the neckline, the soft curve of her figure accentuated by the tight draw of the bodice, her form both elegant and impossible to ignore.
His gaze lingered a moment too long on her bosom, before he forced it upward, meeting her eyes instead.
“Ye summoned me, me Laird,” she said.
“Aye,” he replied, his voice lower than intended as he pushed himself away from the mantle. “I thought we might take supper here, quiet, away from pryin’ eyes.”
She arched a brow slightly, stepping further into the room. “And why would that be necessary?” she asked.
He gestured vaguely toward the table set near the fire. “Because nae everythin’ needs to be for the clan to witness,” he said.
She gave a small nod. “Very well,” she said, though her tone suggested she was far from convinced. They took their seats across from one another, as servants set a feast before them.
As they ate, James looked at her, ready to ask her something that had been on his mind.
“Ye’ve been meddlin’ in me snares,” James said at last, his voice calm but direct.
Eloise stilled, though she did not look away. “I have,” she admitted plainly.
“And ye thought it wise to interfere with what feeds this castle?” he asked.
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “I thought it cruel to leave creatures sufferin’ when I could prevent it,” she replied.
He leaned forward slightly, his expression sharpening. “It’s nae cruelty,” he said. “It’s necessity.”
Eloise’s eyes flashed faintly. “Aye, and I understand necessity,” she countered. “Do ye think I daenae ken what it means to do what is necessary to survive?”
He held her gaze, “Then ye should ken better than to undo what keeps others alive,” he said.
She leaned forward in turn, “And ye should ken that survival without compassion is nay better than cruelty itself.”
James exhaled slowly, forcing his temper back into check. “Every snare I set feeds this clan,” he said, more measured now. “Every catch means one less child goin' hungry.”
Eloise’s expression softened, though she did not yield. “And every creature left to suffer means somethin' lost in the process,” she said quietly.
He shook his head. “Ye see it too simply,” he muttered.
She gave a faint, humorless smile. “And ye see it too harshly,” she replied.
They fell quiet again, though the tension between them did not ease. “Where did ye learn such stubbornness?” he asked after a moment.
Eloise let out a small breath. “From a life that gave me little choice, and from carrying guilt,” she said.
He studied her more closely then, something in her answer striking deeper than expected. “Aye,” he said quietly, “I ken that well enough.”
Their gazes held, and for the first time, there was no challenge in it, only understanding.
“Ye carry guilt?” she asked suddenly, her voice careful but certain.
He stilled at that. “We all do,” he replied.
Something shifted then. James rose slowly, moving around the table without breaking her gaze.
“And what caused such a feelin'?” she asked.
His gaze darkened, though there was no anger in it now. “Careful, lass, ye daenae command answers from me,” he murmured, his voice low.
“Why?” she challenged. “Will ye silence me for being curious about me future husband?” she teased.
He stepped closer, close enough that the heat between them felt undeniable. “Nay,” he said quietly. “I am nae yer husband and we would both be better to remember that.”
Her breath caught, “I only jest,” she whispered.
For a moment, neither moved. His hand lifted, hesitating just short of her arm, as though testing a boundary he had sworn not to cross. His eyes locked onto hers. It held there for a quiet moment.
What does she want from me?
“Do ye test me,” he said, his voice rougher now.
“Do ye attempt to infuriate me?” she replied.
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. “A dangerous combination of questions,” he said.
“And yet ye invited me to dine with ye, alone,” she said softly.
“Aye,” he admitted. “I did.” The distance between them seemed to vanish entirely, the argument dissolving into something far more uncertain.