Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
How long before people find out we are lying?
Eloise sat by the window in her chamber. The castle beyond her walls was settling into its nightly rhythm, servants moving like quiet shadows, the distant echo of voices rising and fading. Yet her mind was not on the halls or the people within them. It was on James.
On the way he looked at her when he thought she was not watching. On the way his voice seemed to settle somewhere beneath her skin, lingering long after he spoke. She pressed her fingertips to her lips unconsciously, then frowned at herself.
“This is daft. He is nothin' to me. Merely a means to an end,” she muttered under her breath.
A knock sounded at the door, sharp enough to break her reverie. She straightened at once, smoothing her dress, her heart giving an unhelpful leap, expecting James.
“Enter,” she called, attempting calm, though her voice betrayed a flicker of anticipation she could not quite conceal.
The door opened, and Fiona stepped inside rather than James. Eloise’s shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly.
Fiona held a folded letter in her hands. “This just came for ye, Miss,” she said.
Eloise blinked, then took it quickly, her fingers brushing the parchment as though it might reveal its contents by touch alone.
“Thank ye, Fiona,” she said softly.
Fiona nodded and left without further word, closing the door behind her.
Eloise turned the letter over in her hands, expectation rising again, this time not for James, but for her father. Her breath caught slightly as she broke the seal, her mind already preparing for duty, apology, or reprimand.
Yet as she unfolded the parchment, the handwriting was lively. Recognition hit her a heartbeat later, and a smile broke across her face before she could stop it.
“Beatrice,” she whispered with clear relief.
Dearest Eloise,
When ye had vanished from the river without word, I thought I would lose me mind entirely. I should have ken better than to let ye wander off. Ye should have confided in me, of all people. I can be trusted with such things, ye ken that well enough.
But I must admit, I am glad to hear ye are safe, and more than that, engaged. Laird MacAllister? I can hardly believe it, but I am thrilled for ye. And frankly, anything is better than that old Laird Drummond.
Ye must write to me at once and tell me everything. Do not keep me waiting too long, Eloise. Write in return.
Yers always,
Beatrice
Eloise let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, her hand pressing lightly to her chest. Relief washed through her in a quiet wave, loosening something that had been tight within her since she arrived at Calibroch.
“Of all people,” she murmured, a faint laugh escaping her lips. Beatrice’s tone, so familiar and sharp-edged in affection, felt like a tether to something real.
She moved toward her writing desk, already forming replies in her mind, when another knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Miss,” a servant called from the corridor. “Supper is served in the great hall.”
Eloise straightened, folding the letter carefully.
“Aye, I’ll be there,” she replied, smoothing her dress and tucking the letter aside. As she prepared herself, she caught her reflection in the small mirror, noting the faint flush still lingering on her cheeks.
“Compose yerself,” she told her reflection firmly. “It’s only supper.” Yet even as she said it, her thoughts betrayed her, drifting once again to James and the unpredictable pull of his presence. With a final breath, she left her chamber.
The great hall was alive with warmth and noise.
The long tables were filled with food, roasted meats, steaming vegetables, fresh bread, and bowls of thick stew.
The MacAllister clan filled the space with conversation and laughter, their voices overlapping in a familiar rhythm of kinship and routine.
Eloise paused at the entrance for only a moment before stepping inside, her presence drawing brief glances that quickly softened into welcome. She made her way through the hall, finding her place at the high table beside James.
He was already seated when she arrived, leaning back slightly as though he had been waiting longer than necessary. His gaze lifted as she sat, and for a brief moment, neither spoke.
“Ye’re late,” he said at last, though there was no true reprimand in it.
Eloise raised a brow as she adjusted her chair. “Am I?” she replied lightly. “Or are ye simply early and impatient?”
A faint smirk touched his mouth. “Perhaps both,” he admitted.
Then, with deliberate calm, he slid a plate toward Eloise. She looked down at it and immediately frowned.
“Vegetables, only,” James did not look apologetic in the slightest. “Thought I’d help ye survive longer.”
Eloise turned her head slowly toward him. “Ye mean to tease me for me compassion toward the wee beasts,” she asked. “Or are ye simply enjoying yerself a bit too much?”
James leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “I’m suggesting ye’ve been meddlin’ in snares again,” he said. “Figured I’d start ye on the simpler prey first.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I will continue to do it.”
He studied her for a moment, then took a bite of his own food, roasted venison, as if entirely unbothered.
“Ye’re consistent, I’ll give ye that,” he said. “Consistently stubborn.”
Eloise huffed softly. “And ye’re consistently infuriating.”
“Yet here ye still are,” he said simply. “Sittin’ beside me, so I must nae be all that infuriating.”
Eloise shifted slightly, breaking the moment with a pointed glance at his plate. “If I had known yer definition of courting included starvation tactics, I might have reconsidered,” she said.
James let out a low chuckle. “Courting?” he echoed. “Is that what ye think this is?”
She hesitated, then recovered quickly. “Nay, of course not. I think it’s ye enjoyin’ yerself at me expense.”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly. “Or perhaps I’m still tryin’ to figure ye out.”
The hall around them continued its noise, though Eloise felt strangely aware of the space between them, of every glance and word.
She picked at the vegetables with exaggerated reluctance, though she did not refuse them. She felt James watched her for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to his own meal.
The next day, Eloise found James in the outer corridor near the armory, where the stone walls were lined with weapons and the air smelled faintly of smoke and iron.
He stood speaking with two guards, his posture rigid, his voice low and commanding as he issued instructions that made both men straighten at once.
She paused at the end of the hall, watching him for a brief moment before he noticed her presence.
His gaze shifted immediately, sharp and assessing, as though he had already decided what trouble she might bring.
James stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “I daenae want ye out in the woods. Word has spread throughout the lands that ye are here. Daenae wander the grounds without escort again,” he said.
Eloise crossed her arms, unimpressed. “I’m nae a prisoner,” she said. “I can walk where I please.”
“Ye can when I say it’s safe,” he corrected firmly. “This castle has walls for a reason.”
She let out a small, sharp breath. “And I suppose I should simply obey every rule ye decide to set for me?” she asked.
“Aye, that was the agreement. Did ye forget already?” he said.
Eloise blinked, then scoffed. “But…” she said.
James stepped closer again, cutting her off. “Nay arguments, lass,” he said. “Ye’re under me protection, and ye’ll act like it.”
Her eyes flashed. “Protection is nae ownership,” she snapped. “Ye cannae simply decide me every movement.”
He held her gaze unflinchingly. “I can when it keeps ye alive,” he said.
Eloise shook her head slightly. “Ye speak as though I’m incapable of judgin' danger for meself. Did ye forget I walked through the woods on me own from me own home?” she asked.
James exhaled slowly. “I speak as someone who knows this land better than ye ever will,” he replied. “And who will nae watch ye put yerself in harm’s way out of pride.”
She stepped back slightly, her expression hardening. “It is nae pride,” she said. “It is choice. Ye simply daenae want me loosenin' the snares.”
“That is beside the point,” he said.
Eloise let out a humorless laugh. “I daenae believe it,” she said. “Ye’re insufferable when ye speak to me like this,” she said.
James did not look away. “And ye’re reckless when ye ignore me,” he said.
That was enough. Eloise huffed sharply, turning on her heel. “I willnae stand here bein’ lectured like a child,” she said over her shoulder. “Nae by ye, and nae by anyone in this castle.”
She began walking down the corridor without waiting for a reply. James called after her once, her name firm and controlled, but she did not stop. Her footsteps echoed against the stone.
How dare he. And how dare me heart pound so fast.
Eloise's anger had cooled, but it left behind something sharper and more confusing.
The memory of his voice still lingered, commanding, certain, as though her choices were already accounted for in his decisions.
Yet he had also spoken of protection, of keeping her safe from Laird Drummond, a man whose name still sent a faint unease through her.
He insisted on this arrangement so that I may be free of Laird Drummond, yet he acts as though I belong to him. I have freedom but under his control.
That contradiction sat heavily on her mind, twisting her thoughts in ways she could not easily unravel.
“He cannae be both freedom and control,” she muttered under her breath.
She found Fiona in one of the weaving rooms, where women sat in rows working wool into thick, warm fabric. The air was filled with the soft rhythm of spinning wheels and the quiet hum of conversation, a domestic peace that felt distant from Eloise’s restless thoughts.
Fiona looked up in surprise as she entered. “Miss Eloise? I didnae expect ye here,” she said, setting her spindle aside.
Eloise hesitated only a moment before stepping inside. “Would ye like to walk with me?” she asked simply.
Fiona blinked, then smiled. “A walk? Aye, of course.”
They left the weaving room together, stepping out into the castle gardens where the air was cooler and open. Flowers bent gently in the breeze, and bees drifted lazily between the blooms.
“Why are we nae walkin' in the forest today?” she asked.
“Because the Laird forbids it,” she said bluntly.
Fiona frowned slightly. “Forbids it?” she repeated.
Eloise nodded. “He says I put meself in danger wanderin' without a guard as escort.”
Fiona considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Aye, well… that is true enough,” she said.
Eloise shot her a look. “I can take care of meself,” she replied firmly.
Fiona smiled faintly, though there was something dreamy in her expression. “That may be so,” she said lightly, “but it’s rather lovely, is it nae? The Laird thinkin' so much of yer safety.”
Eloise blinked, caught off guard by the softness in her tone. “It isnae about love,” she said quickly.
“I didnae say love, I said lovely,” she said. “He’s only protectin’ ye, his bride and all.”
The word “bride” landed oddly, like something placed in the wrong room. Eloise felt heat rise to her cheeks.
For a brief moment, she almost told her the truth. That the engagement was not real in the way Fiona believed. That it was protection, yes, but also strategy, necessity, and something far more tangled than affection. The words rose to her lips, but she swallowed them before they could escape.
Instead, Eloise looked away toward the flowers. “Aye,” she said quietly, forcing the word into place like a mask. “Somethin' like that.”
Fiona smiled warmly, entirely unaware of the fracture beneath Eloise’s calm expression.
“Ye’ll see,” she said softly. “Men like that daenae make such effort unless it means somethin’.”
Eloise let out a faint, humorless breath. “Or unless they think they have the right to,” she murmured, though Fiona did not hear her clearly.
They continued walking through the gardens, but Eloise’s thoughts no longer rested on the flowers or the sun. They circled instead around James, around the way he commanded, the way he protected, and the unsettling possibility that both might feel the same from where he stood.
I wonder if Fiona's version of the truth might be easier to live with than the actual truth.