Chapter 5
“The child cannae be allowed to run wild.”
Declan’s voice was low, meant only for her, and close. Too close. It shattered the contentment Francesca felt as she watched Eloise play with Bluebell among the bushes, and the hope she had allowed herself to feel when her future husband had actually pet the bunny.
She should have known better. Now he’d probably make up a new rule: ‘Noone should ever invite me to pet cute creatures again.’ If her situation wasn’t so dire she might have laughed at her thoughts.
Now, she shivered. She turned around from where she sat on the stone bench to find him looming over her from behind.
His lips had been too close to her ear, but now he stood up straight, his expression stern as he watched the little girl chase the rabbit in circles.
“That is hardly running wild,” Francesca replied, rising to her feet and facing him with as much dignity as she could muster. “Eloise is playing. Something she has had little opportunity to do in recent months.”
“This is not some English garden party,” he said, his grey eyes fixing on her with that familiar intensity. “Highland children learn discipline early. They must be strong.”
Heat flared in Francesca’s chest at his dismissive tone. “And you believe playing with a rabbit will somehow weaken her character?”
“I believe coddlin’ her will ill-prepare her for the realities of life here.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, making himself appear even more imposing. “She needs structure. Rules. Not indulgence.”
“Structure?” Francesca stepped closer, her own temper beginning to rise.
“She is nine years old, My Laird. Nine. She has lost both her parents, been torn from everything familiar, and been brought to a foreign land where nothing is as she has ever known it. If a small rabbit brings her comfort, then I fail to see the harm.”
Something flickered across his features, but his expression remained implacable. “Comfort is a luxury here, Me Lady. The sooner she learns that, the better.”
“She is a child who has lost everything!” The words burst out of her with more force than her bearing would usually allow, and her voice carried across the garden. “She deserves kindness, not constant reminders of how harsh the world can be.”
Declan’s jaw tightened, and she could see a muscle tick beneath that intriguing scar. “The world is harsh whether we remind her or not. Better she learns to face it with strength than cling to false comforts.”
“And better she learns that strength and compassion are not enemies,” Francesca shot back, her chin lifting with the same defiance that had once made her mother despair. “That caring for something vulnerable does not make one weak.”
For a long moment, they stared at each other across the space between them, the air crackling with tension. She could see something working behind his eyes, some internal struggle she could not quite decipher. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less firm.
“She is yer responsibility, Francesca. But she lives under me roof now, and she will learn Highland ways.”
Before Francesca could form a response, a small voice broke the tension.
“My Lord?”
They both turned to find Eloise standing a few feet away, Bluebell cradled carefully in her small arms. Her green eyes, so like Francesca’s own, were wide with uncertainty as she looked between the two adults.
“I am sorry if I was being too loud,” she said in her careful, polite way. “I did not mean to disturb you.”
Francesca’s heart clenched at the formality in the child’s voice, the way she seemed to shrink in on herself when faced with adult displeasure.
This was what constant criticism did to children. It made them afraid of their own joy.
Declan’s expression shifted, and some of the hardness left his features as he looked down at Eloise. “Ye werenae disturbin’ anythin’, lassie.”
Eloise brightened slightly at his gentler tone. “Lassie. Is that my name in Scotland?”
Francesca watched Declan as he considered how best to respond to the little girl.
“Nay. Lassie means ye are a little girl to be protected.”
“Oh, I see. Like the way Aunt Francesca takes care of me.” She held the rabbit up, “Would you… Would you like to hold Bluebell again? He seemed to enjoy it when you petted him before.”
The question hung in the air between them. Francesca watched as Declan hesitated, clearly torn between maintaining his stern principles and something softer that the child’s innocent offer had awakened. She held her breath, waiting to see which side of him would win.
He did not say no.
That small omission spoke volumes. After a moment that stretched like eternity, Declan lowered himself to one knee, bringing himself closer to Eloise’s height. His large hands reached out to accept the small rabbit.
“There now,” he said quietly, his Highland burr soft as he cradled Bluebell against his chest. “He is a fine wee creature, is he nae?”
“Oh yes,” Eloise breathed, her face lighting up with delight. “And Aunt Francesca says he will help me feel at home here. Do you think that is true?”
“I think,” Declan said carefully, his eyes meeting Francesca’s briefly over the child’s head, “that sometimes the smallest things can bring the greatest comfort.”
So the mighty Highland Laird could scold her but would be gentle with a lonely child. That was good. Maybe her betrothed was not as bad as he wanted to seem.
“Will you teach me about Highland rabbits?” Eloise asked eagerly. “I want to take proper care of him.”
“Aye, if ye wish it.” There was something almost surprised in his voice, as if he had not expected to agree. “Highland creatures are hardy, but they need care and attention to thrive. Just like little bairns.”
Francesca allowed herself to smile.
“Just like you, sweetheart.”
“Hey, I’m no little, Aunt Francesca! Why would you say that? What will the big Highland Lord think!” Eloise pouted, embarrassed, and Francesca couldn’t contain her laughter.
“I see lassies in yer family are all very stubborn.” Declan said, giving the bunny back to Eloise. His voice was less icy than usual, and when Francesca turned to him, she could see the amusement on his face.
She lifted one eyebrow. “Will that be a problem?”
“We’ll see.”
He nodded to them both and left without another word.
“Do you think we made him mad? Is it something I did?”
Francesca turned to Eloise, stroking her hair. “Of course not, sweetheart. But this situation is a big change for him as well. We must all be a little patient.”
“Right. And he can’t be that bad if he petted Bluebell. Bad people don’t like small animals. Or…small people like me.”
Francesca smiled. She didn’t reply anything. She could only hope Eloise was right. For all of their sakes.
Later that afternoon, as the shadows began to lengthen across the castle grounds, Francesca returned to her chambers with Betsy and Krista, the maid that had led her to the study the previous day, to prepare her for the evening meal.
The confrontation with Declan had left her emotionally drained, but in the hours that followed she found herself thinking mostly of the tender moments between him and Eloise.
“Ye handled yerself well in the garden today, Me Lady,” Betsy said as she helped Francesca out of her day dress. “The Laird is nae accustomed to havin’ his word questioned.”
Krista, who was laying out a fresh gown, snorted softly. “Aye, and it’s about time someone did. Our laird carries the problems of the entire clan on his shoulders and sometimes forgets to just breathe.”
“Problems?” Francesca paused in washing her hands at the basin. “What do you mean?”
The two maids exchanged a meaningful look before Betsy continued, “The MacGhee clan has faced hard times these past few years, Me Lady. Poor harvests, cattle raids from rival clans, and pressure from the English authorities. The people look to their laird for everything from protection to prosperity and even wise guidance.”
“And they expect him to be strong at all times,” Krista added, shaking out the skirts of an evening dress. “Nay weakness, nay hesitation. They want stability, heirs to secure the future, and a leader who never falters.”
Francesca felt a pang of understanding as she absorbed this information. No wonder Declan seemed so guarded, so determined to maintain emotional distance. The burden of so many lives depending on his strength would be crushing for any man.
“He’s never married before?” she asked as Betsy began helping her into the fresh gown.
“Nay, Me Lady. There was talk of matches over the years, but…” Betsy’s voice trailed off delicately.
“But what?”
“The Laird has never seemed inclined toward tender feelings,” Krista said bluntly. “Too focused on duty, some say. Others whisper that he fears havin’ any family that enemies might exploit.”
As the maids worked to arrange her hair, Francesca found herself sharing more than she had intended. “Eloise is not truly my daughter, you know. She is my twin sister’s child.”
Both women paused in their ministrations. “We wondered, Me Lady,” Betsy said gently. “But it matters nae to us. Love makes a family, nae blood.”
“Violet and I were very close when we were young,” Francesca continued, surprised by how much she wanted to talk about it.
“We did everything together, shared all our secrets. But as we grew older, she became… different. Bitter. I suppose a place like London, where every little thing you do is under scrutiny, does that to a person.”
“What happened to her?” Krista asked softly.
“A carriage accident along with her husband. Poor Eloise was left alone, and my parents wanted to send her away.” Francesca’s voice caught slightly. “I could not bear the thought of her growing up feeling unwanted and unloved.”
“So ye took her as yer own,” Betsy said with warm approval. “That was brave of ye, Me Lady.”