Chapter 12
Francesca opened her eyes, stretched blissfully, and for one long moment she forgot where she was.
The only memories that lingered were of Declan.
The inn, the rain, Declan’s hands on her body, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that had left them both breathless, and how he had luxuriously satisfied her.
Her lips curved in a knowing smile. Last night had been… different. She had felt more emotionally connected to Declan than ever before. Sure, just when she thought it would go further, he had stopped abruptly, surprising her by telling her to sleep.
But, he had given her more than she could have ever hoped for, so she had decided not to press him. She just hoped to have returned some of the warmth she had felt.
“Thought ye’d sleep through half the morn’, lass. I was headed downstairs for some dram before we head back to the castle.”
Startled, she glanced up to see Declan standing near the hearth in their inn room, one hand braced on the mantel as if he’d been there for hours. She tilted her head, searching his face for some sign, some softness.
His expression was unreadable as usual, but his eyes lingered on her, running over her bare shoulders and arms, and his voice had a new note to it that stabilized Francesca.
“I was hopin’ we could continue from last night.” She could feel herself blush, but she forced her eyes to meet his. She needed to know if she had broken through his withdrawal last night.
One corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, but he said nothing more.
So, that’s how you intend to be?
Francesca drew a slow breath, sitting up and folding her arms across her chest. “So last night… it changes nothing, does it?”
Declan looked at her, his eyes now shuttered. “We’re married. That’s change enough.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she pressed, her hand flaying in frustration. “You act as though nothing happened.”
His mouth tightened. “Because what happened is what should happen between man and wife. It’s nae more complicated than that.”
Francesca blinked. Her gaze searched him, confusion taking over her thoughts.
Her voice shook. “Declan.”
He cut her off, turning, eyes hard though his chest ached. “Ye’ll heed what I said from the start. This is about duty. About the clan. Nae about love.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This… this cannae be more.”
Silence stretched, and Francesca tried to hide her pain.
She pulled the sheet tight around her, chin high, though she knew her eyes glistened.
With each word that came out of him, it felt as though he were slapping her.
“History cannae repeat itself, lass. I willnae make the same mistake as me parents.”
She gave a small, sad smile. “At least Eloise is safe. That’s all I ever wanted, that she’d be protected, no matter what becomes of me.”
Declan’s gaze flickered. “I can give ye me word on that. Both ye and the lassie are safe with me. But I must do what is expected of a laird. An heir. Alliances. The clan first, always. And nay distraction from duty.”
She held his eyes, refusing to let her voice falter. “We clearly want different things then. But I thank you for your generosity toward me and Eloise. If that’s all there is between us, then it will have to be enough.”
Something unreadable flashed across his face, but he only gave the smallest nod.
“Now come, lass. Let’s fetch yer kittens and head back before the entire village wonders if we are havin’ a second wedding night at this run-down inn.”
Francesca felt her face redden, but she slipped out of the bed and, turning her back to him. After a moment, she heard the sound of the door opening, then slamming shut. The fact that he walked out like that, without even a word, put a finality to their discussion that made her entire body sag.
She was downstairs in minutes and found the innkeeper serving Declan some tea. He put down the jug, pulling out the cats that were wriggling in his apron. “Ah, here they are, Me Lady. Hungry wee things, but lively as ever.”
Francesca’s eyes lit up. “Oh, look at them!” She reached out as he gently lowered the kittens into her shawl. They burrowed against the fabric, blinking up at her with wide, curious eyes.
“They’ll settle fine with ye,” the innkeeper said with a smile. “Near purred themselves to sleep in the cook’s arms last night, though the cook swears they’ve lungs like bairns.”
Francesca laughed softly, stroking the soft fur. “I don’t mind a bit of noise. Eloise will think them perfect.”
“Safe travels, Me Lady, Me Laird. The lassie will be pleased.”
“I’m certain she will,” Francesca said warmly, hugging the kittens closer. “Thank you for keeping them safe during the night.”
“’Twas no trouble.” The man bustled back inside, leaving them by the horses.
Declan shook his head as Francesca adjusted her shawl around the kittens. “Mark me words, lass, ye’ll regret carryin’ them like that in yer shawl.”
Francesca laughed. “Then I shall consider every scratch a badge of courage.”
They rode back in silence, Francesca once again seated in front of him on the stallion.
But while yesterday’s journey had been charged with anticipation, today’s was thick with unspoken words and carefully maintained distance.
He held her only as much as necessary to keep her safely in the saddle, his body rigid behind hers.
The moment they dismounted in the courtyard, Eloise came flying out of the castle doors, Betsy hurrying after her.
“You’re back! Oh, did you get them? Did you bring the kittens?” The child bounced on her toes, her face alight with hope.
“We did.” Francesca couldn’t help smiling at her enthusiasm, reaching into her shawl to lift out the grey kitten. “This is the bold one. And this—” she retrieved the orange tabby, “—is the gentle one.”
“They’re perfect!” Eloise took the kittens with reverent care, cradling them against her chest. Then, to everyone’s shock, she threw herself against Declan’s legs in an exuberant hug, squashing the kittens between them.
“Thank you, Laird MacGhee! Thank you for letting Aunt Francesca bring them home!”
Declan stood frozen, clearly unprepared for the child’s affection. His large hands hovered uncertainly over her golden head before settling awkwardly on her shoulders. “Ye’re welcome, lass.”
“I’m going to name the grey one Declan,” Eloise announced seriously, “because he’s brave and strong like you. And the orange one will be Bluebell’s friend, so she needs a Scottish name too. Maybe… Flora?”
“Flora’s a fine name,” Declan managed, and Francesca caught something that might have been tenderness flickering across his features before he shuttered it away.
Eloise gathered both kittens and rushed back toward the castle, calling for Krista to come see.
Francesca bit back a smile. “Declan the Brave. How does it feel to be immortalized in fur?”
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “If the beast scratches the furniture, I’ll have words with it.”
“Of course, you will,” she said sweetly. “How did she fare while we were gone?” Francesca turned to ask Betsy before the woman could disappear.
“She near wore herself out waitin’, Me Lady. Kept askin’ when ye’d return,” she started, “But she read her stories and played with Bluebell.” Betsy’s eyes sparkled. “She’s a credit to ye.”
“Thank you for watching her.”
“It was nay burden.” The maid curtsied, then bustled off toward Eloise’s direction.
Declan cleared his throat. “I have clan business to attend to. If ye’ll excuse me.”
And just like that, he strode toward his study, leaving her standing alone in the courtyard with the taste of disappointment sharp on her tongue.
What did you expect? You know what this marriage is.
But knowing and accepting were two very different things.
Declan shut the study door behind him with more force than necessary, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“Broodin’ again, cousin?”
Declan’s head snapped up to find Fraser leaning against the table, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised in obvious amusement.
“Ye’ve a habit of takin’ liberties with me furniture. And I’m nae broodin’. I’m here to work.” He gestured to the ledgers spread across his desk.
“Aye, and I’m the King of England,” Fraser said, dropping into the chair across from Declan with casual ease. “So, how was the village?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine? Ye left yesterday morning and didnae return until today. Surely more than ‘fine’ took place?”
Declan’s jaw tightened. “The storm delayed us. We stayed at the inn.”
“Ah.” Fraser’s grin widened. “The inn. How… convenient.”
“Daenae start.”
“Start what? I’m simply observin’ that me cousin and his new bride were forced to seek shelter together. In a private room. Durin’ a storm.” His dark eyes gleamed with mischief. “Nothin’ scandalous about that at all.”
“Fraser,” he growled.
“And now, ye’re hidin’ in yer study instead of spendin’ time with said bride. Who, I might add, looked rather happy when I passed her in the corridor. Almost as if somethin’ significant happened that ye’re both pretendin’ didnae.”
Declan slammed his palm down on the desk. “What do ye want me to say? That I lost control? That I broke every rule I set for this marriage? I’m losin’ focus, Fraser. I should be focused on the clan, but instead, I’m getting kittens for a child that is nae even mine.”
Fraser’s brows shot up. “Saints preserve us, ye’re a Da now.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed. “Mind yer tongue. She’s calling the kitten Declan,” he said abruptly. “Eloise. She named the damned cat after me.”
Fraser leaned forward, grin wicked. “All ye need is an heir, and ye and the Lady will be the picture of wedded bliss. Settlin’ into domestic life already.”
“Ye think this is a jest?” Declan’s tone cut sharply. “I lost control. Should’ve been thinkin’ of the clan, of alliances, of everythin’.”
“I’m a laird,” he continued, the words coming out harsher than intended. “I have a clan that depends on me to be strong, to make decisions based on logic and strategy. I cannae afford to care.” Declan pushed back from his desk, stalking to the window that overlooked the courtyard.
Below, he could see Francesca walking with Eloise, the child chattering excitedly about the kittens while his wife smiled down at her with obvious love.
“Ye’re already carin’,” Fraser said quietly from behind him. “Ye’re a laird, aye, but ye’re also a man. Keepin’ her at arm’s length will cost ye more than givin’ in.”
Declan clenched his fists, then bit out. “Everythin’ I do now, I’m thinkin’ about how it affects them. Her.”
“And that’s a problem because…”
“Because love destroyed me father!” The words exploded out of him, raw and painful.
“I watched him waste away after me mother died. Watched him become a shell of himself, useless to the clan, unable to lead because he couldnae bear livin’ without her.
He chose death over his responsibilities, over his people, over me. ”
Fraser was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentle but firm. “Yer father didnae die from lovin’ yer mother, Declan. He died because he never learned how to love and still remain strong.”
“There’s nae difference.”
“There’s all the difference in the world.” Fraser stood, moving to stand beside him at the window. “Look at them. Really look.”
Declan’s eyes found Francesca and Eloise again. The child had produced one of the kittens from somewhere, and Francesca was laughing as the tiny creature batted at her trailing sleeve.
“She makes ye want to be better,” Fraser continued. “I’ve seen it. The way ye gentle yer voice when ye speak to the wee one. The way ye defended them both at the ceilidh. The way ye look at yer wife.”
“I daenae.”
“Ye do. And keepin’ her at arm’s length willnae change that, cousin. It’ll only make ye both miserable.” Fraser clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“I willnae make me father’s mistake.”
“Then daenae. Care for her and remain strong. Protect her and still lead yer clan. Let her be yer partner instead of another burden to carry alone.” Fraser’s grip tightened.
“Or keep pushin’ her away and become the very thing ye fear, a man so isolated by duty that he has nothin’ left worth fightin’ for. ”
Declan stared down at Francesca, watching as she scooped up Eloise and spun her in a circle, both of them laughing with pure joy. Something in his chest cracked open at the sight, painful and raw and terrifying in its intensity.
Fraser’s laugh was warm. “Aye, cousin. Ye’re a father now, whether ye meant to be or not. Congratulations.”
He left before Declan could formulate a response, the door clicking shut with finality.
Declan returned his gaze to the window, to the woman and child who had somehow become the center of his carefully ordered world.
Fraser’s words echoed in his head, mixing with memories of last night, Francesca gasping his name, her nails digging into his shoulders, the way she’d looked at him afterward with something dangerously close to tenderness in her green eyes.
I told her it changed nothing. That it was merely duty.
But it had changed everything, and they both knew it. The question was whether he had the courage to admit it.