Chapter 15
“Can we go to the riverbank today? Please?”
Eloise bounced on her toes at breakfast, her eyes bright with the kind of enthusiasm only a nine-year-old could muster before dawn had fully broken. Declan looked up from his porridge to find both her and Francesca watching him expectantly.
“The riverbank?” He set down his spoon carefully. “Why the riverbank?”
“Fraser said there are smooth stones perfect for skipping.” She clasped her hands together in supplication.
“Fraser exaggerates.”
Francesca smoothed the child’s hair, laughing. “Eloise, we can’t trouble the Laird with such requests every morning.”
Eloise whirled, eyes wide, fixing Declan with the full force of her plea. “Please, Laird MacGhee? You ride so fast, you could take us there and back before Betsy even sets the bread to rise!”
Declan arched a brow at Francesca. “Ye’ve raised a persuasive bairn.”
“She was born that way,” Francesca replied dryly.
“So, you’ll come?” Eloise pressed, undeterred by his deflection. “And Aunt Francesca, too? It could be a family outing!”
The word family hung in the air between them. Declan’s eyes met Francesca’s across the table, and something passed between them, a question, perhaps, or an acknowledgment of how thoroughly this child had woven herself into both their lives.
Declan folded his arms, feigning sternness. “I’ve a hundred things to see to, lassie.”
Her face fell.
“But,” he added, relenting at once, “the river willnae wait. Fetch yer cloak.”
“Really?” Eloise’s face lit up like sunrise. “Oh, thank you! This is going to be so much fun! Can Bluebell come too?”
“Rabbits daenae ride horses, lass.”
“But what if he gets lonely?”
“He has two kittens to keep him company now. I think he’ll survive a few hours without ye.”
Eloise squealed, darting off down the corridor.
Francesca gave him a look, half exasperation, half soft. “You do realize you’ve just lost the morning.”
“Well, at least it is going to be an interesting morning.”
The ride out was easy, the path wide and green beneath the summer sky. Fraser joined them halfway, his horse thundering up with his usual grin.
“Couldnae resist a ride,” he called, trotting alongside.
“Fraser!” Eloise shouted with excitement. “We are going to the riverbank; are you coming too?”
“I am, wee one.”
Eloise sat in front of Francesca on her mare, chattering excitedly about stones and rivers and whether fish could see above water, Fraser telling her more outlandish tales about legendary stone skippers.
“—and they say old Malcolm MacGhee once skipped a stone clear across Loch Ness. Bounced seventeen times before sinkin’.”
“Seventeen!” Eloise’s eyes went wide. “That’s impossible!”
“Nothin’s impossible in the Highlands, wee one.” Fraser winked. “Magic lives in these hills.”
“Is that true, Laird MacGhee? Is there magic here?”
Declan found himself looking at Francesca when he answered. “Some would say so, lass. Though I think the real magic is in believin’ it’s possible.”
Something flickered across Francesca’s face—surprise, maybe, or pleasure at his unusually poetic response. She’d been subdued all morning, speaking to him with careful politeness that felt like a wall between them.
Before Fraser could retort, a rider appeared from the bend in the road, waving frantically. “Captain Fraser!” the messenger called, reining in sharply, “there’s need of ye at the castle, urgent word from yer men.”
Fraser groaned. “Of course, there is. Just when the day promised to be pleasant.”
“Well, this is where I leave ye.” Fraser pulled his horse to a stop. “Enjoy yer family outin’, cousin.” He was already turning his horse away, but not before Declan caught the knowing smirk on his face.
The three of them continued down the path in silence after Fraser’s departure.
Declan was acutely aware of Francesca riding beside him, the way sunlight caught the gold in her hair, how she held Eloise with easy confidence.
She looked beautiful today. She always looked beautiful, but there was something about seeing her like this, away from the castle’s formality, that made his chest tight.
The riverbank, when they reached it, was exactly as Eloise had described, smooth stones scattered along the water’s edge, perfect for skipping. She was off her horse before Francesca had fully dismounted, running toward the water with a child’s abandon.
“Careful!” Francesca called. “Stay where we can see you!”
“I will!”
Declan dismounted and moved to help Francesca down, his hands settling on her waist. For a moment, they stood frozen, his hands still on her, her hands resting on his shoulders. The contact was brief, necessary, utterly innocent.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping back quickly. Too quickly.
They settled on a flat rock overlooking the water while Eloise immediately began gathering stones. Francesca arranged her skirts with careful precision, maintaining a proper distance between them. The silence stretched, not quite comfortable but not hostile either.
“She’s happy here,” Francesca said finally, watching Eloise examine stones with intense concentration. “Happier than I’ve seen her since… since before.”
“Aye. Highland air agrees with her.”
Francesca’s cheeks colored prettily. “I see the kittens have fully taken over your castle. Betsy found one sleeping in your study yesterday.”
“I’m aware.” He tried to sound stern and failed. “Little grey demon knocked over an entire inkwell chasin’ a dust mote.”
“The one Eloise named after you?” Her lips twitched. “How fitting.”
“Ye find that amusin’?”
“A bit.” Now, she was definitely smiling. “There’s something poetic about Declan the kitten causing chaos in Declan the Laird’s study.”
“Poetic isnae the word I’d use.”
“What word would you use?”
“Disruptive. Proof that I’ve lost all control over me own household.” But he felt his own lips curving in a smile despite himself. “Though I suppose there are worse things.”
“Such as?”
“Havin’ a wife who thinks she’s clever.”
“I don’t think I’m clever.” She turned to face him fully, eyes dancing with mischief he hadn’t seen in days. “I know I am.”
This felt good. Natural. Like something they’d been doing for years instead of weeks. Like maybe they could be more than two people bound by duty and inconvenient desire.
“Laird MacGhee!” Eloise’s voice carried across the water. “I keep trying, but the stones just plop into the water!”
“Can I join you?”
“Yes, if you’ll teach me.”
Declan stood, offering Francesca his hand without thinking. She hesitated only a moment before taking it, letting him pull her to her feet. They made their way to where Eloise stood, surrounded by a pile of rejected stones.
“The problem,” Declan said, crouching beside her, “is yer stones are too round. Ye need flat ones. Like this.” He demonstrated, selecting a smooth, flat stone from her pile. “And yer grip is wrong. Here, let me show ye.”
He positioned himself behind her, guiding her small hand into the correct grip. “Now, ye want to throw it parallel to the water. Nae up, but across. Like this.”
He helped her release the stone, and they watched it skip once, twice, three times before sinking.
“I did it!” Eloise shrieked. “Did you see? Three times!”
“I saw.” He couldn’t help grinning at her enthusiasm. “Try again. See if ye can beat it.”
For the next hour, he worked with her, teaching her the subtle art of stone skipping while Francesca watched from their rock.
Each time Eloise managed more skips, her delighted laughter echoed across the water.
And each time Declan glanced back at Francesca, he found her watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite name.
“Your turn,” Eloise finally declared, handing him a perfectly flat stone. “Show us how it’s really done.”
“Is that a challenge, lassie?”
“Maybe.” She grinned up at him. “Fraser says you once got fifteen skips. I want to see if it’s true.”
Declan weighed the stone in his hand, aware of both Eloise and Francesca watching him. He wound up and released, watching the stone dance across the water’s surface. One, two, three, four... the skips blurred together until finally it sank near the far shore.
“Twelve!” Eloise counted excitedly. “That was twelve skips! You’re amazing!”
“Not fifteen,” he pointed out, but he was pleased despite himself.
“Close enough.” She picked a wildflower from the riverbank and held it up to him with solemn ceremony. “I crown you the best stone skipper in all of Scotland. You have to wear this, so everyone knows.”
“Eloise.”
“You have to! It’s the rules!”
He looked at Francesca helplessly, but she was laughing too hard to rescue him. “I believe you’ve been coronated, My Laird. Best accept your crown with grace.”
Sighing, Declan bent down so Eloise could tuck the flower behind his ear. Her small fingers were gentle, her face scrunched in concentration as she positioned it just so.
“There! Now you look proper noble.” She stepped back to admire her handiwork, then giggled. “Aunt Francesca, isn’t he handsome?”
“Very handsome,” Francesca agreed, and something in her voice made Declan’s pulse quicken. “Quite the Highland warrior with his flower crown.”
“Mock all ye want,” he said, straightening, “but I earned this crown through superior skill and athleticism.”
“Superior modesty too, apparently.”
“That goes without sayin’.”
Their eyes met across the space between them, and for a moment, the teasing faded into something deeper. Something that made his breath catch and his carefully maintained control start to crumble.
“We should head back,” he said roughly, breaking the moment before it could become something more. “It’ll be dark soon.”
The ride back was quieter; Eloise was tired from her exertions and half-dozing against Francesca. Declan rode slightly ahead, trying not to think about how right this felt, the three of them together, away from the castle and its expectations, just… a family.