Chapter 16
“Enter.”
Declan had made it precisely three steps into his study when the knock came. Soft, hesitant, utterly unlike the confident raps of his men or the efficient taps of his staff.
The door cracked open, and a small blonde head peeked through, followed by white ears and a twitching nose.
“Laird MacGhee?” Eloise’s voice was small, testing. “Are you very busy?”
“Aye, I am.” He gestured to the papers scattered across his desk. “These accounts willnae balance themselves.”
“Oh.” Her face fell, but she didn’t retreat. “It’s just that Betsy is looking for me, and I really don’t want a bath tonight. I had one yesterday.”
“Yesterday was two days ago, lass.”
“Was it?” She edged further into the room. Bluebell clutched against her chest. “It felt like yesterday.”
Declan recognized a delaying tactic when he saw one. “Baths are important. Keeps ye healthy.”
“But Bluebell hasn’t had a bath in weeks, and he’s perfectly healthy.” She took another step closer. “And he smells much better than me, so really, what’s the point?”
Despite himself, his lips twitched. “The point is that ye’re nae a rabbit. Ye’re a wee lass who needs to practice proper hygiene.”
“That’s a very long word.” Another step. “What does it mean?”
“It means—” He broke off as she climbed onto his lap without invitation, settling herself and her rabbit like she belonged there. “Eloise.”
“Yes?” She blinked up at him with those green eyes, the picture of innocence.
“I’m workin’.”
“I know. I’ll be very quiet. You won’t even know I’m here.” She arranged Bluebell more comfortably in her arms. “See? Bluebell is being quiet too.”
Declan looked down at the child now occupying his lap and at the rabbit that was indeed being remarkably still, and he felt something in his chest do an uncomfortable flip.
When did this happen?
“Ye’re a terror, ye know that?”
“Fraser says I’m delightful.”
“Fraser is wrong about many things.”
“But not about you being the best stone skipper.” She shifted to look up at him more fully. “That was true. I counted.”
“Aye, well.” He tried to sound stern and failed. “Stone skippin’ is important. Baths are important too.”
“Can I stay just a little while? Until the water gets cold, so I don’t have to take one?”
“That’s nae how it works, lassie.”
“Please?” She settled more firmly against his chest. “I promise I’ll be quiet. I’ll even help with your work. I’m very good at numbers.”
“Are ye now?”
“Mmm. I can count all the way to one hundred. And I know my letters. I could read some of these papers for you.”
Before he could respond, another knock sounded, this one more forceful.
“Come in.”
Francesca opened the door, slightly breathless, her hair coming loose from its pins. She took in the scene—Eloise curled in his lap, Bluebell dozing in her arms, Declan’s hand resting on the child’s shoulder—and froze.
“There you are.” Her voice was carefully neutral. “Betsy has been looking everywhere for you, darling.”
“I was helping Laird MacGhee with his work,” Eloise announced without shame. “Very important clan business.”
“Is that so?” Francesca’s lips twitched. “And what clan business requires a rabbit?”
“All the best clan business requires rabbits. Everyone knows that.”
“I see.” Francesca moved into the room, and Declan felt his awareness sharpen.
She smelled of lavender and something sweet, honey, maybe, from tea.
Her day dress was wrinkled from the ride, and there was still dirt on her hem from the riverbank.
She looked beautiful and tired and utterly devastating.
“Eloise,” he said quietly. “Ye should go with yer aunt. The bath water will be cold soon.”
“But.”
“No buts. Off with ye.” He lifted her gently, setting her on her feet. “And take that rabbit before he makes a mess on me papers.”
Francesca crouched to meet the child’s eyes. “You know better, darling. Baths are not optional.”
Eloise pouted then turned to Declan, clutching Bluebell tighter, clearly gearing up for protest, but something in his expression must have convinced her. “Goodnight, Laird MacGhee.” She gave a solemn little wave before trudging toward the door, rabbit in tow, and then she stopped.
“Will you read to me tonight? After my bath?”
The request caught him off guard. His tone was deliberately flat when he responded. “I cannae.”
“Please? Aunt Francesca always reads to me, and maybe you could? Just once?”
He looked at Francesca helplessly, but she just smiled, offering no rescue. “That’s up to Laird MacGhee, darling.”
“Aye,” he heard himself say. “I’ll read to ye. After yer bath.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Eloise beamed, then threw her free arm around his leg in a quick hug before scampering back toward the door. “Thank you! You’re the best!” She paused in the doorway. “Come on, Aunt Francesca. You can help Betsy make sure I scrub behind my ears.”
“I’ll be right there, sweetheart.”
The door closed behind Eloise, leaving them alone. Francesca stood in the middle of his study, worrying that bottom lip again in a way that made him want to cross the room and kiss her senseless.
“I apologize for the interruption.” Her fingers twisted together. “She’s gotten quite attached to you.”
“It’s fine. There’s nay need to apologize.” He remained behind his desk, not trusting himself to get closer. “She’s a good lassie.”
“She is.” Francesca took a step toward him, then stopped. “Thank you. For being kind to her. For letting her sit with you even when you’re busy. It means more than you know.”
The praise made him uncomfortable. Her words hung between them, heavy with implication.
“Francesca.”
“I should go.” She turned toward the door too quickly, clearing her throat. “I’d better make sure Eloise goes to her chamber and not to another hiding place.”
Another beat of loaded silence, then she was gone, leaving him alone with his accounts and the lingering scent of lavender and the uncomfortable realization that he’d just promised to read bedtime stories.
But as he returned to his desk and the boring monotony of numbers, he couldn’t quite regret it. The weight of Eloise in his lap had felt right. The look in Francesca’s eyes had made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.
And maybe, just maybe, Fraser was right. Maybe the real weakness wasn’t in letting himself care. Maybe it was in fighting so hard against the inevitable.
Francesca found Betsy scrubbing Eloise in the copper tub, the child protesting every moment while Bluebell watched from a safe distance.
“I’m here,” Francesca announced. “How bad is it?”
“She’s threatened to run away three times and compared bathin’ to medieval torture twice.” Betsy’s tone was exasperated but fond. “Other than that, perfectly well.”
“I wasn’t threatening,” Eloise protested as Betsy scrubbed at her hair and poured water to rinse off the soap. “I was simply stating facts. People died from too much bathing in medieval times.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“Fraser told me. He knows everything about medieval times.”
“Fraser,” Francesca muttered, “is a terrible influence.”
“He’s wonderful!” Eloise’s indignation was immediate. “He tells the best stories. And he said Laird MacGhee used to hate baths too when he was little.”
“Did he now?”
“Mmm. Said his mother had to chase him around the castle to get him in the tub.” Eloise giggled at the mental image. “Can you imagine? Laird MacGhee being little and naughty? And dirty?”
“All finished!” Betsy announced, pulling the girl out of the tub and wrapping Eloise in a towel. “Now that wasnae so terrible, was it?”
“It was moderately terrible.” But Eloise was grinning.
“Let me get you ready for bed. Come, lass,” Betsy said, leading her away.
Francesca watched them go with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion, then turned to find Krista waiting with fresh linens draped over her arm.
“I’ve drawn yer bath as well, Me Lady. The water’s nice and hot.”
“Thank you, Krista.” Francesca followed the maid into her chamber, where steam rose invitingly from the copper tub. “You’re very efficient.”
“Aye, well, we try to keep things running smooth around here.” Krista began laying out towels and soap. “Though I’ll admit, it’s been busier since ye arrived. More laundry with the wee lass and her animals tracking mud everywhere.”
“I apologize for the extra work.”
“Daenae apologize! It’s good to have life in these halls again. The castle was too quiet before ye came.” Krista helped her out of her dress with practiced efficiency. “Too much silence makes a place feel like a tomb instead of a home.”
Francesca sank into the hot water with a grateful sigh, feeling the day’s tension begin to ease from her muscles. “Was it always so quiet?” Francesca asked, curious about what life had been like before her arrival.
Krista’s hands stilled for a moment, her expression turning somber.”
“Aye, for years now. Ever since the Laird’s mother passed—God rest her soul—there’s been nae laughter in these walls. The Laird, he shut himself away after that. Wouldnae have gatherings, wouldnae allow music or merriment. Just him and his ledgers and his duties, day after day.”
“How sad,” Francesca whispered.
“It was worse than sad, Me Lady. It was like watching a man turn himself to stone.” Krista resumed unlacing the dress.
“The servants, we’d speak in whispers. The great hall sat empty most nights.
Even the ceilidhs stopped—and those were a tradition going back generations.
The whole castle felt… haunted, though not by ghosts—by grief that had nowhere to go. ”
She pulled the dress free. “But now? Now there’s a wee lass running through the corridors, kittens underfoot, and the sound of yer voice reading stories in the evenings.
The cook’s started humming again while she works.
Fraser’s been organizing games for the children in the village.
Even the Laird—” She paused, a knowing smile crossing her face.
“Even the Laird laughs sometimes now when he thinks no one’s listening. ”