Chapter 20
The old kirk rose against the twilight sky like a skeletal finger pointing accusingly at heaven. Francesca’s hands trembled on the reins as they approached, every nerve screaming that this was wrong, dangerous, a trap they were walking into with open eyes.
“Easy,” Declan murmured beside her, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Steady, lass. We’re nae alone out here.”
She knew that. Knew Fraser and his men were hidden in the surrounding rocks and trees, watching, waiting. But knowing and feeling safe were two different things entirely.
The clearing before the kirk was empty, save for shadows lengthening in the fading light. Francesca’s eyes searched desperately for any sign of Eloise but saw nothing.
“They’re here,” Declan said quietly. “I can feel them watchin’.”
As if summoned by his words, a figure emerged from behind the kirk’s crumbling wall. Small. Blonde. Blindfolded.
“Eloise!” Francesca’s voice cracked on her daughter’s name.
The child’s head turned toward the sound, and even from this distance, Francesca could see her trembling. A rope bound her hands, and she stumbled slightly as someone pushed her forward into the clearing.
“Daenae move.” Declan’s hand shot out, gripping Francesca’s arm hard enough to bruise. “Nae yet. Wait.”
Every instinct screamed at her to run to Eloise, to grab her daughter and flee. But she forced herself to remain still, to trust Declan’s judgment even as her heart shattered at the sight of Eloise standing alone and frightened in the dying light.
Another figure stepped from the shadows, cloaked and hooded. Taller than Eloise. Female, based on the silhouette. She moved with practiced grace, positioning herself behind Eloise with one hand resting possessively on the child’s shoulder.
“I see you brought company.” The voice that emerged from beneath the hood was cultured, English, achingly familiar. “I specifically said to come alone.”
Francesca’s blood turned to ice. No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.
“Show yerself,” Declan commanded, his voice carrying across the clearing with absolute authority. “Show me the child is unharmed, and we’ll discuss yer ransom.”
“Will we?” A hand reached up, pushing back the hood. Golden hair tumbled free, catching the last rays of sunlight. Green eyes, the same shade as Francesca’s own, surveyed them with cold amusement. “I think we’ll discuss it on my terms, Laird MacGhee.”
“Violet.” The name escaped Francesca as a whisper, disbelief and horror warring in her chest. “But you’re dead. You died. The carriage accident.”
“Was remarkably easy to stage as it turns out.” Violet’s smile was sharp as broken glass. “Amazing what a substantial bribe can accomplish. The driver was quite willing to claim we were both in the carriage when it overturned.”
“You faked your own death?” Francesca couldn’t process it, couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. Her sister—her twin—alive after a year of mourning. “But why? Why would you do that?”
“Because I needed to disappear, obviously.” Violet’s hand tightened on Eloise’s shoulder, making the child whimper. “Leonard was becoming suspicious about his business accounts. Questions were being asked. It seemed simpler to eliminate both problems at once.”
“You killed your husband.” It wasn’t a question.
“I arranged for his carriage to have an unfortunate accident. The fact that it also allowed me to disappear was simply convenient planning.” Violet’s expression showed no remorse, no guilt.
“Though I must thank you, sister dear. Taking Eloise in saved me the trouble of ensuring she ended up somewhere I could reach her.”
“She’s your daughter!” The words burst from Francesca, anguished and furious. “How could you abandon her? How could you do this to your own child?”
“Easily.” Violet’s voice was ice. “She was always more burden than blessing. A reminder of my mistake in marrying Leonard in the first place. I thought having an heir would secure my position, but all she did was trap me further.”
Eloise made a small, broken sound. Even blindfolded, even young as she was, she understood enough to know her own mother was calling her a burden.
“Enough.” Declan’s voice cut through the clearing like a blade. “Ye want money? Name yer price and release the child.”
“Five hundred gold coins.” Violet’s smile widened at their sharp inhalations. “Enough to set myself up comfortably on the continent. Far from England and prying questions about dead husbands.”
“That’s a fortune,” Fraser said from where he’d moved to flank them. “And ye think we’ll just hand it over?”
“I think you will if you want the brat back unharmed.” Violet’s free hand moved to her cloak, emerging with a dirk that caught the fading light.
She pressed the blade to Eloise’s throat, making the child freeze in terror.
“Though I confess, I’m not entirely sure why you’d bother.
She’s not even your blood, is she, Laird MacGhee?
And besides, I easily seduced a guard to have access to the castle and Eloise.
Some people agree with my sense of reasoning. “
“Remove that blade from her throat.” Declan’s voice had gone deadly quiet, more terrifying than any shout. “Now.”
“Or what? You’ll charge me with your men?” Violet’s laugh was brittle. “I saw them hiding in the rocks. Did you think me blind? The moment anyone moves, this blade cuts deep. Is that what you want? The child’s blood on your hands?”
Francesca’s mind raced, desperate for some way to fix this. Violet had always been clever, calculating. She’d planned this too well, positioned herself too perfectly. Any move they made would end with Eloise hurt or worse.
Unless.
“Let me go to her.” The words came out steadier than Francesca felt. “Take me as collateral while we arrange the ransom. Just let Eloise go.”
“Francesca, nay.” Declan’s hand tightened on her arm.
“Please.” She turned to face him, letting him see the desperation in her eyes. “She’s terrified. Let me at least comfort her while we negotiate.”
Violet’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “How touching. The devoted mother willing to sacrifice herself. Though we both know you’re not really her mother, are you, Francesca? You’re just playing at it.”
“I’m more her mother than you ever were.” Francesca dismounted before Declan could stop her, taking slow steps toward her sister. “You abandoned her. Left her to believe she was orphaned. How could you do that to your own child?”
“Because she was never mine in any way that mattered.” Violet’s voice held no warmth, no recognition of the bond that should exist between mother and daughter. “She was a means to an end that ceased being useful when Leonard became more liability than asset.”
“So, you killed him and left her alone.” Francesca moved closer, hands spread to show she was unarmed. “Your own daughter.”
“She was never alone. She had you.” Violet’s smile turned cruel. “Dear sweet Francesca, who always wanted to be a mother. I gave you what you wanted most, didn’t I? A child to coddle and fuss over.”
“You gave me the most precious gift in the world.” Francesca’s voice dropped to something soft and fierce. “You gave me Eloise. And I will die before I let you hurt her.”
“How noble.” Violet’s dirk pressed harder against Eloise’s throat, making the child gasp. “But nobility doesn’t pay passage to France, does it?”
“Neither does a dead hostage.” Declan had moved his horse forward, his presence radiating controlled violence. “Ye harm that child, and there’s nowhere ye can run that I willnae find ye. Understand this, I will hunt ye to the ends of the earth and make ye wish ye’d never been born.”
“Such passion for another man’s bastard.”
“She’s mine.” The words came out with absolute finality. “That child is mine in every way that matters. And ye’re going to release her now.”
“Am I?” Violet’s eyes glittered with malicious amusement. “And if I don’t? If I decide a dead daughter is worth more than a living one? The scandal alone would destroy what’s left of the Watson name. Our father would pay handsomely to keep that quiet.”
She was going to do it. Francesca could see it in her sister’s eyes, the cold calculation of someone weighing options and finding murder acceptable. Violet had already killed once. What was one more death?
“Take me instead.” Francesca took another step forward, now within arm’s reach.
“Why would I trade a child for you?” Violet’s laugh was harsh. “Children are so much more effective for inspiring guilt and compliance.”
“Because I’m worth more.” Francesca forced her voice steady even as her heart hammered. “Father would pay more for me than for a grandchild he barely acknowledges. And I won’t fight you. I’ll come willingly if you just let her go.”
She was close enough now to see Eloise’s tear-stained cheeks below the blindfold, close enough to see her daughter trembling. Close enough to act if she could just distract Violet for one crucial moment.
“Francesca.” Declan’s warning growl told her he’d guessed her intention.
“Please, Violet.” She let tears into her voice, let her sister see her desperation. “She’s your daughter. Whatever you think of her, whatever mistakes you made, she’s innocent in this. Let her go.”
“Touching.” But Violet’s grip on the dirk wavered slightly, her attention divided between Francesca and the men positioned around the clearing. “But I think…”
Francesca lunged.
It wasn’t graceful or practiced. Pure maternal instinct drove her forward, hands reaching for Eloise even as Violet’s blade flashed toward her. She caught Eloise around the waist, spinning to put her own body between the child and the weapon.
“Run!” she screamed at Eloise, shoving her toward where Fraser had already started moving. “Run!”
The dirk sliced across her shoulder, white-hot pain searing through her. But Eloise was moving, stumbling in her blindfold, but moving away from Violet. Fraser caught her, sweeping the child up and away from danger.
Then Violet was on her, fury twisting her beautiful face into something ugly. “You stupid bitch! You’ve ruined everything!”
They fell together, hitting the ground hard enough to drive the air from Francesca’s lungs. Violet’s dirk came down again, and Francesca caught her wrist, straining against her sister’s strength as the blade inched closer to her throat.
“You always had to be the hero,” Violet hissed, spittle flying from her lips. “Always had to be perfect, beloved Francesca. Well, let’s see how perfect you look with your throat cut.”
A roar of pure rage, and suddenly, Violet’s weight was gone. Declan had her by the throat, lifting her like she weighed nothing. His grey eyes had gone black with fury, his face a mask of lethal intent.
“Ye dare.” Each word was measured, deadly. “Ye dare touch me wife.”
Violet clawed at his hand, gasping for air. Her dirk slashed wildly, catching Declan’s arm. He didn’t even flinch, just tightened his grip.
“Declan, don’t—” Francesca tried to sit up, pain lancing through her shoulder.
But Violet made one final, desperate lunge, dirk aimed at Declan’s throat. He moved with fluid grace, turning the blade back toward her with inexorable strength. The weapon found its mark, sliding between ribs with a sound Francesca would hear in nightmares for years to come.
Violet’s eyes went wide with shock. “You bastard.”
He released her, and she crumpled to the ground, the dirk still embedded in her side. Blood spread across the dirt in a dark stain as her breathing turned shallow and rapid.
“Eloise,” Francesca gasped, turning from the horror before her. She ran toward Fraser, who was already lowering the trembling child into her arms.
“It’s all right, darling,” she whispered, wrapping Eloise close, shielding her from the sight behind her. “It’s over. You’re safe now. It’s over.”
“Mama?” Eloise’s small voice cut through the shocked silence. “Mama, are you hurt?”
“No, baby.”
Her knees buckled, shock and blood loss catching up with her. Declan caught her before she could fall, his arms locking around her with desperate strength.
“I’ve got ye.” His voice was rough, shaken. “Christ, I’ve got ye.”
Their foreheads pressed together, both of them breathing hard. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her against him like she was precious, breakable, his.
“Eloise is safe now.” His grey eyes met hers, blazing with emotion he’d kept locked away for so long. “We did it, lass. We brought her home.”
Eloise was struggling to be in their middle, and they didn’t even know when she got there, reaching for them with desperate hands. “I knew you’d come! I told the bad lady you’d come for me!”
Declan released Francesca carefully, making sure she was steady before moving to take the child in her arms. She burst into tears, her small body shaking with sobs.
“I was so scared,” she hiccupped against his shoulder. “But I knew, I knew you’d find me. Both of you.”
“Always.” Declan’s voice was fierce as he held her tight. “We’ll always find ye, lass. Always protect ye. That’s what parents do.”
Francesca moved to them, wrapping her arms around them both despite the pain in her shoulder. They stood together in the gathering darkness—blood-stained, exhausted, traumatized—but together.
A family forged in fire and sealed in blood.
“Let’s go home,” Francesca whispered.
“Aye.” Declan’s arm came around her waist, supporting her weight. “Let’s take our daughter home.”
And as Fraser organized the men to deal with Violet’s body and gather evidence, the three of them stood in the shadow of the old kirk, holding each other like they’d never let go.