Chapter 24
“Hold the reins like this, lass. Firm but gentle. The horse needs to ken ye’re in control.”
Francesca paused in the stable doorway, watching Declan lift Eloise onto the back of his most docile mare. The morning sun slanted through the high windows, illuminating the concentration on her daughter’s face as she gripped the leather straps.
“I’m doing it!” Eloise’s voice rang with pride.
“Aye, ye are.” Declan kept one hand on the horse’s bridle, the other hovering protectively near Eloise’s waist. “Now, when ye want her to walk forward, ye give a wee squeeze with yer legs. Gentle now.”
The mare took a slow step. Then another. Eloise’s squeal of delight echoed through the stable.
Francesca’s chest tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. Love, yes. But also something deeper—a sense of rightness, of pieces finally falling into place after a lifetime of feeling slightly out of alignment.
“Mama, look!” Eloise waved enthusiastically, nearly losing her grip on the reins.
“I see you, sweetheart!” Francesca moved closer. “You’re doing wonderfully.”
“Da says when I get better, I can ride by myself. Maybe even go on the border patrols with him one day.”
“Does he now?” Francesca raised an eyebrow at her husband.
Declan had the grace to look sheepish. “In many years. When she’s much older.”
“Many, many years,” Francesca emphasized, though she was smiling.
They spent the next hour in the stables, Declan teaching Eloise about caring for horses—how to brush them properly, check their hooves, and recognize signs of illness. Eloise absorbed every word, asking questions that ranged from practical to wildly imaginative.
“Could a horse swim across the loch?”
“Aye, they can swim, but I wouldnae recommend tryin’ it with this one. She’s nae fond of deep water.”
“What about carrying messages? Could I train Bluebell to carry messages like the birds do?”
Declan’s lips twitched. “Rabbits are nae quite as reliable as messenger birds, lass, but ye could try.”
Francesca leaned against a post, content to watch them together. This had become her favorite part of the day—these moments when Declan showed Eloise his world, patient and kind in ways she suspected surprised even him.
“Mama, are ye listening?” Eloise called.
“I am, darling.”
“Da says tomorrow he’ll show me how to tell if a horse is healthy just by lookin’ at its eyes and teeth. Isn’t that clever?”
“Very clever indeed.”
When they finally emerged from the stables, Eloise ran ahead to find Betsy, chattering about everything she’d learned. Declan fell into step beside Francesca, his hand finding hers as naturally as breathing.
“She’s happy,” Francesca said softly.
“Aye. She is.”
“You’ve given her that. Given us both that.” She squeezed his fingers. “Do you know how extraordinary you are?”
“I’m nae—”
“Yes, you are.” She stopped walking, turning to face him. “Three months ago, I was terrified. I thought I was bringing Eloise to a cold marriage with a distant man who would tolerate us at best. Instead, I found…” She gestured helplessly. “This. You. A real family.”
“Francesca—”
“Let me finish.” She touched his face, tracing the scar beneath his eye. “I never expected to feel at home anywhere again after Violet died. London certainly wasn’t home—it was a cage. But here, with you and Eloise, I finally understand what home means.”
He pulled her close, pressing his forehead to hers. “Ye’ve given me just as much, lass. Maybe more. Ye’ve shown me that strength and softness can coexist. That lovin’ someone doesnae make ye weak—it makes ye stronger.”
“We make each other stronger.”
“Aye.” He kissed her softly. “That we do.”
That evening, they put Eloise to bed together, a ritual that had become sacred to all three of them. Declan carried the sleepy child to her chamber.
Eloise’s eyes were already drifting closed. “I love you, Mama. I love you, Da.”
“We love ye too, lass,” Declan said softly. “More than anythin’ in this world.”
They stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her sleep, the kittens curled at her feet and Bluebell’s basket nearby.
“She’s ours,” Francesca whispered. “Truly, completely ours.”
“Aye.” Declan’s hand found the small of her back. “She is.”
They retreated to Declan’s chambers, their chamber—now theirs—closing the door on the world outside. Francesca turned to find Declan watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“What?” she asked.
“Just lookin’ at ye. Thinkin’ how lucky I am.”
“I’m the lucky one.”
“Nay.” He crossed to her, his hands settling on her waist. “I’m the man who gets to wake beside ye every mornin’. Who gets to watch ye with our daughter. Who gets to call ye mine.”
“Declan—”
He silenced her with a kiss, slow and deep and full of promise. His hands roamed her back, finding the laces of her gown with familiar ease.
“Let me love ye properly,” he murmured against her lips. “Nae rushed. Nae frantic. Just… slow. The way ye deserve.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”
They undressed each other with deliberate care, taking time to touch and taste and explore. When he lifted her onto their bed, she pulled him down to her, needing his weight, his warmth, the solid reality of him.
“I love ye,” he said, his hands tracing patterns on her skin. “Every day I love ye more, and I didnae think that was possible.”
“I know the feeling.” She arched into his touch. “You’ve become essential to me. Like breathing.”
He kissed her deeply, positioning himself between her thighs. “Tell me what ye need, lass.”
“More. More of you. ”
He entered her slowly, watching her face, memorizing every expression of pleasure. They moved together with a rhythm they’d learned over weeks of loving, bodies perfectly attuned to each other.
“God, ye feel perfect,” he groaned. “So perfect.”
She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him deeper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“Never.” He increased his pace, one hand sliding between them to touch her where they joined. “Come for me, love. Let me feel ye.”
Her release crashed over her, and she cried out his name, her body tightening around him. He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck as he found his own completion.
After, they lay tangled together, his head on her breast, her fingers trailing through his hair.
“I never knew it could be like this,” she whispered. “That I could feel this safe, this loved.”
“Neither did I.” He pressed a kiss to her skin. “But now that I ken it, I’ll never let it go. Never let ye go.”
“Promise?”
“On me life, lass. On me life.”
They drifted toward sleep, wrapped in each other and contentment. Francesca felt herself floating in that space between waking and dreams, perfectly happy, perfectly at peace.
Then her stomach lurched.
She went very still, recognizing the sensation from before—from when Violet had been pregnant. The subtle queasiness that had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with new life.
“Francesca?” Declan had felt her tense. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She forced herself to relax against him. “Nothing at all.”
But as she pressed her hand to her stomach, she knew. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.
Their family was about to grow once more.