Chapter 7 #2
“This is a mistake, being together like this,” she whispered, though she did not move away.
“Aye,” he agreed, his voice thick with desire.
The moment stretched, fragile and charged, before he exhaled sharply and stepped back, breaking it himself.
“We’ve strayed from the point,” he said.
“What do ye mean by that?” she said.
James looked at her. His eyes moved to her lips, down to neck, and the creamy skin of her bosom as her chest heaved.
“I willnae say what I’m truly thinkin', for I have me honor,” he said.
He turned and marched out of the room.
This is wrong. I must nae be alone with her. I daenae ken how long I can restrain meself.
The next day, he met with the council. James sat at the long table in the stone chamber, though the voices around him felt distant, as if carried through water. Maps and ledgers lay spread before the lairds and councilmen, but his attention drifted again and again to Eloise.
He hated the way she intruded on his thoughts so easily now, uninvited and persistent.
Gregory’s voice cut through the haze, sharp enough to pull him back into the present.
“We were blindsided by this sudden betrothal,” the councilman said, leaning forward with clear displeasure. “An unknown woman brought into the heart of Calibroch without proper consultation.”
“She is nae unknown,” James said firmly, his voice calm but edged. He straightened slightly, forcing focus into his words. “She is the daughter of Alistair Whitmore, a wealthy landowner with influence beyond these glens.”
A few councilmen exchanged glances, though Gregory did not relent. “That may be,” Gregory replied, folding his hands. “But what we mean is… she is unknown to us. Unknown to this clan. Unknown in what she brings beyond a name.”
James exhaled slowly through his nose, irritation building beneath his restraint. “She brings enough for me,” he said.
Gregory raised a brow. “Does she?” he asked.
The question lingered, and James forced himself not to react.
Gregory leaned back slightly. “What about Mairead, then?” he said, his tone careful but deliberate.
The name struck James, Mairead Cameron. Daughter of Laird Cameron, an ally clan. She was fostered at Calibroch since childhood under an agreement between their fathers, she had grown within these very walls beside him and Jenny. He had known her longer than most of the men in this room.
Gregory watched him closely. “It was always assumed ye would marry Mairead,” he continued. “The woman has waited patiently for so long.”
James’s fingers curled slightly against the table edge. “There was never any formal agreement between us,” he said at last, his voice quieter but firm. “The notion I would marry her was built on expectations between our families, nae on any vow I made.”
Gregory’s mouth tightened. “Expectations can be as binding as vows in the eyes of clans,” he said.
James met his gaze directly. “Nae to me,” he replied. The room grew stiller at that, the weight of his words settling across the table.
Gregory let out a slow breath. “Then she will be disappointed,” he said. “And we daenae ken how Cameron will react.”
“Leave it to me,” James said.
Gregory studied him for a long moment before responding. “Ye say that as though it solves the matter,” he said.
James’s expression did not change. “It does,” he replied simply. A few councilmen exchanged uneasy glances, but none spoke.
James felt the shift immediately, like a hardening knot beneath his ribs. He had not allowed himself to think too far ahead beyond Eloise, beyond the necessity of keeping her safe from Drummond’s reach. Now another thread pulled itself into the weave, one he could not ignore, Mairead.
“And what will ye say to her?” Gregory asked.
For a moment, James did not answer. His thoughts flickered unbidden, Mairead as a child running through these halls, Mairead sitting beside Jenny by the hearth, Mairead looking at him once with something steady and unspoken that he had never chosen to acknowledge.
He pushed the memory aside with effort. “The truth. It is all I will offer,” he replied.
The councilman nodded slowly, though his expression remained tight. “And the Camerons?” he pressed. “They will expect what they’ve always expected.”
James rose slightly from his seat, resting one hand on the table as he looked around the room. “Then I will speak to them as well,” he said. “I will not hide behind promises I never made.”
A murmur rippled through the council, though none dared openly challenge him.
Gregory watched him carefully. “Ye are certain this betrothal to Whitmore’s daughter is the path ye will stand by? It is nae too late to call it off,” he said.
James hesitated only briefly, though the answer felt more complicated than he wished to admit.
Eloise’s face rose unbidden in his mind, the way she argued, the way she refused to bend easily, the way she looked at him as though she saw more than he wanted revealed.
Then the fact that this was all a false betrothal and would not hold beyond the four weeks.
He pushed the thought down. “Aye,” he said finally. “Eloise is the chosen bride.”
For the first time, James wondered not how to control the situation, but whether it was already beginning to control him.
Gregory said one last statement. “Mairead is with her family now,” he said. “But she is due to return to Calibroch… and soon.”