Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Eloise woke the next morning with a restless energy she could not name, as though her thoughts had grown too heavy to sit still inside her.
The castle felt too small for the swirl of emotion that followed her from room to room, and so she chose motion instead of reflection.
If she could not quiet her mind, she would occupy her hands until exhaustion left her no room to think.
“Keep yerself useful,” she murmured under her breath as she descended the stairs toward the kitchens.
Yet even as she said it, she knew exactly what she was avoiding. James lingered in every pause, every silence, every moment she allowed herself to stand still. She got dressed and made her way through the castle.
Servants bowed to her and the kindness only made her feel sick.
I betray them. We both do. It is nae right. But what am I to do?
She pushed the thought out of her mind and decided she needed good old fashion hard work to keep her occupied. Since she couldn't go into the forest without bringing James' temper onto her, she would find something to do inside the castle.
She entered the kitchen. The scullery maids bustled about. Mairi greeted her with surprise and warmth.
“Well, what’s brought ye down here, Miss?” she asked, arms crossed as she eyed Eloise suspiciously.
Eloise rolled up her sleeves without hesitation. “Teach me somethin',” she said simply.
Mairi blinked. “Teach ye what, Miss?” she asked. “I daenae ken what ye mean.”
Eloise nodded toward the counter. “Whatever it is ye’re doin’ that makes the whole castle smell like comfort. I want to learn. I hate feelin' useless.”
Mairi snorted, but there was approval in her eyes. “A fruit pie then,” she decided. “But daenae blame me if it turns out more burn than bake.”
Eloise worked beside her, learning quickly as flour dusted her hands and sleeves.
“Ye press the dough like this,” Mairi instructed, guiding her hands with surprising gentleness. “Nay too hard, or ye’ll anger it.”
Eloise frowned slightly. “Dough doesnae get angry,” she said.
Mairi laughed. “Aye? Tell that to a ruined crust.”
As they worked, Eloise found a strange comfort in the rhythm of it, measuring, mixing, folding.
“Ye’re nae bad at this,” Mairi admitted after a while.
Eloise smirked faintly. “I’ve been told I’ve many hidden talents.”
When she left the kitchen later, the scent of baked fruit clung to her clothes as she wandered toward the weaving hall. The women there greeted her with mild surprise, but no hesitation.
“Ye’re back again?” one of them asked.
Eloise nodded. “I’ve learned to bake a pie, and now I would like to learn the weavin',” she said simply.
A few of them chuckled as they handed her a spindle and showed her how to work the wool.
“Slow hands,” one instructed. “Patience is what makes the thread strong.”
Eloise listened, though patience was not something she had ever been naturally gifted. Still, she tried. Still, she stayed.
By midday she found herself outside with Ewan in the gardens, where the earth was damp and rich beneath her boots.
He handed her a small spade without ceremony. “Weeds daenae care who ye are,” he said gruffly. “They grow anyway.”
Eloise crouched beside him, pulling stubborn roots from the soil. “Sounds familiar,” she murmured.
Ewan grunted in agreement, though he did not ask what she meant. They worked in silence for a time, broken only by the sound of birds and the distant rhythm of castle life.
“Ye’ve a steady hand,” he said at last.
Eloise glanced up. “It’s the only steady thing I’ve had lately,” she replied before she could stop herself.
Yet even as she moved from task to task, she knew it was all distraction.
Flour, wool, soil, none of it was enough to keep her thoughts from drifting back to James.
His voice, his presence, the way he commanded space without effort.
She would catch herself pausing mid-motion, only to realize she had been thinking of him again.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath as she brushed dirt from her hands. But it continued anyway, persistent as breath.
Later, as she crossed the outer yard to return inside, she saw him.
James stood near the stables, speaking to a group of guards, his posture rigid with authority.
His voice carried clearly across the courtyard. “Double the patrol on the east ridge,” he ordered. “Nay gaps in the watch. I want reports every two hours.”
One of the guards nodded quickly. “Aye, me Laird,” he replied.
James continued without hesitation. “And if ye see movement in the lower treeline, ye bring it to me, nay exceptions.”
The men dispersed immediately, moving with practiced urgency.
James turned toward a waiting horse, adjusting the straps of his saddle with efficient movements. Eloise stopped walking without realizing it, watching from the edge of the yard. There was something about the way he moved, controlled, certain, as though the world bent slightly around his decisions.
He swung himself into the saddle with ease, gathering the reins in one hand.
“Ride out!” he called to the remaining riders beside him. “And daenae return without eyes on every path!”
The riders spurred forward. The horse surged beneath him, powerful and fast. Wind caught his cloak as he rode out through the gates, disappearing toward the treeline with unwavering purpose.
Eloise’s breath caught in her throat before she could stop it. It was not just command she saw, it was certainty and dominance shaped into motion. And despite everything she told herself, despite every argument and frustration between them, her heart fluttered at the sight of him.
She stood there long after he vanished from view, realizing only then that no amount of work, distraction, or distance would keep him out of her thoughts for long.
God help me. Why does this man have such a hold on me?
Eloise folded cloth she had helped weave in her bedchamber, when the door opened without warning. She turned sharply, irritation already rising, and found James stepping inside.
“Ye daenae knock?” she demanded placing her hands on her hips.
James closed the door behind him with calm indifference. “I daenae need to,” he said simply. “This is me castle.”
“It is me room,” she corrected.
James did not react to her tone, only stepped further inside with measured pace. His eyes were already on her, assessing, unreadable. “I heard ye received a letter,” he said.
Eloise blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “Aye, I did,” she answered carefully. There was something in his voice that made her cautious.
James held out his hand. “Give it to me.” The command was immediate, unsoftened.
Eloise stared at him in disbelief. “Why?” she asked sharply.
His expression did not change. “Because I said so.” A quiet tension filled the room, thick and rising.
Eloise shook her head once. “Nay.”
James took one slow step closer. “Our agreement,” he said, voice lowering, “is that ye will do as I say. Now hand it over.”
Eloise lifted her chin, refusing to retreat. “Aye, I agreed to that but nae to sharing me personal possessions,” she shot back, “nae to be commanded like property.”
James’s gaze sharpened at that, but he did not raise his voice. “I must ken all correspondence,” he replied. “That is how safety is kept in me world.”
Eloise let out a breath of frustration. “I deserve privacy,” she said firmly.
For a moment, neither moved. Then James spoke again, quieter but more dangerous. “Either give it to me,” he said, “or I will turn this room upside down until I find it.”
Eloise’s eyes widened slightly. “Ye wouldnae dare,” she said, though uncertainty flickered beneath her defiance. James did not answer. Instead, he turned and walked straight to her desk.
Eloise followed him instantly, outrage building. “Stop,” she said, voice rising. “Ye have nay right.”
James ignored her and began opening drawers with controlled precision. “Ye think I will trust what I cannae see?” he asked.
Eloise stepped closer. “Ye think ye can just take whatever ye want?” she snapped. “That is exactly what I am starting to believe about ye.”
Then he pulled out the letter. “This?” he asked.
Eloise’s stomach tightened. “It is nothin',” she said quickly.
“Who is it from? A secret lover?” he growled.
She gasped. “What? How can ye say such a thing?”
“A woman that looks like ye is bound to have admirers. Is that why ye truly ran from yer engagement from Drummond? Because there is another?” he sneered.
“Ye wound me with yer accusations, Laird. It is from me cousin, Beatrice.”
James unfolded the letter. Eloise’s breath caught.
He read silently. The room felt impossibly still as his eyes moved across the page. Eloise watched him, her chest rising up and down as she breathed heavily.
Finally, he lowered it slightly. The hardness in his expression softened, just barely.
He exhaled once. “I see,” he said quietly. Then he placed it back on the desk without comment.
Eloise stared at him. “Do ye?” she asked, voice sharper now. “Because from where I stand, I have simply exchanged one controllin' Laird for another.”
James’s head lifted immediately. “Nay,” he said firmly. “Ye will nae say that.”
Eloise took a step toward him. “Why nae?” she challenged. “Ye break into me room, demand me letters, threaten me space, accuse me of treachery. How is that different?”
“Because I would never treat ye like Drummond would,” he said. “Never.”
Eloise shook her head. “Ye expect me to believe that when ye command me as though I have nay will?”
James stepped closer again, voice lowering. “I command ye because I am trying to keep ye away from that vile man.”
Eloise’s breath hitched. “What about me choices? Me decency?”
James looked at her differently then, no longer just controlled, but strained.
“Ye daenae understand what ye stir in this place… in me,” he said.
“Then explain it to me.”
James reached for her then, not carefully but with sudden urgency, pulling her into him. He pressed his lips against hers. She felt her knees go weak almost instantly.
The kiss came like breaking restraint. It was intense, overwhelming. Days of silence, arguments, tension collapsing into contact.
Eloise froze for only a heartbeat before she responded, just as fiercely, her hands gripping his shirt as though anchoring herself. Her first kiss, and it felt nothing like she had imagined. It felt like being pulled into a storm she had already been standing inside.
Her thoughts scattered completely. She felt the force of him, the control that had always angered her now twisting into something she could not deny.
Desire rose sharp and unguarded, confusing and consuming.
For a brief moment, she thought she might surrender, not to fear, but to him.
To the way he held her like she mattered too much to let go.
Her hands tightened against him, answering without permission.
I am undone.
A soft moan escaped her mouth. James pulled back abruptly.
The loss of him was immediate, almost painful. Eloise swayed slightly, breath uneven, lips still tingling with shock and want.
James stepped back as though he had been burned, jaw tight, eyes dark with conflict.
“Nay,” he said harshly, not to her, but to himself. His hand dragged once through his hair, frustration breaking through his control.
“This…” he muttered, voice strained, “this is exactly what I cannae allow.”
Eloise stared at him, stunned and shaken. “James…” she began, but he cut her off by stepping further away.
“I am nae protecting ye if I let this continue,” he said sharply. “I am trappin' ye.”
The words landed heavier than the kiss. His expression hardened again, discipline snapping back into place like armor.
“Forget this happened,” he said, though his voice was rougher now, less certain.
Eloise’s mind ached painfully. “Forget it?” she repeated, disbelieving.
But James had already turned away, reasserting distance with rigid control.
“This arrangement is about safety,” he said coldly. “Nothin’ more.”
The warmth between them evaporated too quickly, leaving only confusion in its place.
James stepped toward the door. He paused there, hand on the frame, without looking back. “Ye will keep yer letters private from now on,” he said. “And I will nae enter yer rooms without knockin' again. I will nae trouble ye again.” Then he left, shutting the door with finality.
Eloise remained standing in the silence he left behind, trembling slightly, unable to move. Her lips still burned faintly, as though the moment had branded itself into her.
She touched them unconsciously, confusion flooding her heart. Nothing about her world felt stable anymore, not the agreement, not her safety, and certainly not her feelings.
What am I to do now? Should I leave?