Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Iought to feel shame. I yielded to James. Me body has betrayed me. He isnae me true betrothed.
This arrangement was meant to end, yet she had allowed something far more dangerous to bloom between them. And still… she could not quite summon regret, not when her chest felt light, her lips prone to soft smiles she couldnae suppress.
“Ye are a fool, Eloise,” she murmured under her breath, though there was little conviction in it.
The contradiction unsettled her, for she felt both reckless and alive in a way she had never known before.
A knock came at the door, sharp but not unwelcome, and her heart leapt traitorously in her chest. For a fleeting moment, she thought it might be him, entering her room with that same fierce determination in his eyes.
She rose quickly and crossed the room, smoothing her hair as though it mattered, before pulling the door open.
“James…” she began, only to stop short at the sight of Beatrice standing there, grinning brightly and balancing a tray in her hands.
“Och, ye look disappointed,” Beatrice teased at once, stepping inside without waiting for invitation.
Eloise flushed faintly, closing the door behind her. “I am nae disappointed,” she insisted, though her voice betrayed her.
Beatrice raised a brow, her smile widening. “If ye say so, cousin, but I ken that look well enough.”
The tray was soon set on the small table near the window, and Eloise’s attention was drawn to the spread before her. There was fresh oat bread still warm, a wedge of sharp cheese, slices of smoked fish, and a small dish of honeyed berries glistening in their syrup.
A steaming pot of tea sat beside two cups, the scent of herbs rising gently into the air.
“I thought ye might need feeding,” Beatrice teased, pouring the tea with practiced ease.
Eloise smiled despite herself, taking a seat across from her. “Ye are too kind,” she said, reaching for the bread.
“Aye, I ken,” Beatrice replied lightly, passing her the cheese. “Now eat, and then ye we shall speak of the ceilidh.”
They spoke easily as they ate, laughter coming more freely than it had in days.
“The ceilidh is in two nights,” Beatrice announced, her eyes bright with excitement.
Eloise blinked, pausing mid-bite. “Yes, the ceilidh?” she repeated having forgotten about the small celebration, since all she could focus on was the wedding that would never come.
Beatrice nodded eagerly. “Aye, and we must decide what ye will wear, for ye cannae appear before the clan in anythin' less than perfection.”
Eloise laughed softly, the thought of such normal concerns easing the nervousness that had lingered in her chest. “Very well, then,” she said, a spark of excitement lighting within her. “Let us see what ye have brought with ye.”
Beatrice clapped her hands in delight. “That is exactly what I hoped ye would say.”
After the meal was cleared, they made their way through the corridor to Beatrice’s chamber, their steps light and their conversation lively. Inside, Beatrice wasted no time in opening her trunk, revealing a collection of gowns in rich fabrics and soft hues.
“I came prepared,” she said proudly, lifting a red dress trimmed with delicate embroidery.
Eloise laughed, stepping closer to run her fingers over the fabric. “Ye always do,” she said fondly.
One by one, they tried on the dresses, turning before the small mirror, adjusting sleeves and bodices, debating which suited best.
“This one brings out yer eyes,” Beatrice insisted, tugging gently at a green gown that hugged Eloise’s form.
Eloise tilted her head, considering, then smiled. “Aye… I think ye may be right. And the red one ye wear matches yer hair very well.”
They fussed over hairstyles next, braiding and unbraiding, pinning and loosening strands until they found something that pleased them both.
Beatrice stepped back at last, studying her cousin with a knowing look. “Ye are different,” she said suddenly.
Eloise blinked, startled. “Different how?” she asked, smoothing her skirt.
Beatrice smiled slowly. “Ye are glowin',” she said simply.
Heat rushed to Eloise’s cheeks, and she turned away slightly. “It is nothin',” she murmured.
Beatrice crossed her arms, unconvinced. “Does the Laird have anythin' to do with it?” she pressed.
Eloise hesitated, then let out a small, breathless laugh. “He may,” she admitted, unable to keep the softness from her voice.
Beatrice gasped, her eyes widening with delight. “Tell me everythin',” she demanded, grabbing Eloise’s hands.
Eloise’s heart fluttered, her thoughts racing, but she could not bring herself to confess the full truth.
“He kissed me,” she said instead, the words slipping out in a quiet rush.
Beatrice’s gasp was louder this time, filled with scandalized excitement. “And?” she pressed eagerly.
Eloise’s gaze softened, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “It was better than I ever imagined.”
Beatrice beamed, squeezing her hands. “Then it is a good thing ye are to marry him,” she said warmly.
The words struck like a stone dropped into still water, ripples of unease spreading through Eloise’s chest. Her smile faltered, though she tried to hide it.
“Aye… a good thing,” she echoed faintly. Beatrice continued on, unaware of the shift. “Yer parents will be arrivin' soon, will they nae? And the clans as well?”
Eloise nodded, her throat tightening. “Aye,” she said carefully. “That is… the way of it.”
Inside, her thoughts churned with growing urgency.
There would be no wedding, no grand union to bind their names together.
Letters would need to be sent, explanations given, though she could not yet see how any of it would be done without chaos.
She forced a smile for Beatrice’s sake, nodding along as her cousin spoke of dresses and music and dancing.
“We shall make ye the finest bride in all the Highlands,” Beatrice declared brightly.
Eloise let out a soft laugh, though it rang hollow to her own ears. “Aye,” she said quietly, “the finest indeed.”
And as she looked at her cousin, so full of joy and certainty, she felt the weight of the truth pressing heavier than ever upon her heart.
The corridors of Calibroch felt quieter than usual, or perhaps it was only that Eloise’s thoughts were too loud to allow for anything else. Her fingers trailed lightly along the cold stone as she walked, her pace unhurried, though her mind churned restlessly.
What had passed between us is nothing more than a moment of weak hearts. I cannae mean more.
And yet, the memory of his hands, the heat of his presence, refused to fade no matter how she willed it away.
“Ye will leave,” she murmured under her breath, as though speaking it aloud would make it truth. Still, her heart did not feel convinced.
Determined to quiet her thoughts with work, she turned toward the kitchens, where the warmth and noise might offer distraction. The moment she stepped inside, the scent of fresh bread and herbs wrapped around her like an embrace.
“Ah, Miss Eloise,” Mairi called from across the room, her sleeves rolled and hands dusted with flour.
Eloise smiled faintly, stepping forward. “I thought I might make meself useful,” she said.
Mairi snorted, thrusting a lump of dough toward her. “Then ye can knead that.”
Eloise laughed softly, taking the dough and setting to work.
“I am happy to put meself to use,” she replied, earning a knowing look from the older woman.
“Aye, I’ve noticed,” Mairi said with a sly grin, watching her work. “The Laird certainly has.”
Eloise’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she forced them to move again.
“Mairi,” she warned lightly, though her cheeks warmed.
The cook only chuckled, turning back to her own work. “Daenae fash yerself, lass, I’ve eyes, that is all.”
Eloise shook her head, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Then keep them to yerself,” she said, though there was no real bite to it.
Mairi only laughed again, the sound filling the kitchen as easily as the scent of baking bread.
Later, with a basket of fresh loaves balanced on her arm, Eloise and Fiona stepped into the courtyard where children gathered eagerly. Their laughter rose bright and unburdened as she handed out pieces of warm bread.
“One each now,” Fiona said.
“Here ye go, lad” Eloise said.
The little boy grinned up at her, cheeks flushed. “Thank ye, me lady,” he said, before darting away.
Eloise watched them fondly, her heart softening at the simple joy of it. Then she felt it, the shift in the air, the awareness of someone behind her. She turned, and there he stood.
James approached with measured steps, his gaze fixed upon her, and heat rushed to her face at once. All at once, she could think of nothing but the night before, the way his hands had moved over her, the way he had looked at her. The way he pleasured her until she trembled.
“Ye’ve taken to feedin' the entire castle now?” he said, his tone light.
Eloise lifted her chin slightly, though her pulse fluttered wildly. “Someone must,” she replied, offering him a small piece of bread.
He took it, their fingers brushing briefly, and the contact sent a spark racing up her arm.
“Walk with me,” he said quietly.
She hesitated only a moment, handing the basket off to Fiona, before following him.
Together, they left the courtyard and passed through the gates, the open land stretching before them until they reached the glen. It was green with moss, with a small ravine dotted with wildflowers. The sound of a stream trickled through the rocks.
Eloise breathed it in, though her awareness remained fixed upon the man beside her.
“It is bonnie,” she said softly.
“Aye it is,” he replied, though his gaze was on her, not the land.
They walked in silence for a time, the quiet between them filled with unspoken thoughts. At last, he spoke.
“We are runnin' out of time,” he said.
Eloise’s heart jumped, and she looked at him sharply. “Aye, I ken. What's to be done?” she asked.
He kept his gaze forward, his jaw set. “I mean to send word to the clans,” he said. “Invitations to the bindin' ceremony.”