Chapter Five “A Garden of Secrets”

Morning came quietly.Soft light spilled through the small windows, catching dust motes as they floated like tiny worlds in the still air. Eleanor woke slowly, the warmth of wool blankets cocooning her in a comfort she hadn't expected to find here. For a moment, she forgot where she was. No bells. No maids bustling in. Just silence—and the faint scent of peat smoke still lingering from the fire.

Then she remembered. Braemar. Callum.And everything felt real again. Not the heavy, stifling sort of real she was used to, but something different. Something lighter.

Eleanor sat up, running her fingers through hair that had long since given up its tidy braid. She caught her reflection in the darkened windowpane—a young woman with wide, uncertain eyes and a pale flush in her cheeks. There was something unfamiliar about her.Something alive.

The door creaked softly.Callum stood there, framed in morning. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was still damp from the river."I didn't want to wake you," he said.His voice was lower in the morning, rougher. She liked it."I made tea."

Eleanor smiled—small, but genuine. "I'd like that."

They sat on the small bench just outside the cottage. The stone was still cool from the night air, but the sun was gaining strength. Callum poured her tea into a plain tin cup, his fingers steady. He didn't ask how she slept, and she was grateful for that.He passed her a slice of oatcake with a smear of honey. Simple food. Honest food. She took a bite and was surprised at how sweet it tasted.Maybe that was the honey.Maybe not.

"Where did you think you'd go when you left home?" Callum asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Eleanor sipped her tea before answering. "I didn't think."She glanced sideways at him, expecting judgment.He only nodded, as if that made perfect sense.

After they finished eating, Callum rose and offered his hand to her. She hesitated only a second before slipping her fingers into his. His palm was rough, but his grip was warm and careful."I want to show you something," he said.

The path behind his cottage wound uphill, cutting through stands of birch and rowan. The air smelled different here—fresh, green, with a faint tang of earth after rain. They didn't speak much as they walked. The silence between them had softened overnight. It no longer felt like distance. It felt like understanding.

Finally, they reached a clearing.And Eleanor stopped short.

It was a garden. Not neat rows or manicured hedges, but a wild, beautiful tangle of color. Heather bloomed in thick carpets, wild roses climbed over broken stone, and tiny white flowers she couldn't name glimmered in the grass like stars.

"My mother planted this," Callum said quietly.Eleanor blinked at him. "You never mentioned your mother.""I don't, usually." He crouched by a patch of lavender, brushing his fingers over it. "She loved wild things. Said they didn't need taming. Just room to grow."

Eleanor felt a pull in her chest, something tender and raw."Arabella… my mother… she used to say something like that.""Then maybe they would've gotten along," Callum said, glancing up at her with a faint smile.

She stepped closer to him."What happened to her?" she asked softly.

He was quiet for a long time."She left," he said finally. "Some people said it was for love. Some said it was to find herself." He exhaled, slow and careful. "I like to believe both are true."

Eleanor's throat tightened. "And you stayed?""I stayed."

Their eyes met then—his gaze steady, hers uncertain but searching.And it was Eleanor who reached for his hand this time.

They sat together on the grass after that. He told her about the plants—what healed, what stung. She listened. She told him about the diary, about Braemar circled in red, and about the way her mother wrote of freedom like it was a place you could find if you were brave enough.And maybe it was.

The wind shifted. A strand of Eleanor's hair blew across her face, and before she could brush it away, Callum did. His fingertips barely touched her skin, but it was enough to make her breath catch.For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Callum spoke, his voice quiet."Not all wild things are meant to run."Eleanor held his gaze."Some are meant to be found."

And in that soft moment, something bloomed between them.Slow.Steady.Real.