Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The music from the ceilidh drifted through the night air.
Eva heard the lively fiddle and the beat of the bodhrán thrum against the stone walls, every note covering her footsteps as she crept toward the towering gates.
Her heart hammered as loudly as any drum, but she kept her cloak pulled tight and her hood low.
The night was her ally, and with everyone distracted, it felt like her only chance.
She slipped through the open side entrance where guests walked through and servants bustled in and out carrying trays of food. A pair of maids passed her, giggling about some handsome lad near the musicians’ stand. Eva forced a small smile and nodded politely.
“Good evenin’,” she murmured, praying they wouldn’t look too closely at her unfamiliar face.
The women barely noticed her, brushing past in a flurry of laughter and linen aprons. Eva let out a shaky breath and moved deeper into the corridor, the flickering torchlight guiding her footsteps.
She whispered to herself, “Ye can do this, Eva. For Ma and wee Jason, ye must.” The words steadied her even as fear clawed at her ribs.
She padded softly down the long corridor, listening for footsteps, for voices, for anything that might give her away. Her pulse quickened each time she heard revelry echoing from the great hall, a reminder of how close she was to danger.
She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a passing servant carrying a tray of wine goblets.
“Oh, good evenin’, sir,” she said quickly.
The servant nodded, hardly glancing at her. “Aye, good evenin’ to ye, lass.”
“I was just on me way to the healers for a bit of a tonic before the feast. Can ye show me the way?”
“Aye, straight on then up the stairs and last door,” he said as he bustled by.
Eva walked on, her fingers trembling against her cloak.
“Just a bit farther. Ye’re nae doin’ wrong. Ye’re savin’ lives.” But guilt pricked her with every step, for she had never stolen a thing in her life.
The healer’s rooms were tucked in a quiet wing of the castle, far from the feast. The corridor leading to them was dim and cool, lit only by a single lantern hanging from a nail. Eva paused at the door, her breath shallow, and pressed her palm against the rough wood.
“Please let this work,” she murmured softly.
The door creaked as she pushed it open, and she held her breath, praying no one was inside.
“Good evenin’” she said quietly, waiting for any movement.
The room greeted her with silence. Bundles of drying herbs hung from the beams overhead, their scents mixing into a comforting blend of earth and mint and spice. A small fire crackled in a hearth beneath rows of labeled jars, each one filled with the castle’s precious medicinal stores.
Eva slipped inside and closed the door gently behind her.
“Right,” she whispered, scanning the shelves. “Yarrow… yarrow… where are ye hidin’, ye wee miracle?”
Her fingers darted across the labels as she searched, her eyes wide in the dim lantern glow.
At last, she saw it, Yarrow, written in neat, looping script. Relief crashed over her like a wave.
“Thank the heavens,” she breathed, lifting the jar with shaking hands.
She pulled a cloth from her cloak pocket and poured a generous portion into it, her fingers trembling as she tied the makeshift bundle tight.
She replaced the jar carefully, aligning it exactly where it had been.
“There,” she whispered. “Nay one needs to ken it was touched.” Her heart thudded with gratitude and terror all at once.
Footsteps passed in the corridor outside, and Eva froze, holding her breath. A pair of voices drifted through the crack under the door, the sound of servants chatting about the feast preparations. She pressed a hand to her chest, silently willing them to move on.
After a tense moment, the steps faded. Eva let out a long, shaky exhale.
“Almost done, almost home,” she whispered to herself as she tucked the cloth bundle into her cloak pocket. “I’ll get ye well, I promise.”
She turned toward the door, nerves building as she reached for the handle. The weight of the herb bundle pressed reassuringly against her side, but fear still tightened her throat.
“Ye’re nae a thief,” she told herself softly. “But ye’ll be anythin’ ye must for yer family.”
With one last steadying breath, she slipped back into the corridor, the dim light flickering across her determined features.
The music swelled again from the distant hall, covering her footsteps as she moved through the shadows toward the exit.
Somewhere below, laughter and dancing filled the night, but Eva had no ear for it; her thoughts were on her mother’s labored breath and Jason’s feverish cheeks.
“I’ll save them. Whatever it takes.”
She rounded a corner and collided with a soft but sturdy figure. The impact made her gasp, her hand flying to her cloak to guard the precious bundle hidden within. When she looked up, she found a maid with red curls and bright eyes blinking at her in confusion.
The maid tilted her head. “What are ye doin’ in this wing, lass? The ceilidh’s on the far side of the castle.”
“I… I got lost,” she said softly. “It’s a grand castle, aye? I daenae ken the halls well.”
Her expression warmed with immediate friendliness.
“Well then, I’ll take ye to the great hall! Me name’s Amelie. Come along, ye’ll never find it wanderin’ on yer own.”
Eva followed beside her, her steps light but trembling.
The long corridors stretched ahead, lit by torches that flickered against stone walls etched with centuries of history.
With each turn Amelie took, Eva’s nerves coiled tighter, holding her breath as she prayed they would not pass any guards or nobles who might question her presence.
Inside her cloak, her fingers brushed the herb bundle as if to reassure herself it was still safe.
How am I supposed to get out of this?
If she made a run for it, she’d draw suspicion. If she stayed too long, someone might ask her name, her clan, her purpose. Panic threatened to rise, but she pressed it down with sheer will.
Just smile, Eva. Smile and keep movin’. Ye’ll find a way.
Amelie prattled on cheerfully as they walked, oblivious to Eva’s terror.
“There’s folk from many clans here tonight,” she said. "Och, the hall’s packed full of laughter and music. The Laird’s gran planned the whole thing herself. Rumor is she’s tryin’ to see him wed before the spring thaw!”
Eva mustered a faint laugh. “Sounds like she’s a determined woman.”
“That she is,” Amelie chuckled, opening a heavy wooden door that led into a wide stairwell. “Mind yer step here. The stone’s slick at night.”
Voices grew louder as they descended, the sound of lively music echoing up the stairwell.
Eva felt it in her bones; the closer they got to the great hall, the worse her chances of simply slipping out became.
Her heart pounded as she clung to her cloak, praying no one would notice the bulge of the stolen herb beneath it.
“Here ye are,” Amelie said.
She pushed open another door, and warmth spilled out like a flood.
Eva stepped into the edge of the great hall, her breath catching as she took in the packed room.
Candles glowed from chandeliers overhead, garlands hung from the beams, and couples spun in lively reels across the floor.
Music, laughter, and the hum of voices filled every corner.
Just across the threshold stood Laird McLaren himself, broad, imposing, unmistakable, speaking with an older woman. Eva froze where she stood, her hood shadowing her face as she tried to edge backward, but Amelie kept her moving gently forward.
Eva listened as the older woman’s voice, sharp and insistent, carried easily over the music. “Connor, ye must choose a bride. I’ll nae let this night go to waste.”
Connor rubbed a hand across his jaw, irritation etched deep across his strong features. “Grandmaither, I told ye…”
The woman cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Nay, lad. Ye will choose tonight, or I’ll hound ye every hour of every day till ye do!”
Connor’s eyes narrowed in frustration, his voice dropping into a low growl. “If it will make ye leave me be, then fine. I choose… her.”
His hand lifted and pointed directly at Eva, the woman closest to him.
Eva’s breath left her in a stunned rush, her body going cold as stone.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if he meant someone behind her, someone to the side, anyone else.
But his gaze locked onto her with unshakable certainty, dark eyes assessing, unreadable, commanding.
The hall seemed to quiet around her, as though the castle itself had drawn in a breath.
She stood trapped in the lantern glow, her stolen herbs heavy in her pocket and her fate suddenly bound to the man whose name carried power across the Highlands. She had come for medicine.
Instead, the Laird has become aware of me and possibly the crime I’ve done.