Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Eva shrank back, unsure why Laird McLaren himself pointed at her as though she were the answer to some riddle. A warm flush crept up her neck, and her breath stuttered in her throat.
Connor stepped toward her with long, assured strides that parted the crowd as if the air bowed for him.
He stood taller than she had imagined up close, with long brown hair that brushed his shoulders and eyes black as midnight embers.
His presence pressed around her like a command she dared not refuse, and desire fluttered low in her belly despite her panic.
She swallowed hard, convinced he must have discovered her theft, and for a fleeting moment she considered bolting, though she knew she’d never outrun the guards.
He leaned in, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “What clan do ye hail from?”
Eva’s lips trembled as she forced out her answer. “I am from the village below the castle. I belong to clan McLaren.”
Connor’s dark brows rose, his expression shifting in a way she could not read. “A villager from me own village,” he murmured. “Aye, that will do.”
Eva blinked rapidly, confusion tumbling through her. “Do for what? I daenae understand what is happenin’.”
Connor’s mouth quirked in a grim line as if the matter irritated him more than it pleased him. “I have chosen ye as me bride.”
Her breath caught so sharply that the sound left her as a gasp.
Pain, fear, and disbelief tangled inside her as though the ground beneath her tilted.
She felt oddly weightless, trapped between wanting to flee and being unable to move at all.
The noise of the gathering dulled until all she heard was the pounding in her ears.
Connor straightened, lifting his voice for all to hear.
“Excuse me as I speak with this woman in the business of marriage.”
The hall quieted at once, whispers swelling like a tide at the edges. Without waiting for her consent, he gripped her firmly by the arm. His touch wasn’t painful, but it left no room for argument.
Eva stumbled as he led her through the throng, her skirts brushing against the floor while her mind scrambled for reason.
The scent of roasted meats, hearth smoke, and spilled ale felt suddenly too thick, choking her as she tried to keep pace.
All around them, faces turned, some amused, some curious, others openly jealous.
She felt exposed, as though every secret she held pulsed visibly beneath her skin. As they passed a cluster of finely dressed women, their hushed voices carried far too clearly.
“Why her?” one scoffed. “With all the bonnie lasses here, the laird picks a plain, thick girl?”
Another sighed dramatically. “He must be jestin’. She isnae half as comely as the rest of us.”
Eva flushed so hot she feared her face might ignite.
She had never considered herself beautiful; she lacked the fine features and polished manners of castle-born women, but hearing the cruelty aloud lodged a sharp ache in her chest. Embarrassment prickled over her skin, mixing with shame she knew she did not deserve.
Still, the words found their mark, and she lowered her gaze as if the stone floor might swallow her whole.
“Where are ye takin’ me?” she asked.
Eva looked up at Connor, who kept walking, his grip never loosening, as he didn’t respond. She wondered if he heard the whispered insults. Perhaps such comments slid off him. To her, though, each word struck deep, bruising more than her pride.
Inside her cloak pocket, the stolen yarrow weighed on her like a burning coal.
She felt its presence with every step, and panic stirred each time she imagined Connor discovering it.
The thought of being named a thief before all these people made her stomach twist painfully.
She wondered if fate had dragged her into the lion’s den at the exact wrong moment.
They reached a quieter corridor off the great hall, though the music and chatter still echoed faintly behind them. Connor finally released her arm, and she rubbed the place where his fingers had pressed, unsure whether relief or fear filled her more.
“Well? What is the meanin’ of this?” she asked.
The laird looked at her with an unreadable expression, as if assessing what manner of woman she was. She wished desperately that she understood any part of what was happening.
Does he ken I am a thief?
Her thoughts spun so wildly that she struggled to steady her breath.
She knew nothing of this laird beyond stories, and even less of marriage arrangements made on a whim.
If this was a jest or a challenge hurled at his grandmother, why drag her into it?
And if it was not a jest, then the path ahead seemed more dangerous than sneaking into the healer’s room had ever been.
Connor exhaled once, the sound sharp with irritation, though not at her. His jaw flexed as he looked away. She watched the tension settle in his shoulders. For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and uncertain.
“We’ll go to me study,” he said. “There we’ll discuss the transaction of marriage.”
Eva planted her feet, her heart pounding in quick defiance.
“I’ll do nay such thing,” she said, her voice trembling but strong enough to carry. “Ye cannae drag me along like cargo.”
Connor’s jaw tightened, and a low sound rolled from him, something between a growl and a warning. The torchlight flickered across his stern features, making the sharp lines of his face seem even more severe.
“If ye are part of me clan,” he said, “then ye’ll obey when ye’re told. I am yer Laird.” His words struck like a blow, though he did not raise a hand to her.
Before Eva could form a reply, the older woman approached at a brisk pace, her skirts swishing with purpose. Eva had assumed this to be his grandmother. Her silver hair glimmered in the dim corridor light as she reached toward them.
“Connor, ye’ll nae drag the lass off with nay explanation,” she snapped. Her tone held both authority and sharp disapproval.
Connor stiffened but did not turn fully toward her. He kept his hand near Eva’s arm without touching her again, as if reminding the older woman where his decision lay.
“Grandmaither, this matter concerns the woman I chose and me.” His voice dropped into a clipped, cold register. “Ye’ll stay where ye are.”
His grandmother’s eyes widened, outraged that he dared command her in such a manner.
“Daenae speak to me like I’m a servant in me own bloodline,” she retorted. “I’ve guided ye since ye were wee, and I’ll nae let ye choose a bride like ye’re pickin’ a horse at market.”
Her gaze slid to Eva, softening slightly. “Especially nae a frightened lass who kens naught of what ye intend.”
Connor’s steps resumed, and, despite Eva’s reluctance, she felt herself drawn along beside him as he moved forward. His grandmother kept pace stubbornly, refusing to fall behind.
“Ye’re rash, Connor,” she continued, annoyance sharpening her words. “This isnae how ye secure a future for the clan.”
He exhaled hard as they turned down another corridor. “The clan will have its future,” he said. “And I’ll choose it without bein’ hounded every hour of the day.”
His hand brushed Eva’s back, steadying her as she stumbled over uneven stone. She hated the heat that rose in her cheeks at the small gesture of care.
His grandmother clucked her tongue loudly, her frustration echoing down the corridor.
“Ye cannae simply decide on a bride in a fit of temper,” she fired back.
“It’s madness, and ye’ll regret it.” She nearly stepped ahead of them, blocking their path.
“Now stop this foolishness and speak plainly with me.”
Connor halted then, turning to face her fully for the first time since the argument began. The air thickened between them, Eva caught in the tension like a trapped hare.
“Grandmaither, I respect ye,” he said, though the steel in his tone said otherwise. “But ye’ll step aside.”
She opened her mouth, clearly ready to unleash another tirade, but Connor lifted a hand, firm, final, unyielding.
For a long heartbeat, the hall held nothing but silence and the faint crackle of torches.
Finally, his grandmother’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she gave a stiff, furious nod.
She stepped back, though her glare promised retribution later.
Connor turned sharply and led Eva the last few steps to his study door.
Her pulse raced as she looked between them, knowing she could not outrun either McLaren’s temper or his will.
The laird opened the heavy wooden door and gestured her inside.
With one last look at his grandmother, he shut the door firmly, the sound echoing like a verdict.
She stood in the center of the study like a trapped bird, her breath coming too fast as the heavy door clicked shut behind them. Her palms were damp, and her heart hammered against her ribs as though seeking escape. She had no notion why the laird had dragged her here, nor what fate awaited her.
“Ye’ll have to excuse me grandmaither Margaret’s behavior. Now, what’s the name of me future bride?” Connor asked, his voice smooth as dark honey and twice as dangerous. He stepped closer, each stride a deliberate claim on the room.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why?” he added, though mischief sparked in his black eyes. “Because I want to ken what name I’ll be growlin’ in bed.”
Eva gasped. She felt heat explode across her cheeks, the words striking her like a slap and a caress all at once.
“How dare ye,” she blurted, her voice pitching high from panic. She backed toward a bookshelf, wishing she could melt into the stone. His suggestive tone left her flustered, breathless, and even more terrified.
Connor’s lips curved, not quite a smile, more a man amused by a challenge. He braced an arm against the wall near her shoulder but didn’t touch her, his posture all confidence and dangerous intent.
“Lass, ye think I cannae see ye tremblin’, and ye expect me to believe ye’re nae stirred?” he murmured. The warmth of him seemed to press against her skin without a single touch.
Eva lifted her chin, trying to find the dignity she feared she’d dropped somewhere in the great hall.
“I’m stirred because ye abducted me and are speakin’ of marriage,” she said, though her voice wavered. She wished desperately for the herbs hidden in her cloak, anything that made sense in this madness. “Tossin’ bold words doesnae mean I’ll melt for ye.”
“I daenae need ye meltin’, only listenin’,” he said, though his eyes traced her face with bold curiosity. She watched him study her as if she were a puzzle he intended to solve by hand.
“But ye’ve spirit, and I’ll nae lie, it suits me fine.”
Eva swallowed hard, her pulse jumping like a startled hare as she held his gaze despite the heat in her veins.
“Spirit or nae, I’ll nae be commanded like one of yer guards,” she said, her voice steadier now. His nearness rattled her, yet she refused to show weakness. “And if ye growl anythin’ in bed, it willnae be me name, for I’m nae stayin’ long enough to wed.”
Connor stepped back slowly, as though granting her air was a concession he chose rather than owed. Something unreadable glinted in his eyes: respect, challenge, and a heat that made her toes curl inside her boots.
“We’ll see, lass,” he replied, his voice low enough to stir every nerve she possessed.
And Eva realized then that escaping him might be far harder than stealing from him.