Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Eva stumbled backward, her knees weak, as if the stone beneath her might crumble and swallow her whole.
She blinked at the laird, trying to make sense of the words that had left his lips.
The demand that she marry him felt like some cruel jest, a nightmare spun from the deepest corners of her imagination.
She pressed her hands to her face, struggling to breathe through the dizzying shock.
“Ye must be teasing me,” she said, voice trembling. “I daenae have time for yer sick jests, me laird.”
Her chest heaved, and the cloak hung awkwardly about her trembling frame. The world seemed to tilt as she tried to hold onto reason.
Connor’s black eyes bored into her, unyielding and sharp as a blade.
“I daenae jest, lass,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. He stepped closer, and the warmth of his presence pressed against her. His jaw was tight, expression hard, showing no hint of teasing.
Eva’s mouth opened, then closed, words refusing to form.
“Why… why would ye want to marry me? I am a thief.” Her voice wavered, half accusation, half disbelief. She couldn’t understand how he had chosen her among all the noble women gathered at the ceilidh. The very thought left her reeling.
Connor’s gaze darkened, his patience thinning. “I need a bride in name alone, lass,” he said plainly. “Ye either marry me and save yer family, or ye face the stocks and a trial as a thief… and mayhaps lose yer hand.”
The words hit her like a hammer, leaving her breathless.
He didn’t soften, didn’t look at her with the tenderness one might expect of a man about to wed.
This is the cruel Laird I have heard of.
“Nothin’ else is required of ye,” he added, as if that were the most merciful thing he could offer. His tone left no room for negotiation or protest. The finality of it made her stomach churn.
Eva pressed her hands to her lap, struggling to keep herself from collapsing.
She felt a sting of hurt, bitter and sharp, at the thought that he wanted her only as a means to an end.
She had imagined marriage differently, though never with a laird of the Highlands.
Yet she knew with dreadful clarity that she had no option but to agree, or her family would suffer for her hesitation.
“So… that’s it then?” she asked, her voice small, almost a whisper. “Ye daenae care who I am… only that I serve yer purpose?”
The words tasted of bitterness, though she couldn’t raise her gaze to meet him. Her hands fidgeted, pulling at the edges of her cloak.
“Aye, that is it,” he said, voice even and cold. “I want nay bride of love, only a name to secure the laws of me house and the lives of yer family.” He stepped back slightly, giving her the space to absorb the weight of his words.
Eva’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared at him, trying to quell the storm of fear and disbelief in her mind.
She couldn’t reconcile the cruelty of his words with the need to survive.
Yet the image of her mother and brother, sick and helpless, forced her to steel herself.
She had to obey, even if it stung more than she could have imagined.
“Then… I have nay choice but to agree,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’ll do it… for them.” She swallowed hard, a bitter taste clinging to her tongue. Her stomach churned with a mix of relief, fear, and the faint ache of wounded pride.
Before Connor could respond, a sharp knock rang against the door, startling both of them.
“Connor! Let me in! I ken what ye’re plannin’!” Margaret’s voice rang loudly, filled with indignation and fury. Her tone was commanding, leaving no doubt that she expected immediate obedience.
Connor’s eyes darkened as he moved to the door, his frame blocking any hope of entry.
“I will do nay such thing,” he said, voice hard and final. He checked the latch with deliberate care, ensuring that Margaret couldn’t force her way in. The sound of the bolt sliding into place echoed in the study like a warning.
Eva pressed herself against the far wall, heart pounding, and watched as Connor’s muscles flexed with controlled anger.
The laird’s stance was unyielding, a living wall of authority between her and his grandmother.
Margaret’s shouts continued on the other side, sharp and relentless, but Connor paid them no heed. His focus returned to Eva.
“She’ll keep shoutin’,” Eva said quietly, her voice barely audible, more to herself than to him.
“Daenae let her frighten ye,” he said.
The tension in the room made her skin prickle, every shadow a potential threat. Yet despite the fear, she felt a flicker of relief that the door would hold.
Connor’s expression softened fractionally, though his eyes never left hers.
“She can bang and shout all she likes, but this is me choice, and nay one crosses me in me own territory.” His tone carried finality, sharp and unyielding. The command was absolute, leaving no room for argument or hesitation.
Eva swallowed hard, drawing in a shaky breath.
She had agreed to this, no matter how frightening it felt, no matter how cruel it seemed.
The weight of the decision pressed upon her chest, yet a small measure of hope sparked: if she obeyed him, she could save her family.
Her hands tightened around her cloak, the yarrow hidden within it a fragile lifeline between her and those she loved most.
Connor stepped closer, the firelight casting shadows across his face, revealing every hard line and every flicker of determination.
“Now,” he said, voice quieter but no less commanding, “we proceed. There is nay time to waste. Ye’ll need to learn yer place as me bride, though ye may hate me for it at first, ye must obey me every command.” His words hung in the air like an iron decree.
Eva nodded stiffly, her throat tight, eyes wide with a mixture of fear, defiance, and resignation. She felt trapped, yet bound by necessity. Every beat of her heart reminded her that this was the only way to save her mother and brother.
“Well then, lass, me first command… tell me yer name now?” His voice was low, yet edged with authority.
Eva drew in a shuddering breath, struggling to meet his penetrating gaze.
“I… I’m Eva Whyte,” she whispered, voice small but steady. The name felt strange coming from her lips, as if speaking it aloud made the danger of her situation more real. She kept her hands clutched tightly around her cloak.
Connor’s lips curved ever so slightly, a shadow of a smile teasing his expression.
“Eva Whyte,” he repeated, rolling the name on his tongue as if savoring it. “A fine name for a lass who’s gotten herself knee-deep in trouble.” He straightened, glancing toward the study door, though his eyes never left hers.
“Now, Eva Whyte, show me what ye have stolen,” he said.
She took a deep breath, produced the cloth bundle from her cloak, and set it on the desk. She untied it and showed him the herb.
“Aye, ye were tellin’ the truth. Now I will take ye to yer home,” he said.
“I can find me own way home,” she said quickly, trying to regain a measure of control. “I daenae need ye to escort me.” Her voice held the faintest edge of defiance, though it trembled with uncertainty.
The thought of venturing the halls with him, or outside into the dark, made her stomach twist. Connor’s brows rose, his expression bemused as he stepped closer, reducing the space between them to nearly nothing.
“That was nae a question but a command. I want to see this ailin’ family of yers. See if ye lie. Daenae think I trust ye nae to run away, lass,” he said. “A lass with yer cunnin’ might slip from me grasp in a heartbeat, and I’d nae like that. I daenae ken if Eva is yer real name.”
Eva pressed her lips together, “I give ye me word, I am nae lyin’, and I will return to marry ye,” she said, looking him squarely in the eyes. “And I never go back on me word, Laird McLaren.” Her heart pounded, both from fear and a strange, fluttering thrill.
Connor’s eyes softened ever so slightly, though his stance didn’t waver.
“Aye, the word of a thief. I’ll nae let ye go by yerself,” he said, his tone low. “I’ve seen what lassies do when left to their own devices, and I ken ye’d vanish like smoke on the wind.” He allowed her a brief glance at the door, then back to him, a warning in his gaze.
“I am nae a thief. That is… I’ve only done it this once,” she protested, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
She folded her arms, hoping to appear brave and defiant, though her knees felt weak beneath her.
Every instinct told her that disobedience would only make him more formidable, not less.
“Aye, this may be yer first time, but ye’re just as mischievous as a lifelong thief,” he said.
Eva felt heat rise to her ears at his mockery, but she wouldn’t show weakness.
“If that’s what ye think of me then ye’ll have to keep a tighter watch, won’t ye? So I willnae steal from ye again,” she shot back, voice trembling yet bold. “I’ve given ye me word, so what more would ye need?” Her heart raced with both dread and the strange pull she felt toward him.
“Tighter watch, eh?” he said, tone teasing, leaning just slightly closer. “Aye, I’ll watch ye, and nay doubt ye’ll keep me entertained with yer stubborn streak.” He reached out a finger, brushing a stray lock of her blonde hair from her face, and she gasped at the bold touch.
Eva pressed her hands to her cheeks instinctively, heat flooding her entire body.
“Daenae… tease me like that,” she said, voice breaking between exasperation and an odd thrill. “I’ve nay patience for men who find amusement in me terror.”
Yet a small part of her couldn’t deny the pull of the amusement in his dark eyes.
“Aye? Then perhaps I’ll give ye less terror, lass,” he said slowly. “But I warn ye, ye’ll need to keep up with me if ye hope to survive beside me.” His lips twitched in a dangerous half-smile, daring her to respond.
“I can manage,” she said, squaring her shoulders, though her voice betrayed her nerves. “Even with ye towerin’ over me, I can hold me own.”
Her words were more bravado than fact, but she refused to let him see her falter. Every inch of her felt alive with both fear and excitement.
“We’ll see, Eva Whyte, for now we go to yer home.” He gestured toward the door with one long finger.
“Fine. If that is yer command, me laird,” she replied. She squared her shoulders again, heart hammering wildly. There was fire in her defiance, even as every instinct screamed caution.
“Aye, I like that… obedience, submission, ye may make a fine wife yet, lass,” he said. “Keeps me from gettin’ bored.”
He took her hand, just enough to guide her without forcing her. The touch was warm, commanding, and sent a thrill through her body she struggled to suppress.
“I daenae need yer hand,” she said quickly, yanking it away, though her face betrayed her flush.
“I can manage on me own.” Her voice trembled, but her pride demanded she appear unafraid.
Every nerve in her body screamed that she wanted to run, but she stayed rooted, caught between terror and fascination.
“Even if ye refuse, I’ll be near. That’s the way of it.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to suffer yer company.” She couldn’t quite hide the heat still lingering in her cheeks.
“I’ve nay plans on lettin’ ye escape the castle, nay matter how clever ye think yerself.”