Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Stop,” Eva said.
The moment her cottage came into view, Eva’s heart leapt into her throat.
He obeyed without question, pulling the horse to a halt in front of the small stone dwelling with its crooked door. Before he could speak, she swung her leg over and jumped down, hitting the earth with a thud.
She ran to the door and threw it open, the scent of damp air and stale herbs rushing to meet her. Panic clawed at her chest as she called for her mother and brother. Eva strode to the back corner, where coughing reached her ears.
Her brother lay shivering under a blanket, his skin pale and sweat beading along his brow. Her mother lay beside him. Eva dropped to her knees between them, checking her brother’s head with trembling fingers. She whispered soft reassurances, though fear gnawed at her.
“It’s all right. I’ve returned with the remedy. All will be well,” she said.
She turned to see Connor step inside, his large frame filling the doorway before he moved quietly into the room.
He took in the scene with a sharp eye, the tension in his shoulders easing into something gentler.
The seriousness of the moment seemed to settle over him, drawing out a softer expression Eva had not expected. He stopped beside her and crouched.
“How can I help, lass?”
“There’s nay need, me laird,” she said quickly, not wanting him tangled in her troubles.
“I insist, Eva.”
She looked up at him, saw no mockery nor command in his eyes, only a blunt sincerity she had never seen from a man of his rank.
“If ye can put water to boil,” she said, keeping her voice steady, “I need to prepare the yarrow. They must drink it to break the fever.”
“Of course,” he said.
Connor strode toward the water pitcher, but when he lifted it, nothing poured out. He frowned and turned to check the cauldron hanging over the cold hearth, yet that too was empty. He glanced back at her.
“There’s nay water anywhere.”
Eva rose swiftly, brushing dust off her skirt as she moved toward him. The realization hit her with a jolt; she must have used the last of it before heading to the castle. She cursed under her breath, hating her own carelessness.
Turning to Connor, she said, “I must fetch it from the well.”
“I’ll do it,” he said.
Her head snapped up, shock tightening her expression.
He reached for two empty buckets by the door and picked them up effortlessly. Without waiting for argument, he strode outside, his broad shoulders vanishing beyond the doorway. Eva stared after him, unable to form words.
For a long moment, she simply stood still, stunned by what she had witnessed.
Laird McLaren, the harsh-tongued laird known for his cold demands and fearsome temper, had taken buckets to fetch water like any common man.
Not for her sake, she could tell, but for her mother and brother, whom he had never met.
A warmth curled in her chest, deep and startling.
He isnae as cruel as everyone whispered him to be.
She realized slowly, the stories told to frighten children, the tales of the laird who punished disobedience with iron, suddenly felt thin and exaggerated.
She had seen the flicker of worry in his eyes, the quickness with which he offered help.
She felt her assumptions waver like thin ice beneath her feet.
Eva forced herself to return to her work, kneeling beside her brother again and placing a cool cloth on his burning skin. She brushed his hair back gently, whispering soft encouragement he likely could not hear.
“I’m goin’ to brew a tonic for ye, lad,” she said.
She checked her mother next, relieved to see her breathing steady despite the exhaustion. The small cottage felt too still, too quiet, save for the ragged breaths of her ailing kin.
She heard footsteps outside and turned as Connor reappeared, his boots muddy and the buckets filled nearly to the brim.
Water sloshed as he carried them inside, keeping his steps as quiet as possible.
He set them down beside the hearth with more care than she would have guessed from a warrior of his build. Eva blinked, unsure how to react.
“Where do ye want it, lass?” he asked.
“By the cauldron is fine,” she said softly.
He nodded and lifted the cauldron onto its hook before pouring half the water into it, movements sure and steady.
He knelt to put another log on the hearth for a hotter flame, building a larger fire with practiced hands.
Within moments, heat began to rise beneath the cauldron, steam blooming into the air.
Eva could only watch him, her heart full of conflicting emotions. She had imagined him arrogant, uncaring, and impossible to reason with. Yet here he was, kneeling on her humble floor, dirtying his fine clothes without complaint. Everything she thought she knew about Laird McLaren was shifting.
She retrieved the yarrow, crumbling it between her fingers as she prepared it for steeping. The scent rose around her, warm and bitter. Her hands moved from years of practice, steady and efficient. Connor rose from the hearth and watched her with quiet curiosity.
“Ye ken what ye’re doin’,” he said, admiration sneaking into his tone.
“Aye,” she replied. “I’ve tended to many fevers in the village. I only pray it helps them quick.”
“It will,” he said, the certainty in his voice startling her.
She looked at him fully then, meeting his gaze without shyness. He held her eyes with a steady calm, something grounding and solid. A strange sense of safety washed over her. It felt wrong to accept it, yet impossible to deny.
The cauldron began to bubble softly, breaking the silence. Eva took a ladle and filled a small cup, letting the herbs steep briefly before bringing it to her mother’s lips. Her mother swallowed weakly, but the effort eased some tension in her shoulders. Eva exhaled, relieved.
Connor stepped closer but kept a respectful distance, watching without interfering. His presence filled the small cottage, too big for the space yet oddly fitting. She sensed no judgment in him, only a quiet vigilance. It softened something in her she didn’t realize had been clenched tight.
“Ye love them dearly,” he said.
“More than life,” she whispered.
Connor nodded once, the gesture slow and thoughtful. “Then we’ll see them healed.”
Eva swallowed hard, unable to look away from the unexpected gentleness in his face. She felt her heart twist, not with fear this time, but with something far more dangerous. And all she could think was that Connor was nothing like the man she thought he was.
As he reached to steady the bowl, his arm brushed hers in a light, accidental touch that sent a hot ripple down her skin. She cursed her body silently, hating how easily it reacted to him. Still, she did not move away.
“What else can I do, lass?” Connor asked quietly, his voice low enough that it curled against her neck like warm breath.
“That is all,” she answered, keeping her tone as brisk as she could manage. “For now, I need to brew more tea proper and get it in them, so the fever breaks.” Her hands continued their work, though her pulse thudded louder than the grinding of the herbs.
“I’ll send a carriage tomorrow,” he said, shifting to stand fully at her side. “I’ll have ye and yer kin brought to the castle. Me healer will see that they get the finest care possible.” His certainty left no room for argument.
Eva blinked, surprised, and turned to him. “Where are ye goin’ then?”
“I must return,” Connor said as he wiped his hands on a cloth. “It’s rude to keep the clans waitin’, pride alone has started battles far worse for somethin’ like that. I’ll nae be the cause of one.”
With that, he gave her one last long look, then ducked out the door.
The cottage felt strangely empty once he left, despite her mother’s faint groans and her brother’s labored breathing.
Eva set herself into a steady rhythm, forcing her mind back to the task at hand instead of the confusing man who had just walked away.
She brewed the yarrow tea over and over again, lifting spoonfuls to their lips and coaxing them to drink.
“Drink just a little more,” she said.
When they slept, she laid fresh, cold cloths across their foreheads, replacing them every time the heat stole away the chill.
Hours passed in a restless blur, marked only by the crackle of the fire and the soft whimpers of her kin.
Eva barely sat, pacing between the hearth and the bedside, always checking, always fearing.
The fever rose and fell like a tide, sometimes easing just enough to give her hope before climbing again.
As she pressed another damp cloth to her brother’s brow, the events of the night flickered through her tired mind.
Have I truly spoken with Laird McClaren? Has he truly demanded marriage as me punishment, and then fetched buckets of water for me?
It all seemed too strange, too wild, too dreamlike.
Surely it had been a trick of her exhaustion, she told herself as she paced before the window.
No laird would offer to bring villagers into his home, nor tend to their sickness.
And no man of such power would choose a village lass like her to wed.
She rubbed her eyes and stared at the moon, convincing herself she had been foolish to believe any of it.
She fell asleep in a chair beside her brother.
Hours passed in a restless sleep. Along with the early song of the morning birds, the steady thud of hooves on the dirt path echoed into her dreams. Slow at first, then louder, clearer, undeniable. She woke up to sunlight pouring in.
“It’s mornin’? I fell asleep,” she said.
Eva froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She hurried to the window and pushed aside the worn curtain. There, gleaming in the early light, stood a castle carriage with banners in the McClaren colors, two sleek horses harnessed to its front. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stunned.
“He kept his word,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone.
A knock sounded at the door, firm but polite.
Eva hurried across the room and opened it to find two castle servants standing ready, each holding their caps respectfully in hand.
Their clothing was finely kept, their expressions gentle but efficient.
Behind them, more servants tended to the carriage and horses.
“We’re here to help ye, Mistress Whyte,” one said kindly. “The Laird sent us to see to yer family and bring yer things.”
Eva blinked at them, still half-convinced this was some strange waking dream. “Aye… thank ye. Thank ye truly. Will ye give me one moment, please?”
They nodded, she closed the door and ran to her mother and checked her head. The heat had gone from her forehead.
“Thank the saints,” she said.
Then she moved to her brother and checked him as well to find that his fever had gone as well. “Oh, I am relieved.”
Then she set about packing their clothing into two trunks. One with her meager clothing and another with her brother and mother’s. A few moments later, she opened the door to the servants.
They stepped inside with quiet footsteps and offered immediate assistance. One moved to help carry her mother, the other fetched blankets and began assessing what would be needed to make the patients comfortable. Their presence filled the cottage with an order and calm she had lacked all night.
Eva swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath as she watched them work. She still couldn’t quite believe it.
Laird McLaren actually sent for us. And nae with guards or threats, but with comfort and help.
Her heart tightened painfully, unsure what to make of the complicated man who was now, somehow, tied to her fate.
Her hands trembled slightly as she gathered their few belongings, the reality of what lay ahead pressing down on her. The castle. The laird. The marriage he had demanded. The life she had never imagined for herself.
Yet through the swirl of fear and confusion, one thought echoed brightest.
He kept his promise.
And that, she found, meant far more than she expected.