Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Eva stepped into the stable yard beside Connor, the smell of hay and damp earth wrapping around her like a memory. The horses stamped and snorted softly in their stalls, and she smiled at the familiar comfort of it.
“He’ll be glad to be stretchin’ his legs,” she said lightly, glancing at their mount. Connor only gave a brief nod, his thoughts already elsewhere.
A cheerful call drew her attention to a small cart near the gate, piled high with sugared nuts and honeyed apples.
Eva’s eyes lit at once, and she tugged free of Connor’s side without thinking.
“Oh, look at that,” she said, hurrying over, her skirts swaying. “I’ve nae had sweets like these since I was a lass. Jason would love these.”
“Two of those, and a bag of the nuts,” Connor said, pressing coins into the man’s hand.
“Oh me brother will be so happy,” she said.
Eva turned back toward Connor and stopped short at the look on his face. A dark frown had settled in.
“Connor?” she asked gently, stepping closer. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”
His jaw tightened, and he looked past her instead of answering.
“Ye shouldnae waste time. Let’s be off,” he said at last, his voice rough and distant.
Eva blinked, the joy draining from her expression.
“They’re just sweets,” she replied softly, confusion threading her words. “I thought…”
He cut her off with a shake of his head.
“Let us go,” Connor said curtly, already moving toward the stalls.
Eva followed him slowly, her brow furrowed, clutching the small bag in her hands. She did not understand the sudden chill, only felt it keenly. And as she walked behind him, she wondered what shadow had crossed his heart so swiftly.
What did I say?
The road back from the village stretched long and quiet beneath a sky gone gray with gathering cloud. Eva sat before Connor on the horse, the rhythm of its gait steady beneath them, yet his silence pressed heavy against her back.
She twisted slightly and asked, “Are ye well, Connor?”
He answered only with a low grunt, his arms tightening briefly before loosening again.
She tried again after a time, her voice careful. “Did I do somethin’ at the inn, then?”
Another grunt came, shorter this time, and he turned his face toward the road ahead as though it held all the answers worth keeping. Eva swallowed and faced forward, her hands folding in her lap.
The wind tugged at her cloak as her thoughts began to race despite her efforts to still them. She replayed the morning again and again, from the sweets to the stable yard, searching for the moment she had erred.
“Maybe I spoke out of turn,” she murmured softly, more to herself than to him.
Connor did not reply.
Her hope faltered as worry crept deeper, unwelcome and sharp.
She had learned young how quickly favor could turn to coldness, how easily security slipped away.
The thought that he might regret his choice gnawed at her, though she dared not give it voice.
She feared that naming it would make it real.
“Ye’re awful quiet,” she said at last, attempting a light tone that did not quite reach her eyes.
Connor shifted in the saddle and gave a brief sound of acknowledgment, no words following.
Eva’s fingers curled into the wool of her skirt, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. She wondered if this was how disappointment looked on a laird.
As the castle walls came into distant view, her worry only deepened. She imagined him calling the wedding off with a single sentence, his voice firm and unyielding. Her family’s faces rose before her, hope fragile and trembling. She pressed her lips together and kept her fears locked tight inside.
By the time they reached the gates, Eva felt wrung thin by her own thoughts.
I will wait, and nae beg or plead.
Still, her heart ached with the not knowing. And as Connor dismounted without a word, she wondered how silence could wound so sharply.
The stable boy took the reins and led the horse away, his boots scuffing softly against the stone.
Eva lingered at Connor’s side, her hands clasped before her as she gathered her courage.
“Will ye be dinin’ with me this evenin’, then?” she asked, her voice hopeful despite the ache already stirring in her chest.
Connor did not look at her when he answered.
“I’ve matters to see to,” he said shortly, his tone all iron and distance.
He turned on his heel before she could reply, his broad shoulders already retreating down the yard. Eva watched him go, the cold of his dismissal settling deep beneath her ribs. She drew in a steadying breath and reminded herself she would not chase after a man who had chosen silence.
Inside the castle, the familiar hush wrapped around her like wool.
She made her way through the corridors toward the family chambers, her steps echoing softly.
When she entered the room, Annabeth lay propped against pillows while Jason sat upright beside her, his cheeks pinker than they had been in days.
Eva smiled despite herself, relief easing some of the heaviness on her shoulders.
“Ye should’ve seen it, Mam,” Eva said as she set aside her cloak. “We went to a beautiful place. The village sits right by the loch, and the water shines like glass when the light hits it.”
Jason’s eyes widened with delight, and he leaned forward eagerly. “Were there boats?” he asked, his voice stronger now, and Eva laughed softly.
“There were, and folk laughin’, and music driftin’ from the inn,” she replied.
Annabeth smiled faintly, though her hand lifted to her temple as if the effort cost her. “It sounds bonnie,” she said, her voice gentle but tired.
Eva moved closer, her concern sharpening as she studied her mother’s pale face.
She reached into her satchel and pulled out the wrapped sweets, holding them up with a grin.
“Look what I brought ye, Jason,” she said.
Jason gasped and clapped his hands. “For me?” he asked, and she nodded, pressing the treats into his eager fingers.
“Connor bought these sweets for ye,” Eva added lightly, though the mention of his name tightened her throat.
Jason beamed. “I do like them,” he said, already unwrapping one. “I feel much better now, Eva, truly.”
She kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of soap and clean linen.
Nina entered quietly then, her skirts whispering as she crossed the room.
“The lad’s nearly mended,” the healer said, giving Jason an approving nod. “A few more days and he’ll be chasin’ about the yard again.”
Eva felt a rush of gratitude. “Thank ye,” she said earnestly.
Nina’s expression softened as she turned to Annabeth. “Yer mam still needs rest,” she continued. “The headaches linger, and too much strain will worsen them.”
Annabeth sighed but nodded. “I ken,” she murmured.
Eva reached for her hand, squeezing gently. “We’ll see to it, Mam,” she said.
Annabeth studied her daughter then, eyes sharp despite the pain. “Ye look troubled,” she said quietly.
Eva hesitated, then forced a small smile. “I’m only tired,” she replied, unwilling to burden her further. “The travel was longer than I expected.”
Jason looked between them, sensing the shift. “Will ye tell me more about the loch later?” he asked.
“Aye,” Eva said, smoothing his hair. “As much as ye like.” She stayed with them awhile longer, listening to Jason chatter and Nina offer gentle instructions.
Yet even as warmth filled the room, the memory of Connor’s turned back lingered, and Eva wondered how desire and distance could exist so closely together.
A few hours later, Eva left her mother’s chamber quietly, drawing the door shut with care before the latch could click too loud. The corridor beyond felt cooler, lonelier, the stone walls pressing in on thoughts she did not wish to entertain.
By the time she reached the servants’ passage, she knew she needed Amelie more than she cared to admit.
I need someone to talk to.
She found Amelie near the linens, folding sheets with practiced hands and a soft hum under her breath.
“Amelie,” Eva said gently, and the maid looked up at once, her face lighting with concern.
“Are ye well, mistress?” Amelie asked, setting the linens aside.
Eva hesitated, then said, “Could we have a word, if ye’ve the time?”
Amelie nodded without question and gestured down a narrow stair that led to a quiet alcove overlooking the lower courtyard. They settled there, the sounds of the castle fading to a distant murmur.
“What’s troublin’ ye?” Amelie asked softly, her tone more friend than servant. Eva folded her hands together, twisting her fingers as she searched for words.
“I daenae ken what I’ve done,” Eva said at last. “One moment he looked at me as though I were the only soul in the world, and the next he wouldnae even meet my eye.”
Amelie listened, her brow creasing. “The Laird can be… hard to read,” she said carefully. “He’s nae a man who wears his heart plain.”
Eva let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s a gentle way of sayin’ he turns cold as winter rain,” she replied.
Amelie tilted her head. “Aye, sometimes,” she admitted, “but it doesnae always mean what ye fear.”
Eva swallowed. “I fear it means he wanted only one thing,” she said quietly.
Amelie’s eyes widened. “Ye cannae truly think that,” she said.
“I gave in, Amelie, and showed him me desires. Though nae to make a bairn, but we lay together in some respects,” she whispered, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
“And now I think he’s done with me, that I’ve naught else to offer.
” The words tasted bitter, and once spoken, they refused to be taken back.
Amelie reached out and took Eva’s hands, squeezing them firmly. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice earnest. “Men like the Laird daenae think so simply, nor so cruelly.”
Eva shook her head. “Ye dinnae see his face when he left,” she said. “It was as if I were nay more than a stranger.”
“He’s burdened,” Amelie said gently. “There’s grief in him, old and deep, and sometimes it rises without warnin’.”
Eva frowned. “Grief doesnae excuse unkindness,” she replied.
Amelie nodded. “Nay, but it explains distance,” she said. “And distance isnae the same as regret.”
Eva leaned back against the stone, staring at the sliver of sky above the courtyard.
“I keep thinkin’ I should never have let meself hope,” she murmured. “Hope makes a fool of a woman.”
Amelie smiled sadly. “Hope makes ye human,” she countered. “And I’ve seen how he looks at ye when he thinks nay one’s watchin’.”
Eva turned to her sharply. “Ye have?” she asked.
Amelie nodded. “Aye,” she said. “There’s wonder there, and fear too, like a man who’s lost much and doesnae trust joy to stay.”
“Then why does he push me away?” she asked.
“Because closeness can frighten a man more than solitude,” Amelie replied. “Especially one who’s sworn himself to duty and loss.”
Eva considered this in silence. “I daenae want to be a lesson he learns from, only his wife,” she said softly.
Amelie squeezed her hands again. “Give him time,” she said. “And give yerself grace.”
Eva drew a slow breath, feeling the knot in her chest loosen just a fraction. “I’m glad ye’re here,” she said.
Amelie smiled. “So am I, mistress,” she replied.
That night, Eva paced the length of her room.
“Where is he?” she muttered under her breath, wringing her hands.
Her heart ached with a mixture of hope and dread, for she could scarce believe that Laird McLaren would change his mind and come dine with her after all.
A sharp knock at the door made her jump, and she held her breath, hoping it was Connor.
“It’s only me, miss,” a timid voice called through the wood.
Eva’s chest sank slightly, and she opened the door to find a scullery maid carrying a tray.
“Yer supper, miss,” the girl said, curtsying as she placed the plate and cup down.
“Thank ye,” Eva said softly, forcing a smile as the maid hurried away.
She looked down at the table, her heart tightening, and noticed there was only one plate and one cup.
“Of course it would be like that,” she muttered, sadness creeping into her voice. She lowered herself onto the chair and pushed the food around with her fork, barely tasting it.
“Perhaps he’s changed his mind. Perhaps he’ll tell me in the morn that I’m nay longer his bride.”
The thought clawed at her chest, making her eyes sting with unshed tears. She poked at the stew absentmindedly, each bite tasteless as her mind raced with doubts.
“Why cannae he be like before?” she murmured. “Why does he go cold as the stone walls themselves?” The room felt colder now, and she hugged herself across the shoulders.
“I daenae ken what I did wrong,” she admitted aloud, though no one could answer her.
Her thoughts drifted to the evening they had shared, the warmth, the closeness, the passion.
“Was it all a lie?” Her chest constricted as she spoke the words, unable to stop the ache from spreading.
She set down her fork, pushing the untouched bread aside, and buried her face in her hands.
After some time, she forced herself to eat a little, murmuring quietly, “I must keep strong. If he truly desires me, he’ll come. He will not abandon me.”
But the more she spoke to herself, the heavier the room felt. Every creak of the castle and whisper of the wind made her jump, imagining Connor at the door.
“I cannae just sit here frettin’,” she muttered. She glanced out the window, the moonlight casting silver across the garden, and whispered,
By the time she turned to her bed, she was trembling, caught between hope and despair. She pulled the covers tight around her shoulders and closed her eyes, imagining Connor entering, smiling at her, and taking the empty space beside her.
“Please let him come to me,” she whispered, as sleep began to tug at her consciousness.
Yet sleep did not come easily. She tossed and turned, thinking of every word she had said, every glance they had shared.
Finally, exhausted, she drifted into a restless slumber, the candle sputtering low beside her bed.