Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“I’ve had enough of his moods,” she muttered, fists clenching at her sides, “wearin’ a weddin’ gown and nae knowin’ if I’m a bride at all.”
Days had passed, and still Connor had not spoken to her proper since the village, his silence pressing heavier than any harsh word. She squared her shoulders and strode for the door, resolve burning hotter than fear.
The corridors felt longer than usual as she searched for him.
“Connor?” she said as she knocked on the door to his study. There was no reply. She pushed open the door to find it empty. Her temper flared anew.
A passing maid nearly stumbled as Eva stopped her.
“Have ye seen the Laird?” Eva asked.
“Aye, miss,” the maid replied, wide-eyed, “I saw him last in the library.”
“Show me,” she said, her tone brooking no delay, and the maid hurried ahead with nervous speed.
The maid led her into the library and announced, "Miss Eva, me laird," and fled as if chased, leaving Eva alone with him and her pounding heart.
The library smelled of old leather and dust, shafts of light falling across shelves heavy with history.
Connor stood at a table, dark head bent over ledgers, his broad shoulders tense even in stillness.
He did not look up until she spoke.
“We need to talk,” Eva said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.
Connor closed the book slow and careful, as if each motion were measured.
“Aye?” he asked, brows lifting. “About what, then?”
“About why ye’ve been so cold,” she shot back, stepping closer. “About why ye touch me sweet in the village, then turn to stone once we were headed back.”
Connor’s jaw tightened, his gaze sharpening. “Ye’re readin’ ghosts where there are none,” he said flatly.
“Nay, I’m nae daft,” Eva snapped, heat rising to her cheeks. “Ye were kind so ye could get between me legs at the inn, and once ye had it, that was the end of it.”
The words hung heavy between them, bold and unforgiving. Connor straightened fully then, his presence filling the room like thunder.
“That’s a cruel thing to say, lass,” he growled. “And untrue.”
Eva laughed without humor, folding her arms tight as if to hold herself together.
“Then explain it to me,” she challenged, “for I’ve been left alone to guess, and I’m done with that.”
Connor dragged a hand through his hair.
“I’ve duties that weigh heavier than ye ken,” he said, voice low. “Matters of clan and land daenae pause for tender moments.”
Eva shook her head, eyes bright with hurt. “Ye could’ve said as much,” she replied, “instead of makin’ me feel cast aside.”
He stopped before her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him.
“I dinnae mean to make ye feel small,” he said roughly. “But ye daenae get to accuse me of usin’ ye like some common thing.”
Eva lifted her chin, refusing to yield. “Then daenae treat me like one,” she shot back.
Silence crackled, thick with words unspoken and feeling unspent.
Connor studied her. “Ye’ve fire, Eva,” he said quietly. “More than most.”
She swallowed, her anger tangled now with something dangerously close to longing.
“I willnae be ignored,” she said, softer but no less firm.
Connor’s mouth twitched. “Ye test me sorely,” he murmured, stepping back just enough to breathe.
“Good,” Eva replied, heart hammering. “Because I need a husband who sees me, nae one who hides behind stone walls.”
Connor exhaled slow, the fight easing from his shoulders, though the tension remained. "Ye’re overreactin’ to this."
Eva folded her arms tight, the sting in her chest sharp enough to steal her breath.
“Perhaps I wouldnae overreact,” she said carefully, “if I kent more about ye, Connor.” She met his gaze, searching his face for any crack in the stone. “If I understood yer moods, maybe they wouldnae wound me so.”
Connor’s mouth hardened, and he turned slightly away. “Ye daenae need to ken anythin’ about me,” he said flatly. “What matters is what I do, nae what I feel.” His tone was final, as if he had closed a door and barred it fast.
The words struck deeper than Eva expected, and she felt her shoulders sag despite herself.
“That’s easy for ye to say,” she replied, quieter now. “Ye hold all the cards, while I’m left guessin’.” A heaviness settled in her chest, a mix of rejection and hurt she couldn't hide.
She looked away then, blinking fast, unwilling to let him see tears.
“I only wish to ken the man I’m to wed,” she murmured.
Her gaze drifted, seeking anything to steady herself, and that was when she saw the chessboard set upon a small table near the window. The pieces stood half-played, frozen in some long-forgotten battle. Eva felt a spark of resolve kindle, thin but stubborn.
Perhaps closeness doesnae always begin with words.
She drew a slow breath and turned back to him.
“If ye willnae tell me about yerself,” she said, voice gentler but firm, “then perhaps we can simply spend time together.”
Connor glanced at her then, wary.
“I’ve nae had supper,” she added, nodding toward the board, “and we could play a game of chess.”
He arched a brow, surprise flickering across his face before it vanished. For a heartbeat, Eva thought she’d reached him, that he might stay.
Instead, Connor turned on his heel and strode from the library without a word. The door closed behind him with a heavy finality.
Eva stood there, stunned, the silence roaring in her ears. Confusion gave way to anger, sharp and sudden, and her hands curled into fists.
“So that’s it, then,” she muttered, pacing once. “Walk away as always.”
Her breath came quick as she fought the urge to shout, to throw the chessboard across the room. She stopped herself only by sheer will, planting her feet hard against the stone floor.
“I willnae beg,” she whispered fiercely. The words echoed back hollow and unsure.
Before she could give voice to her fury, the door opened again. Connor reentered, his expression unreadable, his steps measured. Eva froze, every nerve alive, unsure whether to brace or soften. He closed the door behind him, sealing them once more together.
“I’ve told a maid to send supper here to the library,” he said gruffly. “And a good bottle of whisky.” He glanced toward the chessboard, then back at her. “If ye’re still of a mind to play.”
Relief washed over Eva so sudden it nearly buckled her knees. She let out a breath.
“Aye,” she said quickly, a small smile breaking through despite herself. “I am.”
A few moments later, the heavy doors of the library opened, and two servants entered carrying laden platters.
Eva watched in silence as they moved with quiet efficiency, clearing ledgers and old scrolls from a table.
One servant set a candle at the center and lit it.
The sudden warmth transformed the library from a place of records into a romantic supper.
The servants laid out the food and lifted the dome lids with a practiced flourish.
A half-roasted ham glistened with a honey glaze, its skin crisp and fragrant.
Trencher plates of roasted carrots, parsnips, and turnips steamed gently beside it, butter melting into their edges.
There were oat bannocks still warm from the hearth, a crock of thick barley stew, and, for after, small tarts filled with berry preserves and a wedge of cheese drizzled with cream.
They bowed low, eyes cast down, and waited.
Connor inclined his head once, a silent dismissal that sent them retreating as swiftly as they had come.
The doors closed again, leaving only the crackle of the candle and the quiet thrum of Eva’s heart.
She realized then how strange it felt to dine alone with him after days of distance.
Connor broke the silence first.
“We shall dine together this night, as ye’ve asked,” he said, his voice even but reserved.
He stepped forward and pulled out a chair for her, the scrape of wood against stone loud in the hush. Eva hesitated only a breath before sitting, smoothing her skirts as she settled.
“Thank ye,” she said softly, unsure where to look.
He nodded and took the opposite chair, though he didn’t sit just yet. Eva studied him from beneath her lashes, still confused by how he could be so attentive now after being so cold. She told herself not to question it aloud, fearing she might shatter this fragile peace.
Connor reached for the carving knife and sliced the ham with practiced ease. He served her first, placing meat, vegetables, and bread upon her plate.
“Thank ye,” Eva said again, more firmly this time, and their eyes met for a brief moment. Something unreadable flickered across his face before he looked away.
They began to eat, the clink of cutlery filling the space between them. The food was rich and comforting. She gathered her courage as she chewed, knowing she couldn’t let this chance slip.
“Connor,” she began, careful to keep her tone mild.
He glanced up, brow slightly furrowed. “Aye?” he said, lifting his cup.
“If I’m to be Lady McLaren,” Eva said, “I wish to ken more of the castle stocks and the daily runnin’ of things.” She swallowed, then added, “That is… if the weddin’ is still on.”
Connor’s knife paused mid-cut. He set it down slow and fixed her with a look sharp enough to steal her breath.
“What do ye mean, if it is still on?” he asked. “Of course the weddin’ is still on, as planned.”
Eva’s shoulders eased despite herself.
He continued, “Yer weddin’ clothes have been delivered, have they nae?”
“Aye,” she replied quickly, “they have, and the dress is beautiful.”
She hesitated, then confessed, “It’s only that I’ve nae seen ye in days.”
Connor leaned back slightly, “I’ve merely had matters to attend to, as I’ve already told ye,” he said. “Clan business doesnae cease for courtship.”
His tone was clipped, brooding, and Eva felt the wall rise again between them.
“I understand that,” she said gently, “but I wouldnae be kept in the dark forever.”
She gestured around them. “These ledgers, the stores, the people, one day they will be mine to mind as well.”
Connor took a long drink of ale before answering. “The granaries are full,” he said. “The cattle are accounted for. That is enough for now.”
Eva frowned slightly. “There is more to it than that,” she pressed. “What of the tenants, the rents, the winter plannin’?”
He sighed, fingers drumming once against the table.
“Those matters are handled,” he replied. “David oversees the men, and the steward keeps the tallies.”
His answers were short, almost evasive, and it frustrated her. She had hoped for guidance, not dismissal.
“And if the steward falls ill?” she asked. “If there’s poor harvest or unrest?”
Connor’s gaze sharpened, as if measuring her. “Then I handle it,” he said simply.
Eva set her fork down. “I daenae wish to be an ornament, Connor,” she said quietly. “I wish to be useful, to stand beside ye proper.” Her voice didn’t shake, though her heart did.
For a long moment, he said nothing. The candle flickered, throwing shadows across his stern features. Finally, he spoke, lower now.
“Clan McLaren matters are nae easily handled,” he said. “It is a heavy burden.”
“I ken that,” Eva replied. “I’ve borne burdens all me life.” She met his gaze steadily. “I’m nae afraid of work, nor of hard truths.”
"Ye ask many questions,” he said.
“Aye,” she answered, a small smile touching her lips. “Because I care.”
Connor looked down at his plate, then back up. “The stores are counted monthly,” he said at last. “The steward can show ye the records once the weddin’ is done.”
It was a small concession, but Eva felt a spark of triumph. “Thank ye,” she said sincerely.
They returned to eating, the tension easing just a fraction. Eva asked about the kitchens, the weaving rooms, and the healing stores. Connor answered each, still reserved, but no longer dismissive.
Though his mood remained dark and guarded, he didn’t shut her out entirely. Eva found comfort in the simple act of sharing a table with him, for now. The candle burned low as they spoke, and the food dwindled.
Though his mood remains dark and guarded, he doesnae shut me out entirely. Does he think of me as I do of him?