Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Eva had stood frozen in the shadowed corridor earlier that day, her breath caught in her throat as Connor’s words drifted to her from around the corner.
“Let the other Lairds write their angry letters and complain I dinnae choose their daughters to wed,” he had said.
She heard him speak to his grandmother about these letters, of Lairds and their daughters, and her heart thudded so loud she feared it would give her away.
“So that’s it then,” she whispered to herself, voice trembling, “I was a mistake, a wee fancy before he chose proper.”
Panic clawed up her chest, and before sense could stop her, she turned and fled, skirts whispering against the stone as tears burned her eyes.
She wandered the halls without seeing them, her thoughts tumbling wild and sharp.
“Daenae be a fool, Eva,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her brow, “ye kent all along ye were nae fit for a laird.”
Her steps slowed only an hour later, when she glimpsed the stables through an open arch and saw Connor striding with purpose, issuing orders, his posture hard and distant.
“He’s leavin’,” she told herself hoarsely, “leavin’ without a word to me, just like that.”
Her feet carried her forward before fear could root her in place, and she burst into the yard, heart hammering. She had demanded answers, her voice breaking as she asked where he was bound, only to be met with cold words and colder eyes.
When he turned away without explanation, the final thread of hope inside her snapped.
Now she stood alone, the echo of hooves and hurried voices ringing in her ears, her chest aching with every breath.
“He’s chosen them,” she whispered, hugging her arms around herself, “chosen some fine Laird’s daughter with silks and gold to offer the clan.”
Her tears fell freely as she shook her head, disbelief and hurt tangling tight. “I should’ve known better than to dream,” she murmured, staring at the ground, certain at last that she had been cast aside.
She made her way to her chamber and threw herself on the bed, tears streaking her cheeks, the heavy quilt tangled around her legs. The sound of her own quiet sobs filled the room until the door creaked open. Annabeth entered, leaving it ajar, her eyes soft with concern as she hurried to Eva’s side.
“Eva, lass, what’s the matter? Why do I find ye in tears like this?” Annabeth asked, her voice gentle, yet tinged with worry.
Eva wiped at her eyes, her voice trembling. “It’s… it’s Connor, Maither. He… he was so cold to me today. I daenae understand it… I daenae ken what I did to deserve it.”
Annabeth’s hand rested on Eva’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Now, now, lass. Sit up and tell me what happened. Speak to me plain. For there’s nothin’ that would shock me.”
Eva sniffled and sat upright, clutching the quilt to her chest. “I went to the stables to ask him where he was goin’… just to see him, and he snapped at me. He said it was none of me business, Annabeth. He… he was harsh, and I felt… small, as if I meant nothin’ to him at all.”
Eva didn't have the heart to tell her mother about the letters, not yet. She wasn't sure she had understood it just yet.
Annabeth’s brow furrowed, and she shook her head slowly. “Oh, Eva… ye know how the Laird can be at times. But harsh words, that is nay excuse to let them cut into yer heart like a dagger.”
Eva pressed her hands over her face, her voice breaking. “But maither… it hurts. I care for him so much, and then he turns away, and I feel… I feel like he wishes I were gone. I cannae stand it!”
Annabeth lifted Eva’s chin gently, looking into her daughter’s eyes. “Listen to me, lass. Connor… he has burdens, more than ye can ken. He keeps them close to his chest, and sometimes he pushes away the very ones he cares for most. His coldness isnae about ye… It’s about the weight he bears.”
Eva shook her head, tears still glistening. “But how can I ken that, Maither? How can I nae feel rejected when he speaks to me with such… such distance?”
Annabeth pulled Eva into a warm embrace, holding her tight. “Ye ken in yer heart, lass, that he loves ye. Sometimes the men of our clan show it in ways that daenae make sense to the heart. Ye must give him time… and patience, and show him that yer there, even when he’s lost in himself.”
Eva rested her head on her mother’s shoulder, letting herself be comforted. “I daenae ken if I can wait, Maither. I want him to… to show me, to let me in.”
Annabeth stroked her hair, her voice calm and soothing. “Patience, me sweet Eva. Love, true love, can withstand storms of mood and silence. He will come back to ye, and when he does… he will see yer strength, and he willnae hide from ye again.”
Eva exhaled shakily, feeling some of the ache in her chest ease. “I… I hope ye’re right, Maither. I… I just want to be near him, and now I feel so far away.”
Annabeth kissed her forehead and whispered, “Ye are never far from him, lass, in spirit or heart. Keep that close, and ye will see… he will return, and all this hurt will be but a shadow of the love that waits for ye.”
Eva decided then she couldn't keep the truth hidden any longer.
“That's nae the whole truth, Maither. I heard… I heard him talkin’ about letters he received from the other Lairds. They want him to pick a bride from one of their daughters. Now he has left without explanation, and I fear he has gone to make negotiations to marry one of their daughters and nae me.”
Eva looked at her mother as shock crossed her face.
Eva sat upon the edge of her bed, her hands knotted in her skirts as tears slipped down her cheeks, when a gentle clearing of a throat sounded from the doorway.
She and her mother both looked up to see Margaret standing upon the threshold, her silver hair neatly braided and her expression calm yet intent.
Eva’s heart lurched, shame and fear tangling as she hastily wiped at her face.
“Me lady,” Eva murmured, struggling to rise, unsure if she was about to be scolded or dismissed.
Margaret lifted a hand, her voice soft but steady as she said, “Daenae trouble yerself, lass, stay where ye are.”
She stepped fully into the chamber, her sharp eyes taking in Eva’s tear-streaked face and Annabeth’s worried posture.
“I could hear the distress in yer voice from the corridor,” Margaret continued, her tone not unkind.
“Indeed, she is greatly distressed. What is the meanin’ of her grandson up and leavin' in such haste and bein’ cold to me daughter?” Annabeth asked.
“Maither, please. If he is to cast me aside, I daenae think Lady Margaret had anythin’ to do with it. He is a man of strong will and does as he pleases,” Eva said.
“What do ye mean by this?” Margaret asked.
“It is nay use. I heard ye and Connor speakin’ of the letters the Lairds sent askin’ him to take one of their daughters.
And now Connor has left without a word to me except to be very cold, mean, and refuse to explain where he was headin',” Eva said.
A sob escaped her as she could not hold back her sorrow.
Eva swallowed hard and whispered, “I fear I’ve misunderstood things greatly, me lady. I thought he cared for me deeply, and I was wrong.”
Margaret came closer and sat upon the chair near the hearth, folding her hands in her lap.
“Eva,” she said plainly, meeting her gaze, “Connor is nae leavin’ ye, nor is he seekin’ another bride.”
Eva’s breath caught, disbelief flickering across her face as she shook her head. “Then why,” she asked softly, her voice cracking, “why did he leave so sudden, with nay word to me at all?”
Margaret sighed, the sound heavy with old memories, and glanced briefly toward the window.
“It isnae yer fault, child,” she said gently, “nor is it about the weddin’.”
Eva leaned forward, hanging on every word, her heart pounding anew.
“There was news this day,” Margaret went on, “an update in the matter of his brother’s death. Michael.”
At the mention of this, Eva’s eyes widened, shock rippling through her.
Margaret’s voice lowered as if the walls themselves might listen.
“A young man has been seen on the road near McKay lands,” she explained, “a lad with the very same birthmark his Michael bore upon his neck.”
Eva gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as a rush of emotions flooded her.
“Alive?” she whispered, scarcely daring to hope.
Margaret nodded once. “Alive, perhaps, though naught is certain yet. That is why Connor left so urgently.”
Eva felt her chest swell with a strange mixture of joy and confusion.
“That’s… that’s wonderful for him,” she said, her voice trembling, “for Connor.”
Then her brow furrowed, hurt seeping back in. “But why did he nae tell me?” she asked, the question small and aching.
Margaret’s expression softened further, sympathy lining her face. “It all happened in a blink, lass,” she replied, “and Connor was swept up by it before he could think straight.”
Margaret shifted in her seat and added, “Truth be told, I learned of it meself only by chance.”
Eva looked at her in surprise.
“A guard spoke too freely near the stair,” Margaret said with a faint, wry smile, “and I overheard enough to ken what stirred Connor so.”
Eva exhaled shakily, some of the weight lifting from her chest as understanding settled in. “So he dinnae leave because of me,” she murmured, more to herself than to them.
“Nay,” Margaret said firmly, her voice brooking no argument, “that man is half undone with worry and hope both, but his heart is still firmly set on ye.”
Eva felt fresh tears well, though these were softer, warmer ones. “I wish he’d trusted me enough to say so,” Eva confessed, her hands twisting together. Margaret regarded her thoughtfully and said, “In time, he will learn that trust is nae a weakness.”
Margaret rose and moved closer, laying a comforting hand upon Eva’s shoulder.
“Ye must understand,” she continued, “Connor has carried grief like armor these many years.”
Eva nodded slowly, thinking of his silences, his moods, the shadows behind his eyes.
“This news struck at the heart of it,” Margaret said, “and he ran toward it without lookin’ back.”
Eva swallowed and whispered, “I ken that now.”
Margaret straightened and turned her head toward the door. “Tea would do us all some good,” she declared briskly as she stepped into the hall.
She called out to a maid, “Hilda, fetch a tray of tea, and be quick about it.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Eva let out a long breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Thank ye, me lady,” Eva said quietly, gratitude filling her voice.
Margaret returned to her seat and studied Eva with a shrewd but kind eye.
“Daenae let idle thoughts poison yer heart, child,” she said. “The village gossip and the sour letters of proud Lairds mean naught compared to the truth of Connor’s choice.”
Eva nodded, wiping her cheeks again as she managed a small smile. “I want only to stand by him,” she said, “whatever comes.”
Annabeth, who had been silent, reached for Eva’s hand and squeezed it gently.
“Ye hear that, daughter,” she said softly, “there is hope yet.”
Eva leaned into her mother’s touch, feeling steadier now. Margaret smiled at the sight, her stern features easing.
“Indeed, there is,” she said, “and ye shall be Lady McLaren soon enough.”
The maid returned with the tea tray, setting it carefully upon the small table by the bed. Steam curled upward, carrying the familiar scent of herbs, and
Margaret poured the cups with practiced grace. “Drink,” she urged Eva, handing her one, “and let yer nerves settle.”
Eva accepted it with trembling hands and took a cautious sip, warmth spreading through her.
As they sat together, the room grew quieter, the earlier panic fading into a fragile calm.
Eva stared into her cup, her thoughts returning to Connor, riding hard with hope and fear tangled in his chest.
“I pray he finds the truth,” she murmured.
Margaret nodded solemnly and replied, “As do we all, lass, for whatever that truth may be, it will change many lives.”