Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Connor raised an eyebrow at the lass’s sheer audacity, her bold refusal hanging in the air like a thrown gauntlet.
He stared at her, studying every nervous twitch, every darting glance she made about the room.
Something about her didn’t add up, and he felt the tight prickle of suspicion coil through him.
What business did a villager have sneakin’ about durin’ a ceilidh meant for the highest people of the nearby clans?
He folded his arms across his broad chest and tilted his head.
“If ye arenae here to vie fer me hand, then why are ye in me castle at all?” His voice dropped low, sharp as a blade unsheathed.
He noticed she looked like she wished she could vanish into the floor.
“I… I was forced to attend,” she stammered, cheeks flushing. “Me parents insisted on it, so I came.” Her eyes darted away from his, too quickly for Connor’s liking.
Connor narrowed his eyes, every instinct in him sharpening. “Daenae lie to me, lass,” he warned, voice rumbling with growing irritation. “I ken the sound of a lie the same way I ken the howl of a wolf.” He stepped closer, watching the panic bloom across her face.
She moved swiftly across the room, putting distance between them, though her steps were clumsy with nerves.
“I daenae ken what ye’re talkin’ about,” she said, her voice pitched higher than before. Her fingers twisted together as though she wished she could hide them. Connor watched her movements, noting each frantic gesture with rising suspicion.
A dark thought flickered in his mind, unwelcome yet persistent.
“Are ye a spy?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Sent by me enemies to slither through me halls?”
The surge of protectiveness over his clan drove his temper hotter. He watched Eva’s eyes widen with pure panic and outrage.
“How dare ye accuse me of such a thing!” she cried, her voice trembling. “I’ve never done a wicked thing in me life!” But her breath came too fast, and her trembling told him she was hiding something, even if not treachery.
Connor stalked toward her with the heavy step of a man who expected answers.
His jaw tightened as he watched her retreat until her back brushed the edge of his desk.
He noted the way she swallowed hard, as though the room itself pressed against her lungs.
His instincts, honed over years of battle and betrayal, refused to quiet.
He planted a hand on the desk beside her, leaning in close.
“Yer fear speaks louder than yer words, lass,” he said, eyes narrowing further. “Folk who’ve nothin’ to hide daenae tremble like rabbits in a snare.” His tone held accusation sharp enough to cut.
Eva pressed a hand to her chest as though trying to steady her heart.
“I tremble because ye’re accusin’ me of madness!” she fired back, voice shaking. “Ye loom over me like a storm ready to strike!” She looked ready to flee but too cornered to run.
Connor’s frustration flared; he couldn’t stand evasiveness, not in his own halls, not after years of chasing ghosts from his brother’s murder.
Her skittishness reminded him too much of people caught in lies before.
He watched her eyes flit toward the door, then to his shelves, as though searching for escape or excuses.
Each movement fed the fire of his suspicion.
“Tell me the truth,” he growled, stepping closer still. “Why were ye wanderin’ the castle? The ceilidh is nae for the villagers.”
Every word he spoke felt like a stone thrown into still water, watching the ripples of her fear spread.
Eva wrung her hands, mouth opening and closing as though words tangled in her throat.
“I, I told ye, me parents wanted me to come,” she insisted weakly. “It’s a great castle, and I’m nae used to such grandeur.” She stumbled over the sentence, clearly crafting it on the spot.
Connor scoffed, unable to contain his disbelief. His voice thundered across the room.
“Lass, daenae lie.” He had no patience for lies, not from enemies, not from friends, and certainly not from a stranger who had somehow become his betrothed.
She lifted her chin in defiance despite the fear trembling through her.
“Ye’ve nay right to speak to me like I’m a traitor,” she snapped, though her voice wavered. “I came here because, because…” She faltered again, unable to finish.
Connor pounced on her hesitation like a hawk diving on prey.
“Aye?” he pressed, his gaze drilling into hers. “Because why?” His tone softened not at all.
Eva’s lips parted, desperate for an answer that would satisfy him, but none came. She looked caught between confession and collapse, her breath unsteady. Her eyes glistened with the threat of tears she stubbornly refused to shed. The room felt thick with her panic and his suspicion.
“If ye’re here to harm me clan, lass, I swear ye’ll regret steppin’ foot past the castle gates,” he said, voice low and lethal. “I’ve lost too much to play games with spies.” His jaw flexed, haunted briefly by memories he kept locked behind iron walls.
Eva shook her head vigorously, her voice breaking. “I am nae a spy,” she whispered, though her whisper carried more desperation than conviction. “I would never harm the clan.” Her hands clutched her cloak as though it were the only thing holding her together.
Connor studied her, searching every inch of her face for the truth he couldn’t find. Her fear was real, but so was her secrecy. She had the look of someone with a purpose she dared not admit. And that made her even more dangerous.
He stepped back just a fraction, enough to let her breathe but not escape.
“Then speak plainly,” he ordered. “Because I will find the truth, whether ye give it willingly or I drag it from ye meself.” His voice echoed with the iron certainty of a laird accustomed to obedience.
Eva pressed her lips tightly together, as if afraid that any word she uttered might doom her. Connor watched her, unblinking, waiting for the crack in her resolve. And in that moment, he knew, whatever secret she carried, she would not give it easily.
“And if ye daenae tell me the truth this very moment, I’ll throw ye in the stocks for every soul in the castle to gawk at.” His black eyes held hers, unrelenting, daring her to defy him again.
Eva’s composure shattered like thin glass, panic flooding her expression. She clutched at her cloak as though it could shield her from the weight of his fury. Tears glimmered unshed in her eyes, her breath shaking wildly. Then her resolve crumbled with a single gasp.
“I came to steal yarrow from yer healer,” she burst out, her voice cracking.
Her confession hung in the air, unexpected and jarring, and Connor blinked in surprise.
“Steal?” he repeated, disbelieving. His shock gave way to anger rising swift and hot.
He stepped closer, his tone darkening. “Why in God’s name do ye think it’s fine to steal from yer own laird?” His voice cracked like a whip, sharp and cutting. He couldn’t fathom the audacity, and from a villager, no less.
Eva stumbled over her words as though they were burning her tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry,” she stammered, tears slipping free. “I meant nay harm, me laird, truly I dinnae.” Her voice was raw with desperation.
Connor cut her apology short with a slicing motion of his hand. “I daenae want to hear it,” he snapped, his temper flaring brighter. “Ye’re a thief.” The insult came out harsh, but he felt betrayed in a way he hadn’t expected.
Eva gasped, her hands rising in a helpless gesture of pleading. “I’ll accept any punishment ye see fit,” she said, collapsing to her knees. “But please, I beg ye, let me bring the medicine to me family first.” Her voice cracked into a sob, her tears falling freely now.
Connor’s anger paused, but only for a moment. His brows drew together as he stared down at her kneeling form.
“Yer family?” he echoed.
Eva nodded frantically, her hair falling wild around her face.
“Me maither and brother are sick with fever,” she cried. “The village healer has run out of yarrow, and I came because I dinnae ken where else to turn. I never meant to go to the great hall; I only wanted to sneak in and out unseen.”
Her voice dropped to a broken whisper then. “Please, Laird… just let me treat them. Let me save them. I’ll do anythin’, just let me take the herb.”
She pressed her forehead to the floor, trembling with fear and grief.
Connor stared at her, the scene twisting something deep in his chest. He’d seen desperate folk before, but never a lass with such fire buried beneath her terror.
Her fear seemed genuine enough, yet so did the wild determination clinging to her every word.
It unsettled him, more than he cared to admit.
He inhaled slowly, trying to decide if she manipulated him or truly suffered. His gaze dropped to the way she knelt, not with pride but with pleading humility. Her sobs were unfeigned, raw, and trembling. She was not lying about this, his instincts told him so.
Finally, he spoke, voice low and unyielding. “I’ll let ye live,” he said, tasting the weight of the decision. “And I’ll let ye take the medicine to yer family.” His next words dropped like an executioner’s axe. “But only on one condition.”
Eva lifted her head slowly, tears streaking her cheeks, eyes wide with fragile hope and dread. She swallowed hard, her voice small. “What… condition?” Her fingers dug into her skirt as though bracing for another blow.
Connor let the silence stretch just long enough for her heartbeat to stutter. He bent down slightly, bringing his face level with hers, holding her gaze with unbreakable intensity. His next words were deliberate, unshakable, and final.
“Ye marry me.”
Eva froze, her breath catching in her throat as if he’d struck her. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged at first. Color drained from her cheeks, leaving her pale beneath the lantern light. The cloak slipped from her shaking grip.
“M-Marry… ye?” she finally whispered, voice trembling with disbelief. Her eyes darted across his face, searching for mockery and finding none. “But… why? Surely ye jest.” She looked utterly undone.
Connor straightened to his full height, towering over her with the commanding presence of a laird who expected obedience. He folded his arms, gaze unrelenting.
“Because I daenae take kindly to thieves,” he said, voice deep and final. “And marryin’ me is the only way ye leave this castle.”
Eva’s breath shook violently, her tears falling faster now. She pressed a hand to her mouth, staring at him as though he were both savior and executioner. Her entire body trembled under the weight of his demand.
Connor watched her, emotionless but not unaffected. Her desperation tugged at something buried deep within him, something he tried hard to ignore. But he needed control, loyalty, and answers, and this marriage would give him all three. Or so he told himself.
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her once more.
“Choose, lass,” he said quietly, though his voice still held steel. “Yer freedom and yer family’s lives… or the stocks and shame.” His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unwavering.