Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Connor stayed close, not touching her, but making it clear he controlled every inch of her direction. Before they could take five strides, Margaret swept into their path like a storm.
The older woman planted her hands on her hips, sharp eyes raking over Eva from head to toe.
“Well now,” Margaret declared loudly, “so this is the lass.” She clicked her tongue with disappointment. “She’s nae what I expected, bit plain, but she’ll do if she can give ye heirs.”
Connor released an irritated breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Grandmaither, it has yet to be made official if I will pick this lass or nae,” he said, forcing patience into his tone. “Now, if ye’ll kindly let us through, I have business to attend to with the lass.” He tightened his hold on Eva’s wrist, guiding her forward.
Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “And what kind of business might that be?” she demanded, stepping directly into their way. “I must ken what ye are up to. Ye arenae slippin’ past me without an explanation.”
“I am the Laird here. Ye daenae get to demand things from me. Move aside Grandmaither. Tell our guests I shall return within the hour,” he instructed, his tone brooking no disagreement.
“Go and be a gracious hostess to yer party. That is yer task tonight, nae hoverin’ over me.
” His command rolled through the hall with unmistakable authority.
Margaret huffed, shoulders rising as she glared at him with outrage.
“Aye, aye, ye stubborn lad,” she muttered, though she shuffled aside at last. “But daenae think I’m done speakin’ of this.” She shot Eva one last assessing look before turning in a flurry of skirts.
Connor seized Eva’s hand firmly, ignoring her startled intake of breath. His stride was long and purposeful as he pulled her along, giving her no chance to hesitate.
The night air met them in a cool rush as they stepped out of the castle and crossed the moonlit courtyard.
Lanterns swung gently on their hooks, casting soft golden pools of light that wavered over the cobblestones.
The stables rose at the far end, long, sturdy, and built of dark timber, with warm light spilling from the open doors.
Inside, horses shuffled in their stalls, the scent of hay and leather hanging thick in the air as stable boys quietly murmured to the beasts in their care.
Connor paused at the threshold, his gaze drifting briefly to the lass at his side. Inwardly, he felt an unsettling tug of intrigue.
Who is this simple village girl who dares challenge me with every breath?
The daughters of the lairds inside the hall spent time batting lashes and bending like reeds before him, offering nothing but obedience wrapped in silk. Yet this Eva girl, with her fire, her stubborn chin, and those quick blue eyes, stirred something sharper, something far less controllable.
“Get yer horse,” Connor commanded, nodding toward the stalls as he strode forward with purpose. “We’ll leave at once.”
Eva blinked at him, her cloak brushing the straw-littered floor. “I daenae have a horse, me laird,” she confessed, her voice low with a hint of embarrassment.
Connor turned to her fully “Then, we’re ridin’ together,” he said, enjoying the instant flush that colored her cheeks. “Up with ye. I’ve nae the patience to dawdle.”
Her eyes widened, and she took a hurried step back. “I can walk,” she insisted, shaking her head. “It’s nae far, me laird. I daenae need to trouble ye.”
“Walk?” he repeated as though she had suggested crawling on her hands. “Ye’ll do nay such thing when ye’ve a fevered family waitin’ on ye. Ye’ll get lost in the dark.”
Eva crossed her arms, stubbornness radiating off her like heat from a forge. “I’ve walked that road since I was a bairn,” she argued. “I ken it better than ye ken yer own boots.”
Connor stepped closer, towering over her with a commanding presence that would have sent most lasses tripping over themselves. “And yet,” he said with infuriating calm, “ye’ll ride with me.”
Eva’s lips parted in protest. “I will nae.”
Connor raised one brow, a challenge gleaming in his black eyes. “Lass,” he warned softly, “I’m tryin’ to be reasonable. Ye want to get to yer family quick or nae?”
Her resolve wavered, and she looked away, jaw tight. “Aye… but still, I can…”
“Ye can argue with me the whole damn way,” Connor cut in, gesturing toward his stallion, “but ye’ll do it sittin’ in front of me on that horse.”
Eva huffed, clearly torn between pride and urgency. “Ye’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met,” she muttered under her breath.
Connor smirked, stepping past her to ready the saddle. “Aye,” he said, “and God help ye, ye’ll soon be married to me.”
Her breath caught, her cheeks blooming scarlet once more, and Connor found, much to his surprise, that he enjoyed every second of her flustered defiance.
He lifted her with practiced ease. Eva let out a startled gasp as he set her upon the horse, her skirts fluttering about her ankles. The mare shifted beneath them, snorting as if amused by the whole affair. Connor swung up behind her, settling close enough that her back brushed his chest.
Eva sputtered, twisting to glare at him, her cheeks blooming a furious pink.
“Ye cannae just haul a lass about like a sack of barley,” she snapped, her voice shaking with indignation.
Connor only smirked, enjoying the fire sparking in her eyes. She fussed with her skirts, muttering about manners, though her blush betrayed more than annoyance.
Connor, for his part, savored the way she fit against him, soft and warm in all the right places.
His mind wandered, dangerously so, imagining how far that flush traveled when she was flustered.
For a heartbeat, he pictured her in a bed instead of a saddle, tangled in linen and moonlight.
He jerked himself back to focus, cursing silently, for this was exactly the sort of distraction marriage brought, and a mission of vengeance demanded none of that. It demanded focus.
The mare stepped forward, carrying them out into the open yard, the wind teasing strands of Eva’s hair back against his cheek. Her scent, faint and sweet, did nothing to steady him. Connor cleared his throat and forced his thoughts elsewhere.
“Where’s yer faither, then?” he asked, keeping his tone even.
Eva’s shoulders drooped, and her voice softened. “He passed years ago… gods, but he’s missed. He was a good man, strong in all the ways that mattered.” She stared ahead, her fingers curling lightly into the horse’s mane. “Things have nae been the same since.”
“So, it’s just ye, yer maither, and yer brother?” Connor asked, guiding the horse toward the gate. His tone held a gentleness he rarely showed, though he doubted she noticed.
Eva nodded, letting out a slow breath that trembled at the end. “Aye,” she murmured, “but we manage well enough.”
Connor thought of his own father, cruel-handed, sharp-tongued, and colder than the winter sea. The memories flickered like dying embers, best left unstirred. He kept the bitterness buried deep, hidden behind a steady expression.
“Strong families find their way,” he said simply.
Eva tilted her head, casting him a sideways glance. “Aye, we try. I do me best to keep us goin’, and maither’s as stubborn as a mule.” A faint smile touched her lips, though sorrow still lingered behind it. “We daenae have much, but we’ve each other.”
Connor clicked his tongue, urging the horse into a smooth trot as they passed through the castle gates and onto the winding road beyond.
The evening light spilled over the hills, softening the rugged land.
Eva shifted slightly, settling more comfortably against him despite herself.
Connor felt the motion far too keenly and forced his gaze ahead, wrestling his thoughts back into line.
The world felt smaller with her so close, her warmth seeping through him like a slow, persistent tide. Connor wondered, briefly, unwillingly, what path he’d stumbled onto the moment he’d met this stubborn village lass.
Up ahead, the village path curved gently between low stone cottages, their thatched roofs catching the moonlight.
As Connor rode through with Eva settled in front of him, he noticed villagers pausing to stare.
One by one, they dipped their heads in respectful greeting, their eyes lingering on the laird and the lass in his hold.
Connor kept his posture straight, though his attention remained fixed on the way whispers trailed behind them.
A few murmurs drifted through the air, soft yet clear enough to catch.
“Eva,” they said, some with surprise, others with familiarity. Connor arched a brow, mildly amused that her name traveled ahead of her like a banner.
At least she didnae about who she is.
Eva shifted slightly as they passed a group of elders hunched over baskets.
Her spine straightened, though her cheeks still carried the faint flush from earlier.
Connor felt the small movement, every bit of it uncomfortably noticeable.
He exhaled slowly, focusing on the road rather than the girl pressed against him.
“Ye’re well kent here, then?” he asked, his voice low enough to keep the villagers from overhearing. “Folk keep whisperin’ yer name.” He cast her a sidelong glance, trying, and failing, not to enjoy how flustered she became. “Ye stir up a fair bit of attention.”
Eva let out a soft snort and glanced down at her hands.
“Aye, well… everyone kens everyone here,” she replied, her tone modest but tinged with pride.
“I help when I can, fetchin’ herbs, watchin’ bairns, mendin’ clothin’ if someone needs it.
” She shrugged lightly. “It’s nae much, but it makes life a bit easier for folk. ”
Connor studied the villagers as they continued on, noting the warm looks cast toward her, some grateful, some fond.
He could see the truth of her words reflected plainly in their expressions.
It stirred something curious in him, something that was neither irritation nor desire, yet sat oddly between.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to place the feeling.
“So ye’re the village wee saint, are ye?” he said with a smirk, letting the tease slip before he could stop it. “Helpin’ every last soul who so much as sneezes?” His tone was light, but the interest behind it was real. “That explains why they look at ye like ye hung the moon.”
Eva twisted to glare back at him, a spark igniting in her gaze. “Daenae start with that nonsense,” she huffed. “I’m nae a saint, just someone who kens what it’s like to need help.” Her voice softened a touch. “Folk look after each other here. It’s how we survive.”
Connor hummed, absorbing her words more deeply than he intended. The simple honesty of her sentiment nudged at old memories he preferred to keep sealed, memories of a home where help was never offered freely. He tightened his grip on the reins, nudging the horse onward.
“Aye,” he murmured, “seems to me they’re lucky to have ye.”
“Ye daenae seem the sort to hand out compliments,” she said, her voice hesitant, almost testing. “Should I be wary?” She arched a brow, matching his earlier teasing with her own.
“Aye, probably,” he said, his tone half-serious. “I’m nae known for bein’ kind.”