Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Achessboard sat between them, its worn squares lit by the low glow of the candle.
Connor rested his forearms on the table, watching as Eva eyed the carved pieces with open suspicion.
She reached for a pawn, hesitated, then pulled her hand back as though it might leap at her.
The quiet between them felt charged, gentler than their earlier sharp words.
“I should confess somethin’,” Eva said, glancing up at him.
Connor lifted a brow. “Go on, then.”
“I’ve nay idea how to play this game,” she admitted, a crooked smile tugging at her lips.
“But ’twas yer idea, lass,” Connor said, and a rough laugh escaped him.
She only shrugged, wholly unbothered.
“That shrug alone should be banned,” he said, amusement warming his voice.
“Will ye teach me,” Eva asked, “or will ye mock me all night?”
Connor’s smile lingered longer than he expected. “Aye, I’ll teach ye.”
He reached forward and straightened the pieces with practiced care, aligning them. Eva leaned closer, her curiosity bright and unguarded. Connor felt the brush of her sleeve against his arm and forced his attention back to the game.
“These are the pawns,” he said, tapping the front row. “They move one step straight ahead.”
“They seem simple enough,” Eva said.
“They are,” Connor replied, “until they arenae.”
He lifted a rook and set it down again.
“This one moves straight as well,” he said. “As far as it likes, but only in lines.”
“Like a soldier followin’ orders,” Eva said thoughtfully.
“Aye,” Connor said, watching her rather than the board.
He picked up the knight next, turning it so she could see its carved head.
“This one’s trickier,” he said. “It moves in an L-shape.”
Eva frowned. “That makes nae sense at all.”
Connor chuckled. “Most clever things daenae at first.”
She tried to move the knight, misjudged the pattern, and laughed at herself.
“I’ll never remember this,” Eva said.
“Aye, ye will,” Connor replied as he leaned closer. “Here, like this.”
He guided her hand gently, his fingers closing briefly over hers. Eva stilled, then nodded, her breath soft.
“Oh,” she said. “I see it now.”
Connor withdrew his hand, though he felt the loss of her warmth keenly.
He moved the bishop next, explaining its diagonal path.
“So it only goes one way?” Eva asked.
“Aye,” Connor said. “And that limitation is its strength.”
She nodded slowly, then surprised him by confidently pushing a pawn forward.
“Like this?” she asked.
“Just so,” Connor said, pride slipping into his tone.
He watched her as the lesson went on and she relaxed. Her laughter when she made mistakes and teased him made heat rise inside of him.
“I think this game is meant to make folk argue,” Eva said.
“Or challenge one another,” Connor replied.
He showed her the queen last, placing the piece carefully in her palm.
“She’s the strongest on the board,” he said. “She moves where she wills.”
Eva lifted her chin. “As she should be.”
Connor smiled despite himself, thinking how well the piece suited her.
By the time they finished, the candle had burned low, and the board was scattered with half-played moves. He looked at her as she studied it with narrow eyes, rather than confusion now.
“I ken it’s only the beginnin’,” she said, “but I liked learnin’ from ye.”
“And now ye ken the basics,” Connor said, resting his hand near the board, “let us play a real game of chess.”
Eva smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting with quiet excitement.
“Aye, I’ll try, though I daenae promise I’ll be any good.”
“Ye’ll be fine,” he replied. “Just daenae moan when I beat ye.”
She huffed a laugh and reached for a pawn, pushing it forward with care. Connor mirrored her move, the soft click of wood-on-wood echoing in the hushed library. The game settled into a gentle rhythm, neither hurried nor tense.
He saw her glance up at him suddenly, her fingers hovering over a knight. Her expression turned thoughtful, almost shy. Connor waited, sensing there was more she wished to say.
“Ye ken,” Eva began, moving her piece, “This is fun, and I have come to realize, I’ve never really done anythin’ for fun.”
Connor paused, his hand resting on a bishop. “What do ye mean by that, lass?”
She shrugged lightly. “Since I was wee, it’s always been work or care or worry. Helpin’ Maither, watchin’ Jason, makin’ sure we had enough.”
Connor made his move slowly, buying himself a moment. “That’s nay way for a soul to live.”
“It’s the only way I kent,” Eva said softly. “Fun always felt like a thing meant for other folk, nae me own kind.”
Connor looked at her then, truly looked, and felt a sharp stab of something close to regret. He leaned back, folding his arms as the board blurred for a moment.
“That’ll change,” he said firmly.
Eva blinked. “Change?”
“Aye,” he said. “I swear it will.”
She tilted her head, curiosity lighting her face. “And how do ye plan to do that, Laird McLaren?”
A slow smile tugged at his mouth, one that felt unfamiliar but welcome. “I’ll start by takin’ ye fishin’.”
Her eyes widened. “Fishin’?”
“The next night,” he said. “When the loch’s quiet and the stars are out.”
Eva laughed, delighted. “Night fishin’?”
“Aye, I find it to be fun,” Connor replied, a challenge in his tone. “Unless ye’re scared of the dark.”
She straightened in her chair. “I am nae scared,” she said promptly. “In fact, that sounds wonderful.”
Connor felt warmth spread through him at her excitement. He watched as she made another move, a bit bolder now, her shoulders relaxed. For the first time, the library felt less like a place of records and burdens and more like a shared space. He wondered when that change had happened.
As they continued, Connor found his thoughts drifting despite himself.
Michael’s face surfaced in his mind, as it often did, but this time the ache was dulled.
He realized how tightly he had been holding himself apart, guarding old wounds as though they defined him.
Eva’s presence did not erase his grief, but it softened its sharpest edges.
“Ye’re smilin’,” Eva said suddenly, eyeing him over the board.
“Am I?” Connor asked.
“Aye,” she replied. “It suits ye.”
He cleared his throat and made a careless move. Eva noticed at once, her brows knitting as she leaned closer. She captured his piece with a small gasp of triumph. Connor watched her reaction and hid his own smile.
“Did I do that right?” she asked.
“Ye did,” he said. “Quite right.”
They played on, the pieces dwindling as the game unfolded. Eva grew more confident, testing moves and watching his reactions. Connor, meanwhile, found himself deliberately easing off, guiding the game without her noticing. It pleased him to see her enjoyment bloom.
“I think I might be winnin’,” Eva said cautiously.
“Do ye now?” Connor replied, feigning concern.
She nodded, then hesitated. “Unless I’ve missed somethin’.”
Connor leaned forward, studying the board with exaggerated seriousness. “Nay, lass,” he said at last. “I think ye’ve got me.”
Her eyes widened again, this time with disbelief. “Truly?”
“Aye,” he said, pushing his king aside. “Well played.”
Eva stared at the board, then at him, laughter bubbling free. “I won?”
“Ye did,” Connor said, warmth flooding his voice.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, half laughing, half stunned. “I cannae believe it.”
Connor watched her with quiet satisfaction. He knew he had let her win, but the joy it brought her mattered far more than the truth. In that moment, he understood something simple and profound: letting her shine did not diminish him.
Eva gathered the pieces carefully, still smiling to herself. “Thank ye,” she said softly. “For teachin’ me. For playin’.”
“Thank ye,” Connor replied, surprising himself, “for remindin’ me how to partake in leisure.”
The candle guttered low. Connor felt a resolve settle deep within him, steady and sure. He would honor his past, but he would not live trapped within it, and Eva would not face the world without laughter again if he had any say in it.
Connor rose from the table, the scrape of his chair loud in the quiet library, and he turned toward Eva with a softened look. He extended his hand to her, palm open and steady, as though offering more than the simple gesture.
“’Tis late,” he said gently, his voice low with restraint, “I’ll escort ye to yer room, lass.”
Eva placed her hand in his without hesitation and smiled up at him. “I would like that very much,” she replied, her tone warm and sincere.
They left the library together, the candlelight fading behind them as the corridors swallowed their steps.
Connor kept his pace measured, though every instinct urged him closer, and the feel of her small, soft hand wrapped in his sent a slow heat through his chest. Her warmth seemed to seep through the wool of her sleeve, and he became acutely aware of the way her shoulder brushed his arm with every step.
He said little, afraid that if he spoke too freely, the control he clung to would fray.
As they walked, Connor felt the pull of her like a tide he had chosen to stand against. Her presence beside him was grounding and maddening all at once, her quiet breaths and subtle movements stirring thoughts he kept carefully locked away.
He noticed how naturally she matched his stride, how she leaned just slightly toward him as though she trusted him to steady her.
The scent of her hair, clean and faintly floral, teased his senses.
He reflected in silence, knowing with a certainty that both comforted and unsettled him that she would be his wife soon.
The thought filled him with a fierce pride and a deeper hunger he dared not voice, not yet and perhaps not ever in such plain terms. He wanted her joy, her respect, and her future, not just her body, though denying that desire took effort.
Connor told himself that patience was a mark of strength, even when every step tested it.
Eva glanced up at him as they neared her chamber, her eyes bright in the torchlight.
“Thank ye for walkin’ me,” she said softly, squeezing his hand before letting it go.
Connor stopped before her door and inclined his head, schooling his expression into calm courtesy. “’Tis only right,” he answered, though the words felt thin compared to what he held back.
He took her hand once more, lifting it with care, and pressed a respectful kiss to her knuckles.
“Sleep well, Eva,” he said quietly, his voice roughened despite his effort.
She smiled, her cheeks pink, and dipped into a small curtsy. “And ye, Connor,” she replied, “I wish ye a good slumber.”
He watched as she slipped into her chamber, the door closing with a soft final sound. Connor stood there a moment longer than necessary, staring at the wood as though it might open again. Then he turned sharply on his heel and made his way to his own bedchamber, his steps quicker now.
Inside, he splashed cold water over his face and neck, gripping the basin as the chill battled the burning heat within him, reminding himself that restraint tonight would make tomorrow stronger.
The next morning dawned grey and brisk, and Connor rose early, shrugging into his tartan with the practiced ease of habit.
The castle was already stirring as he moved through the corridors, servants bowing and guards straightening at his passing, reminders of the weight he carried.
Whatever turmoil lingered in his heart, his duties did not wait for a man’s mind to settle.
By the time he entered the council chamber, his expression was once more that of the Laird of McLaren.
The long oak table was soon filled with his advisers, men weathered by years of wind, war, and hard decisions. David, his man-at-arms, stood at his right, while Fergus the steward and old Alastair the reeve settled opposite him.
“Right then,” Connor said, taking his seat at the head, his voice firm, “let us hear what troubles me lands this morn.” Fergus cleared his throat and spread out a ledger. “The western fences are still in disrepair, me laird, and MacRae’s cattle keep wanderin’ onto our grazin’.”
Connor leaned forward. “I’ve warned MacRae twice already,” he said flatly.
Alastair nodded, his lined face grave. “Aye, and the folk are growin’ restless over it, Connor, sayin’ their own beasts go hungry.”
Connor drummed his fingers once on the table. “Then send word that if the fences are nae mended by week’s end, I’ll have them rebuilt at MacRae’s expense in tax levy.”
David spoke next, his tone cautious. “There’s also talk of poachers in the forest.”
Connor snorted softly. “Double the patrols and make it clear nay poachers will be tolerated.”
The discussion moved on, voices overlapping as matters of grain stores, winter fodder, and disputed boundaries were raised.
Connor listened closely, interjecting when needed, his authority steady and unquestioned.
“We’ll see the widows through the winter,” he said at one point, fixing Fergus with a hard stare. “I’ll nae have any starvin’ under me watch.”
As the council drew to a close, Alastair studied him thoughtfully. “Ye’ve a firm hand this day, lad,” the old man said, almost kindly.
Connor inclined his head, though his thoughts drifted again, unbidden, to soft hands and the quiet laughter of his betrothed.
“A laird must be firm,” he replied evenly, pushing back his chair.
And yet, as he dismissed the council and stepped back into the light-filled corridor, he thought of one thing.
Tonight I take her to me favorite place to share it with her.