Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Icannae believe this day is finally here,” Eva said, her eyes shining.
She sat on the edge of the bed while Annabeth smoothed her hair, Amelie hovered with nervous energy, and Margaret stood near the hearth with her hands clasped.
Eva’s heart beat fast, not with fear but with a deep, steady joy that made her chest ache. She felt surrounded by love, held fast before her life changed forever.
“I thought I would never see the day me grandson marries, and now I can finally celebrate,” Margaret said.
Eva smiled at her, feeling the weight of generations in those words.
Annabeth stepped closer, her hands trembling as she brushed Eva’s sleeve.
“And I’m happy to see me daughter happily married to a man she cares for,” she said softly.
Her voice wavered with pride and relief, the long road behind them unspoken. Eva reached for her mother’s hand, squeezing it gently.
“I love him,” Eva said, her voice steady and true. “I really do.” The words felt simple yet vast, as though they held her whole heart within them.
Annabeth’s eyes filled, and she pressed a kiss to Eva’s brow.
Amelie clapped her hands suddenly, breaking the moment with a bright laugh.
“Enough tears for now,” she said. “It’s time ye put the dress on, or the groom will be waiting all day.”
Eva laughed softly, nerves easing as Amelie lifted the gown with reverent care.
The dress was pale wool trimmed with fine linen, elegant, and it seemed to glow in the morning light. Annabeth and Amelie helped Eva step into it, their fingers quick and gentle as they tied and fastened each lace.
“Ye look like a true Lady,” Amelie said, her voice thick with awe.
Eva glanced at her reflection and scarcely recognized herself.
Margaret approached, adjusting the fall of the fabric at Eva’s shoulders.
“Connor will forget his own name when he sees ye,” she said with a knowing smile.
Eva felt her cheeks warm, imagining his expression and the way his eyes softened when he looked at her. The thought steadied her more than any prayer.
They moved then to her hair, Annabeth brushing it slow and careful as she had when Eva was a child.
“I used to do this when ye were small,” Annabeth murmured, her voice tender with memory.
Amelie braided ribbons through the strands while Margaret watched, her smile full and content.
“Are ye afraid?” Amelie asked quietly as she tied the final ribbon.
Eva considered the question, listening to the distant sounds of the castle stirring for the day.
“Nay,” she said at last, honest and calm. “I feel ready.”
Margaret nodded, satisfied, and placed a light kiss on Eva’s cheek.
“Then all is as it should be,” she said.
Annabeth drew Eva into her arms, holding her close before stepping back with a tearful smile.
As they led Eva toward the door, she felt the weight of love behind her and the promise of Connor waiting ahead; it was all she could think of as she moved through the castle out to the chapel.
She thought of the path that had led her here, from a poor village girl with calloused hands to a woman welcomed into stone halls and warm hearths. She would be Lady McLaren by hour’s end, bound to the man she loved with all her heart. The wonder of it filled her with quiet awe rather than fear.
She walked forward with Annabeth at her right, Margaret steady at her left, and Amelie close behind like a protective shadow.
Their steps echoed softly on the stone as they moved together, a small circle of women who had carried her to this moment.
Annabeth’s arm trembled with emotion, while Margaret’s grip was sure and proud.
Amelie sniffed once, then lifted her chin as if daring her tears to fall.
The chapel glowed with candlelight and green boughs tied to every pillar. Heather and ivy twined along the walls, and white ribbons fluttered faintly in the warm air. A hush fell as they escorted her inside, reverent and full of promise.
At the altar stood Connor, tall and still, dressed in dark wool and fine leather, his clan colors resting proud upon his shoulder.
His hair was neatly tied, yet a few strands escaped, as if unwilling to be tamed even for this sacred day.
When he saw her, his face softened, and his eyes shone with something fierce and tender.
Eva felt her heart leap, knowing she would follow that look anywhere.
The officiant stepped forward, an elder with a calm voice and weathered hands.
“We are gathered here,” he said, “to witness an ancient bond of hearts and lives.”
Connor reached for Eva’s hands, his touch warm and grounding as their fingers intertwined.
“Are ye willin’, Connor Davies, Laird of clan McLaren, to stand with this woman in love and honor?”
“Aye,” Connor said firmly, never looking away from her. “I give her me heart and me word, for all the days God grants me.”
The elder turned then to Eva, his gaze kind and searching. “And are ye willing, Eva Whyte, to bind yer life to his in truth and faith?”
“Aye,” Eva replied, her voice soft but unshaken. “I give him me love and me strength, and I will walk beside him wherever life leads.”
The elder nodded and lifted the braided cord, green and white woven tight with care. He wrapped it gently around their joined hands, binding them together.
“By this bond,” the elder said, “ye are joined, not by force but by choice.”
Connor squeezed Eva’s hands, leaning close as he murmured, “I’ll cherish ye, always.”
Eva smiled through the tears gathering in her eyes and whispered back, “And I’ll stand with ye, nay matter the storm.”
The cord rested warm against her skin, a promise made visible.
The elder stepped back, his voice lifting.
“Before these witnesses, I declare ye bound in love and purpose.”
The chapel seemed to exhale as murmurs of blessing filled the air. Connor lifted Eva’s hands and pressed a reverent kiss to her knuckles, his smile unguarded. In that moment, she felt wholly chosen.
As the cord was loosened and their hands freed, Connor drew Eva close, resting his forehead against hers.
“Lady McLaren,” he said softly, a teasing warmth in his tone.
Eva laughed quietly, joy spilling free as she replied, “Me husband.”
Cheers erupted around them as they kissed. Eva felt her knees go weak at Connor’s touch.
Soon they were walking from the chapel to the great hall. She looped her arm through Connor’s.
“Aye, ye may have me as yer wife, but daenae think ye can command me every moment,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Connor’s brows rose, a smirk tugging at his lips, and he leaned close, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “We’ll see, lass,” he said, “I’ve spent enough time training to manage stubborn swordsmen; a stubborn wife shouldnae prove much different.”
Eva laughed as she accepted his kiss.
The hall was a wonder of celebration, long oak tables groaning under the weight of the feast. Roasted meats glistened with rich sauces, and fresh loaves of bread were piled high, alongside bowls of butter and honey.
There were platters of smoked fish, cheeses, and pickled vegetables, and every table had large flagons of mead and red wine for the guests.
Connor lifted his cup and cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping across the assembled family and clan members.
“Hear me, friends and kinsfolk,” he began, voice firm but filled with joy, “today we welcome me bride, Eva, Lady McLaren. A villager from our own village. A strong and fearless woman that I’ve bound meself to, and she is bound to me.”
The gathered cheered and applauded.
“Also, we welcome me long-lost brother, Michael, returned to us after many years.”
The hall erupted in cheers and clanging cups in a chorus of clan pride.
Connor’s eyes found Eva’s, and he smiled warmly, seeing her cheeks flush at the attention, before lowering his voice to her alone.
“Aye, well done, Laird,” Eva whispered, teasing, “ye make it sound as if I had nay choice in becomin’ Lady McLaren.”
Connor chuckled, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “Nay choice at all, lass. Do ye nae remember? Being me wife was yer punishment for stealin’ from me,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “Ye are mine now, and I’ll nae let anyone, least of all ye, forget it.”
“Aye, me punishment will be one I will simply have to endure,” she teased.
Michael, seated nearby, raised a goblet hesitantly, catching Connor’s nod.
“I… I give thanks,” he said softly, voice steadying, “to be returned to Clan McLaren, to be with family again.”
A ripple of warm approval passed through the hall, and Connor reached over to clap Michael on the shoulder, pride evident in his strong grip.
“Ye’ll find your place here, brother,” Connor said, his voice low, “as true McLaren as any of us.”
Eva squeezed Connor’s hand, her heart swelling as she watched the two men she loved most exchange a look of kinship.
Connor leaned close and whispered, “Tonight, ye’ll see just how much fun it is being Lady McLaren,” he teased.
“I look forward to it,” she said.
Platters were passed along the benches, wine refilled, and Eva found herself swept up in the warmth of the hall.
Eva felt her mother’s hands on her shoulders and looked into Annabeth’s eyes, seeing pride and relief shining there.
“Eva, lass,” Annabeth said softly, “I am so proud of ye. Ye’ve grown into a strong woman, and seein’ ye happy fills me heart.”
Eva smiled, taking her mother’s hands, “Maither, we will never struggle again. Castle McLaren is our home now, our family is safe.”
Annabeth squeezed her hands and nodded, “Aye, as long as ye are happy and Jason is cared for, I could want nothin’ else.”
They embraced tightly, holding onto each other for a moment longer than either intended.
Just then, little Jason ran up, his cheeks smeared with crumbs and excitement.
“Eva! Look! Cake!” he shouted, holding up a piece triumphantly.
Laughing, Eva bent down and hugged him, “Aye, lad, there will be plenty. And ye shall have an education, grow up to be a good man.”
Jason’s eyes twinkled as he nodded eagerly, “Will there be more cake too?”
Eva laughed, ruffling his hair, “Aye, plenty more, ye wee mischief.” She looked back at her mother, who watched with soft amusement, pride filling her gaze. The family, whole and safe, felt a warmth that no castle walls could contain.
Connor approached, bowing slightly with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Eva, will ye honor me with a dance?” he asked, offering his hand.
Eva placed her hand in his, laughing softly, “I thought ye’d never ask, Laird McLaren.”
They moved together, weaving gracefully through the hall, their steps in perfect rhythm as the music swelled around them.
Connor leaned closer, whispering in her ear with a teasing smile, “Mind ye daenae step on me toes, lass, or I might take it as an affront.”
Eva laughed, “I daenae think I could, even if I tried. Ye hold me too steady.”
Their eyes met, full of warmth and affection, and the world seemed to shrink around them, leaving only the two of them in the center of the hall.
As they danced, Eva felt a flutter of joy in her chest, her heart full and light. She thought back to the very beginning, to that day she had sneaked herbs from the castle, never imagining she’d end up here.
And yet, here she was, in Connor’s arms, safe, loved, and surrounded by her new family. She rested her head briefly on his shoulder, savoring the moment, knowing she would treasure it forever.