“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 herbreath 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.” Hisvoice 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 crackedlike a whip, sharp and cutting. He couldn’t fathom the audacity, and from a villager, no less.
