Connor’s gaze darkened, his patience thinning. “I need a bride in name alone, lass,” he said plainly. “Ye either marry me and save yer family, or ye face the stocks and a trial as a thief… and mayhaps lose yer hand.”
The words hit her like a hammer, leaving her breathless.
He didn’t soften, didn’t look at her with the tenderness one might expect of a man about to wed.
This is the cruel Laird I have heard of.
“Nothin’ else is required of ye,” he added, as if that were the most merciful thing he could offer. His tone left no room for negotiation or protest. The finality of it made her stomach churn.
Eva pressed her hands to her lap, struggling to keep herself from collapsing. She felt a sting of hurt, bitter and sharp, at the thought that he wanted her only as a means to an end. She had imagined marriage differently, though never with a laird of the Highlands. Yet she knew with dreadful clarity that she had no option but to agree, or her family would suffer for her hesitation.
“So… that’s it then?” she asked, her voice small, almost a whisper. “Ye daenae care who I am… only that I serve yer purpose?”
The words tasted of bitterness, though she couldn’t raise her gaze to meet him. Her hands fidgeted, pulling at the edges of her cloak.
“Aye, that is it,” he said, voice even and cold. “I want nay bride of love, only a name to secure the laws of me house and the lives of yer family.” He stepped back slightly, giving her the space to absorb the weight of his words.
Eva’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared at him, trying to quell the storm of fear and disbelief in her mind. She couldn’t reconcile the cruelty of his words with the need to survive. Yet the image of her mother and brother, sick and helpless, forced her to steel herself. She had to obey, even if it stung more than she could have imagined.
“Then… I have nay choice but to agree,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’ll do it… for them.” She swallowed hard, a bitter taste clinging to her tongue. Her stomach churned with a mix of relief, fear, and the faint ache of wounded pride.
Before Connor could respond, a sharp knock rang against the door, startling both of them.
“Connor! Let me in! I ken what ye’re plannin’!” Margaret’s voice rang loudly, filled with indignation and fury. Her tone was commanding, leaving no doubt that she expected immediate obedience.
Connor’s eyes darkened as he moved to the door, his frame blocking any hope of entry.
“I will do nay such thing,” he said, voice hard and final. He checked the latch with deliberate care, ensuring that Margaret couldn’t force her way in. The sound of the bolt sliding into place echoed in the study like a warning.
Eva pressed herself against the far wall, heart pounding, and watched as Connor’s muscles flexed with controlled anger. The laird’s stance was unyielding, a living wall of authority between her and his grandmother. Margaret’s shouts continued on the other side, sharp and relentless, but Connor paid them no heed. His focus returned to Eva.
“She’ll keep shoutin’,” Eva said quietly, her voice barely audible, more to herself than to him.
“Daenae let her frighten ye,” he said.
The tension in the room made her skin prickle, every shadow a potential threat. Yet despite the fear, she felt a flicker of relief that the door would hold.
Connor’s expression softened fractionally, though his eyes never left hers.
“She can bang and shout all she likes, but this is me choice, and nay one crosses me in me own territory.” His tone carried finality, sharp and unyielding. The command was absolute, leaving no room for argument or hesitation.
Eva swallowed hard, drawing in a shaky breath. She had agreed to this, no matter how frightening it felt, no matter how cruel it seemed. The weight of the decision pressed upon her chest, yet a small measure of hope sparked: if she obeyed him, she could save her family. Her hands tightened around her cloak, the yarrow hidden within it a fragile lifeline between her and those she loved most.
Connor stepped closer, the firelight casting shadows across his face, revealing every hard line and every flicker of determination.
“Now,” he said, voice quieter but no less commanding, “we proceed. There is nay time to waste. Ye’ll need to learn yer place as me bride, though ye may hate me for it at first, ye must obey me every command.” His words hung in the air like an iron decree.
Eva nodded stiffly, her throat tight, eyes wide with a mixture of fear, defiance, and resignation. She felt trapped, yet bound by necessity. Every beat of her heart reminded her that this was the only way to save her mother and brother.
“Well then, lass, me first command… tell me yer name now?” His voice was low, yet edged with authority.
Eva drew in a shuddering breath, struggling to meet his penetrating gaze.
“I… I’m Eva Whyte,” she whispered, voice small but steady. The name felt strange coming from her lips, as if speaking it aloud made the danger of her situation more real. She kept her hands clutched tightly around her cloak.
Connor’s lips curved ever so slightly, a shadow of a smile teasing his expression.
“Eva Whyte,” he repeated, rolling the name on his tongue as if savoring it. “A fine name for a lass who’s gotten herself knee-deep in trouble.” He straightened, glancing toward the study door, though his eyes never left hers.
