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 stilllingered 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 leastshe 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 lastsoul 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.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Stop,” Eva said.
The moment her cottage came into view, Eva’s heart leapt into her throat.
He obeyed without question, pulling the horse to a halt in front of the small stone dwelling with its crooked door. Before he could speak, she swung her leg over and jumped down, hitting the earth with a thud.
