“Aye,” she replied. “I’ve tended to many fevers in the village. I only pray it helps them quick.”
“It will,” he said, the certainty in his voice startling her.
She looked at him fully then, meeting his gaze without shyness. He held her eyes with a steady calm, something grounding and solid. A strange sense of safety washed over her. It felt wrong to accept it, yet impossible to deny.
The cauldron began to bubble softly, breaking the silence. Eva took a ladle and filled a small cup, letting the herbs steep briefly before bringing it to her mother’s lips. Her mother swallowed weakly, but the effort eased some tension in her shoulders. Eva exhaled, relieved.
Connor stepped closer but kept a respectful distance, watching without interfering. His presence filled the small cottage, too big for the space yet oddly fitting. She sensed no judgment in him, only a quiet vigilance. It softened something in her she didn’t realize had been clenched tight.
“Ye love them dearly,” he said.
“More than life,” she whispered.
Connor nodded once, the gesture slow and thoughtful. “Then we’ll see them healed.”
Eva swallowed hard, unable to look away from the unexpected gentleness in his face. She felt her heart twist, not with fear this time, but with something far more dangerous. And all she could think was that Connor was nothing like the man she thought he was.
As he reached to steady the bowl, his arm brushed hers in a light, accidental touch that sent a hot ripple down her skin. She cursed her body silently, hating how easily it reacted to him. Still, she did not move away.
“What else can I do, lass?” Connor asked quietly, his voice low enough that it curled against her neck like warm breath.
“That is all,” she answered, keeping her tone as brisk as she could manage. “For now, I need to brew more tea proper and get it in them, so the fever breaks.” Her hands continued their work, though her pulse thudded louder than the grinding of the herbs.
“I’ll send a carriage tomorrow,” he said, shifting to stand fully at her side. “I’ll have ye and yer kin brought to the castle. Me healer will see that they get the finest care possible.” His certainty left no room for argument.
Eva blinked, surprised, and turned to him. “Where are ye goin’ then?”
“I must return,” Connor said as he wiped his hands on a cloth. “It’s rude to keep the clans waitin’, pride alone has started battles far worse for somethin’ like that. I’ll nae be the cause of one.”
With that, he gave her one last long look, then ducked out the door.
The cottage felt strangely empty once he left, despite her mother’s faint groans and her brother’s labored breathing. Eva set herself into a steady rhythm, forcing her mind back to the task at hand instead of the confusing man who had just walked away. She brewed the yarrow tea over and over again, lifting spoonfuls to their lips and coaxing them to drink.
“Drink just a little more,” she said.
When they slept, she laid fresh, cold cloths across their foreheads, replacing them every time the heat stole away the chill.
Hours passed in a restless blur, marked only by the crackle of the fire and the soft whimpers of her kin. Eva barely sat, pacing between the hearth and the bedside, always checking, always fearing. The fever rose and fell like a tide, sometimes easing just enough to give her hope before climbing again.
As she pressed another damp cloth to her brother’s brow, the events of the night flickered through her tired mind.
Have I truly spoken with Laird McClaren? Has he truly demanded marriage as me punishment, and then fetched buckets of water for me?
It all seemed too strange, too wild, too dreamlike.
Surely it had been a trick of her exhaustion, she told herself as she paced before the window. No laird would offer to bring villagers into his home, nor tend to their sickness. And no man of such power would choose a village lass like her to wed. She rubbed her eyes and stared at the moon, convincing herself she had been foolish to believe any of it. She fell asleep in a chair beside her brother.
Hours passed in a restless sleep. Along with the early song of the morning birds, the steady thud of hooves on the dirt path echoed into her dreams. Slow at first, then louder, clearer, undeniable. She woke up to sunlight pouring in.
“It’s mornin’? I fell asleep,” she said.
Eva froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She hurried to the window and pushed aside the worn curtain. There, gleaming in the early light, stood a castle carriage with banners in the McClaren colors, two sleek horses harnessed to its front. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stunned.
“He kept his word,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone.
A knock sounded at the door, firm but polite. Eva hurried across the room and opened it to find two castle servants standing ready, each holding their caps respectfully in hand. Their clothing was finely kept, their expressions gentle but efficient. Behind them, more servants tended to the carriage and horses.
“We’re here to help ye, Mistress Whyte,” one said kindly. “The Laird sent us to see to yer family and bring yer things.”
