Connor’s gaze hardened. “Because she wasnae simperin’ at me feet like the others.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “And because it suited me purpose.”
Margaret’s brows flew high. “Suited yer purpose? What purpose is that?”
Connor didn’t answer immediately. A muscle ticked in his cheek as he sorted through words he had no intention of explaining to anyone, not even her. “I daenae owe ye every detail of me decisions,” he finally said.
Margaret huffed, the sound unmistakably offended. “Ye owe me the peace of mind of knowin’ what sort of lass is about to step into the family. Is she gentle? Is she wild? Does she ken how to speak in company? Does she ken how to work? For heaven’s sake, Connor, does she even ken how to curtsey?”
“She kens enough,” he muttered. “And the rest she can learn.”
Margaret let out an exasperated breath, her indignation filling the room like steam. “Learn? Ye say that as if ye picked up a stray animal instead of a woman ye mean to wed. Is she willin’, at least? Did she say aye?”
Connor stiffened. “She will accept what’s set before her.” His tone was a warning, though Margaret never heeded warnings.
Margaret’s mouth fell open. “Connor, ye dinnae force the lass, did ye? Tell me ye dinnae back her into a corner like yer faither would’ve done.” Her voice softened with rare worry.
Connor’s glare snapped to her, as sharp as a blade. “I am nae me faither,” he growled.
Margaret studied him, weighing the truth in his face. “A choice backed by threat is nay choice,” she murmured gently. “But ye’ve a good heart beneath all that stone, lad. I pray ye daenae forget that.”
Connor turned away, refusing to engage further. “I have work to do.” He reached for his quill again.
Margaret did not budge. “Connor, please look at me.”
“I said…”
“This is important and I only think of yer heart, grandson.”
He exhaled sharply and finally lifted his head.
Margaret softened her stance, crossing the room until she rested a hand on his shoulder. “Yer grandfaither made rash decisions when backed into corners,” she said quietly. “But ye… ye must be smarter. Kinder. And if this lass is to be yer bride, ye must treat her as more than convenience.”
Connor felt something tighten in his throat at the word bride, though he shoved it down before it could surface. “It’s none of yer concern.”
“Oh, it is entirely me concern,” Margaret countered. “Ye are the last of the McLaren line. If ye choose wrong, or treat her wrong, it affects every soul beneath this roof.”
Connor pressed his fingertips to his brow. “I daenae have time for this. Eva and her family will be here shortly, and that’s the end of it.”
Margaret straightened, her lips pursed so tightly they nearly disappeared. “Fine. But ken this, I’ll be meetin’ the lass meself. And if she’s to be me granddaughter-in-law, I will judge her with me own eyes.”
Connor gave a humorless laugh. “Aye, I expected as much. Now leave me be.”
Margaret hesitated only a heartbeat before turning toward the door. “I only want ye happy, Connor,” she said softly. “I daenae want ye to live angry as yer faither did.”
He froze at the mention of the man he despised.
Margaret slipped out before he could respond, closing the door gently behind her.
Connor stared at the wood grain of the door long after she left, jaw tight, breath slow. He did not want marriage. He did not want distraction. He did not want anything that pulled him from his resolve for vengeance.
But whether he liked it or not, the lass was coming.
And everything in his life was about to change.
Moments later, another knock at the door sounded through the wood.
“Enter,” he said.
David walked in with the same swagger he carried since boyhood, though his grin held sharper edges these days.
