Eva lifted her chin, finally meeting Margaret’s gaze. “I dinnae ask for any of this, but I’ll nae be shamed for it either.”
Margaret scoffed softly, her eyes narrowing. Connor had not expected the village girl to bare her teeth, and it showed. He felt a strange flicker of pride spark in his chest. He placed himself subtly between them.
“This marriage concerns me and me duty,” Connor said firmly. “It doesnae concern yer schemes or yer impatience for great-grandbairns.”
Margaret’s voice rose, sharp with frustration. “I’ve waited seventy years to see this clan strong and secure, and I’ll nae be cast aside now.”
Connor leaned closer, his tone low and unyielding. “Ye’ll step aside whether ye like it or nae, for I am the Laird, and ye will respect that.”
Silence stretched thick between them, broken only by the crackle of the hearth. Margaret’s chest rose and fell as she searched his face, perhaps seeing for the first time that the boy she once ruled was gone.
“If there is to be a weddin’, it will be set by me,” Connor said. “Nae by whispers, nae by servants, and certainly nae by ye.”
Margaret’s shoulders sagged, though her eyes still burned. “Ye’ve grown hard, Connor, harder than yer faither ever was.”
He did not flinch at the comparison, though he wanted to as he loathed the very thought. “I grew into what this clan needed, and ye’ll learn to accept it.”
Margaret turned sharply and swept from the room without another word, her skirts snapping like banners in retreat. The door slammed behind her, leaving the study ringing with the aftermath.
He turned to Eva and saw the hurt she tried to hide behind a composed mask, and it stirred something sharp in his chest. He hated that his family’s cruelties had brushed against her at all. His voice softened despite himself as he stepped closer.
“Daenae heed me grandmaither,” Connor said, his tone low and certain. “She’s a meddlin’ old woman with too much time and too many notions. What she says carries nay weight here. Ye’d do well to forget her sharp tongue.”
Eva lifted her chin, though her eyes flickered with old wounds. “It’s fine, me laird,” she replied quietly. “She’s said naught I havenae heard before. I ken well enough I’m nae what folk call desirable.”
The words struck him harder than he expected, and his jaw tightened. Connor studied her face, the curve of her mouth, the stubborn set of her eyes, and felt an unfamiliar heat rise in him. He had faced enemies without flinching, yet her doubt unsettled him more than a blade ever had. He shook his head once, decisive.
“That’s a lie,” Connor said firmly. “Ye’re a bonnie lass, Eva Whyte, whether ye believe it or nae. There’s strength in ye, and fire, and a beauty that needs nae permission. I’d nae speak false to ye.”
Eva scoffed, a short sound edged with disbelief. “Ye expect me to believe that? Men like ye daenae look twice at women like me. Yer words are kind, but I daenae trust them.”
Something snapped then, a line he had held too tightly for too long. Connor closed the distance between them in two long strides and caught her before she could retreat. He pulled her against his chest, one arm firm around her waist, the other bracing her back. Her breath hitched as her palms pressed instinctively to his chest.
“I’ll show ye the truth of me words, then,” Connor murmured roughly. “I will show ye what being under me command tastes like.”
He claimed her mouth with a hunger that startled even him, his kiss deep and unyielding. The world narrowed to the heat of her lips, the soft gasp she gave as she melted against him, and the way her body fit as though carved for his own. Desire thunderedthrough him, fierce and unwelcome, dragging images through his mind he had long denied himself. His hand tightened at her waist as the taste of her drove him perilously close to forgetting everything else.
He felt her bosom press against his chest. He longed to see the milky flesh beneath her dress. The thought made his kiss deeper, hungrier. His desire flooded every fiber of his being. He felt her curves under his hands as they moved from her waist down to her hips. A movement that stirred his manhood. Before he could stop it, blood rushed to his staff, hardening beyond his control. It pressed the fabric of his kilt against her thigh.
Connor wanted her. His tongue caressed hers. He had lost control. Something he had said he would not lose with this woman. She was a wife in name only, not a wife to cause him to lose track of his mission or his duties as a laird. But despite this, his body responded.
She shifted slightly, causing her thigh to graze against his throbbing member. Connor released a low groan against her mouth in response. His hands slid up from her hips along the side of her body. One hand continued toward her neck and onto her face.
Eva made a small, breathless sound when his thumb brushed her cheek and let out a soft moan. The sound cut through him like a blade, sharp and sobering. Connor froze, reality crashing back with brutal force. He tore his mouth from hers and stepped back, chest heaving.
“This cannae happen,” Connor said hoarsely. “Nae now. We’ll speak again when sense has returned.”
Eva swayed where she stood, her lips parted and eyes dark with confusion. Connor could not bear the sight a moment longer. He turned sharply and strode for the door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Tis a bonnie day,” Eva said.
The gardens of Castle McLaren lay open beneath a blue sky, the sun warm and bright. Bees drifted lazily among the blooms, and the scent of earth and growing things filled the air. Eva breathed it in as if it were medicine itself, her nerves eased by the quiet beauty. It felt a different world from the whispered judgments of the castle…and that kiss.
“Aye, it is,” Annabeth said.
Annabeth leaned heavily on Eva’s arm as they walked the gravel path, her steps slow but steadier than they had been days before. Amelie kept close on her other side, cheerful and attentive, ready to steady her if she faltered. Eva’s heart lifted at the color returning faintly to her mother’s cheeks.
