When Annabeth’s breath grew shallow, the two young women guided her toward a wooden bench nestled near the herb beds.
“Och, this air does me good,” Annabeth said softly as she settled back. “I swear I can feel life creepin’ back into me bones. Ye’ve done well, lass, tendin’ me so carefully. I’m proud of ye, Eva.”
“It’s the healer’s skill more than mine,” Eva replied, squeezing her mother’s hand. “But I’m glad ye’re feelin’ stronger, truly I am. Ye gave me a fair fright, Maither. I daenae wish to see ye so weak again.”
Amelie smiled brightly and gestured toward the neat rows nearby. “That over there is yarrow, and over yonder is comfrey,” she said eagerly. “The Laird spares nay coin when it comes to his healer’s garden.”
Eva followed her gaze, recognizing the leaves and blossoms with a quiet sense of familiarity. She imagined herself walking these paths often, learning each plant and its uses, and the thought surprised her with its comfort. The gardens felt alive and welcoming, not like borrowed ground but something that could, perhaps, become hers. She smiled despite herself.
“I could get used to this place,” Eva admitted lightly. “The gardens are finer than anythin’ in the village. There’s peace here, even with the castle loomin’ so close. It feels… steady.”
Annabeth frowned gently, worry softening her features. “Daenae let beauty blind ye, lass,” she cautioned. “Gold walls daenae always mean happy hearts. We could return home and live as we did, poor but free.”
Eva straightened at once, her grip firm on her mother’s hand. The idea of turning back now felt wrong, like breaking something sacred she had already set in motion. She thought of Connor’s hard eyes and her own promise. Eva lifted her chin, steady as stone.
“I’ll do nay such thing,” Eva said quietly but fiercely. “I gave me word to the Laird, and I mean to keep it. Whatever comes of it, I’ll face it honest. I willnae be the kind of woman who breaks a vow.”
Amelie glanced between them, her voice gentler now. “The Laird keeps his promises,” she said. “Harsh as he seems, there’s honor in him. I’ve seen it, even if others pretend nae to.”
Annabeth’s eyes filled, though whether with fear or reluctant pride, Eva could not tell. She reached up and brushed Eva’s cheek, her touch warm and grounding. The gardens hummed softly around them, life continuing in leaf and wing. Eva sat straighter on the bench, feeling the weight of her choice and the strength growing beneath it.
Then she noticed Margaret before the older woman noticed her, the silver-haired matriarch moving along the garden path with deliberate grace. A knot formed low in Eva’s belly, tight and unwelcome. She had felt Margaret’s sharp eyes on her before, weighing and measuring as though Eva were lacking. The knowledge that she would never be the bride Margaret wanted made Eva’s shoulders draw in despite herself.
Margaret stopped before them and inclined her head in a formal nod, her lips thin but polite. “Good day to ye all,” she said coolly.
Eva dipped her head, and Annabeth followed suit, both women murmuring a greeting in return. The air felt heavier now, as though the sun had slipped behind a cloud only Eva could feel.
“It’s a bonnie day for a stroll. I trust ye’re enjoyin’ the fresh air,” Margaret remarked.
“Aye it is,” Eva replied.
Margaret’s gaze traveled over Eva with open appraisal, lingering where it always did. Eva braced herself, knowing what was coming.
“It’s a fine thing to see ye movin’ about,” Margaret continued. “A bit of exercise will do ye good. Perhaps ye’ll lose the extra weight in time for yer weddin’. Especially now that we’ve decided against the weddin’ date I set. Gives ye more time.”
Annabeth stiffened, fury flashing across her tired features. “Me daughter is perfect as she is,” Annabeth said sharply. “She needs nay changin’ for anyone. If this family cannae accept her, we’ll leave, and the Laird neednae marry her at all.”
Eva reached for her mother’s arm, her voice low and pleading. “Maither, please,” Eva said softly. “Daenae fash yerself on me account. It’s nae worth yer strength.”
Margaret let out a short, disdainful scoff. “There it is,” she said coldly. “Nay spine at all. She lets others fight for her, and that will make her a poor Lady indeed.”
Something inside Eva snapped cleanly, sharp as breaking ice. She straightened, her pulse roaring in her ears, and stepped forward before fear could stop her. The gardens seemed to hush, even the birds quieting as she found her voice. When she spoke, it was steady and clear.
“Mind yer own business,” Eva said firmly. “It’s the Laird’s choice who he marries, nae yers. If ye dinnae want him to choose me, ye shouldnae have pressed him to wed at all. And if ye continue like this, ye may find yerself nae invited to the weddin’.”
The words hung between them, bold and dangerous. Eva’s heart hammered as she held Margaret’s gaze, bluffing with every ounce of courage she possessed. She knew she had no such power, but she would not show it. Her chin lifted, daring Margaret to challenge her.
Margaret studied her in silence, eyes sharp and assessing. Then, to Eva’s complete shock, the older woman smiled, slow and pleased. “Good,” she said softly. “That’s exactly what I wished to see. Ye’ve passed the test, lass, and I’m fair giddy for it.”
Eva blinked, utterly confused, the fight draining from her limbs all at once. She glanced at her mother, then back at Margaret, uncertain whether she had misheard. The garden seemed to breathe again, sunlight warming her face. Eva stood rooted tothe spot, wondering what kind of test she had just survived, and what it meant for the future she was hurtling toward.
She watched Margaret with wary eyes, unsure whether another barb was coming or if the moment had truly shifted. The older woman surprised her by softening her posture and letting out a long breath.
Margaret tilted her head, studying Eva with a look far less cruel than before. “The only condition I have for me grandson’s future wife is that she’s got a spine,” she said plainly, her voice losing its cruel edge. “Connor needs a woman who’ll challenge him, nae one who bows her head and obeys. A laird like him would crush a gentler soul.”
Eva swallowed, unsure how to answer, her hands curling in her skirts. She had expected dismissal or more judgment, not this strange honesty. Margaret’s words stirred something tentative and fragile inside her, a cautious hope she did not quite trust. Eva held her tongue and listened.
Margaret’s gaze flicked briefly toward Annabeth before returning to Eva. “And as for what I said before,” she continued, her tone grudging but sincere, “it was uncalled for. I dinnae mean it as cruel as it sounded, though I ken it landed that way. Ye are a beautiful lass, whether ye see it or nae. I only meant to get a rise out of ye to make sure ye had a backbone to raise strong bairns.”
