“This… this is delicious, Laird,” she said, trying to talk about anything except the rooms upstairs.
Connor leaned back with a satisfied smile, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Aye, ‘tis fine fare.”
Eva took another bite but could not silence the panic inside her. The storm outside intensified, rain streaking the windows and the wind moaning through the roof timbers. Eva’s heartpounded at the thought of sharing the night under the same roof, in the same bedchamber. Every nerve in her body seemed alert, every glance from him carrying weight, and she realized there would be no easy escape from what the coming night promised.
How could someone like him, so commandin’, so… confident, truly desire me, a simple villager?
And yet, there he was, looking at her as if she were exactly the kind of woman he wanted to take to bed, ignoring the world beyond the Inn’s walls.
Connor glanced at her across the table, raising an eyebrow in that familiar way that made her pulse quicken. “Daenae worry, lass,” he said, voice low, teasing, but edged with authority. “We’ll make it through the storm… and by the morrow, ye’ll ken the comforts of castle life even more.”
Eva nodded, trying to steady herself, though her mind raced. The food, the warmth, the storm outside, and the man beside her, it all seemed unreal, like a dream she wasn’t yet ready to wake from. She took another bite of bread, trying to focus on the present, yet her thoughts could not help but wander to what the night ahead might bring.
Eva felt a strange mix of nervousness, excitement, and anticipation, knowing that soon, the storm outside would be the least of her worries. All that mattered now was the man sitting across from her, and the promise, both terrifying and exhilarating, of the night to come.
Will he expect me to do me wifely duties before we are wed?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Eva felt the world narrow to the press of his chest and the steady strength of his hands on her waist that held her upright. A rush of warmth swept through her, and she marveled at how easily he made her knees tremble.
She had known want before in quiet, distant ways, but this was different, sharp and alive low in her belly. It startled her how safe and undone she felt all at once.
“Connor,” she whispered his name as he softly kissed her neck.
Her hands moved of their own will, sliding over the hard planes of his back, and she felt the strength earned by years of blade and battle. Beneath her palms, muscle shifted and flexed, solid and reassuring, as if he were carved from the very stone of his lands.
She traced the breadth of his shoulders, wide and unyielding, and thought that this was what a true warrior felt like. Thethought made her breath hitch, and she leaned into him without thinking.
“When ye whisper me name like so, it makes me blood rise,” he growled.
Eva’s fingers found their way into his long hair, and she felt a shiver answer the touch in them both. She liked the contrast of it, the softness threaded through such raw power, and it made her heart race. He smelled of leather, clean sweat, and the outdoors, and it wrapped around her senses. In that moment, she understood why women spoke of warriors in hushed tones.
She drew back just enough to look at him, her cheeks flushed and her lips still tingling. In her chest bloomed a quiet certainty that frightened her more than the desire did.
“Show me the ways of woman and man, please,” she pleaded.
“Ye have a way of the tongue,” he smirked.
She was drawn to him, body and soul, whether it was wise or not. Eva thought, with a mix of wonder and fear.
She felt his fingers working the laces of her corset with a care that surprised her, each pull slow and deliberate as if he were giving her time to change her mind.
When the fabric loosened and parted, he asked, “What happened here, lass?”
A pale burn scar curved along her skin, stark against the softness around it. A scar she had forgotten until this moment.
Eva felt heat rush to her face, sharper than any desire, and she turned away as her hand flew up to cover herself.
She shook her head and said quickly, “It’s nothin’, just an accident when I was wee.”
Her voice wavered despite her effort to sound light. She took a step back, as if distance might erase what he had seen.
Connor reached for her wrist gently and stopped her retreat, his touch firm but not rough.
He lowered her hand and said, “Daenae hide yerself from me, Eva.” His eyes searched her face rather than the scar, as if the truth mattered more than the mark. “Tell me,” He said softly.
She swallowed and drew a breath, the memory rising unbidden.
