“It’s the best fare this side of me lands,” he said. “An inn that feeds folk poorly doesnae keep its doors long.”
He passed her bread and watched as she thanked him quietly. The blush in her cheeks lingered stubbornly, and he found himself noticing it far too much.
She nodded, comforted, and took a sip of tea. “Thank ye… for all of this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the room, the food, him.
He shrugged. “It’s what’s owed to ye.”
Connor found his gaze drifting back to her again and again. “Ye’re blushin’ somethin’ fierce,” he remarked lightly.
Eva groaned under her breath. “I cannae help it,” she muttered. “Ye’ve a way of sayin’ things and… I cannae stop thinkin’ of last night.”
He chuckled low, pleased. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She shook her head, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.
When the plates were mostly cleared, Connor stood.
“We’ll go see the village,” he said. “Then we’ll head back to the castle.”
Eva rose as well, smoothing her skirts. “Aye,” she replied, steadier now. “I’m ready.”
He watched her a moment longer, satisfaction settling deep in his chest. Whatever doubts she’d woken with were gone, replaced by resolve. Connor knew then that the choice he’d made was already changing them both.
Connor led Eva through the village streets with a hand firm at her elbow, ignoring the curious glances cast their way. The shop of Brawna the seamstress sat near the loch road, its windows crowded with bolts of wool and linen in rich hues. He pushed open the door without ceremony, the bell jangling overhead. Warm air and the scent of clean cloth wrapped around them at once.
Brawna looked up from her cutting table, her sharp eyes widening as she recognized him.
“Saints preserve us, if it isnae Laird McLaren himself,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. Her gaze slid to Eva, appraising and curious. “And who might this bonnie lass be?”
“This is Eva, me betrothed,” Connor said simply. “She needs gowns fit for a Lady of McLaren, and she needs them quick.”
Eva stiffened beside him. “Me Laird, that’s nae necessary,” she protested softly. “I’ve dresses already, and they serve me just fine.”
Connor glanced down at her, brow lifting. “Ye’ll wear what suits yer station now, lass, whether ye think ye need it or nae. And ye need weddin’ clothes.”
Brawna clapped her hands together, delighted. “Oh, I’ll make her shine, daenae ye fret,” she said eagerly. She circled Eva, lifting her chin gently and tugging at the sleeve of her plain gown. “Good bones, strong lines, and a figure that’ll hold a bodice proper.”
Eva flushed crimson under the scrutiny.
“I really daenae deserve all this fuss,” Eva murmured, wringing her hands.
Connor snorted. “Deserve has naught to do with it,” he replied. “Ye’re me future wife, and I’ll have ye dressed as such.”
Brawna grinned. “Aye, lass, best get used to folk makin’ a fuss of ye.”
Brawna ushered Eva onto a small stool and began measuring her with brisk efficiency.
She spoke as she worked, rattling off fabrics and colors like a litany. “We’ll start with a good wool for the weddin’ gown, ivory or cream, with embroidered thistles along the hem.”
Eva’s eyes widened as if she feared she might faint.
“Embroidered?” Eva echoed faintly. “That’s far too dear, and so much work.”
Connor folded his arms. “Ye’ll have embroidery,” he said flatly. “And heavy cloaks so fine it’ll keep ye warm through the harshest winter.”
Brawna nodded approvingly. “A deep forest green would set off yer eyes lovely, and a blue for day wear, soft as summer sky.”
Bolts of fabric were unfurled across the table, colors blooming one after another. Connor selected without hesitation, touching cloth with decisive fingers as if choosing weapons. He picked gowns with fitted bodices and full skirts, some trimmed in braid, others adorned with subtle embroidery along the sleeves. Eva watched in stunned silence, overwhelmed by the richness.
