“This is too much,” she said at last, finding her voice. “Connor, please, I cannae wear all this.”
He turned to her, expression unyielding. “Ye will,” he said quietly. “And ye’ll stop thinkin’ small of yerself.”
Brawna chuckled. “Listen to the man, lass. He kens what he’s about.”
A wedding gown sketch was laid out, and Brawna explained each detail with reverence. The bodice would lace snug, the skirt would flow heavy and graceful, and a fine cloak would clasp at Eva’s shoulders with a silver brooch. Eva reached out to touch the drawing, her fingers trembling. She swallowed hard, torn between awe and fear.
“I’m just a villager,” she whispered. “Folk will laugh at me for wearin’ such finery.”
Connor stepped closer, his voice low. “They willnae,” he said. “I’ll stand beside ye.”
Brawna nodded solemnly. “And once they see ye in these gowns, they’ll choke on their words.”
When the fittings were done, Connor paid without comment, silencing Eva’s renewed protests with a single look. Packages were stacked high, more than she thought one woman could ever need.
“I will have someone pick these up and take them to Castle McLaren,” Connor said. “As soon as the weddin’ clothes are ready, send word straight away.”
Brawna wrapped Eva’s hands in hers, smiling warmly. “Ye’ll make a fine bride. Many blessings to ye, and do just fine, me dear,” she said. “Mark me words.”
Outside, Eva finally turned on him, flustered and breathless. “Ye cannae keep doin’ this,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll never repay ye.”
Connor arched a brow. “I’m nae keepin’ score,” he replied.
As they walked back toward the inn, Connor glanced at her, satisfaction settling deep in his chest. She was still protestingunder her breath, but her eyes shone despite herself. He liked that she fought him, even now, over something meant to please her. It told him she would never be small, no matter how fine the gown.
Connor returned to the inn with Eva at his side, the low murmur of midday patrons filling the common room. He caught Targon’s eye at once and jerked his chin toward the door, and the innkeeper hurried over with a knowing look.
“Ready supplies for the road back to Castle McLaren, enough for a comfortable ride and a change in weather. See it’s done proper,” Connor added, fixing him with a look that brooked no argument.
“Aye, me laird,” Targon replied readily. “I’ll have it all tied and ready for the saddle.”
Connor gave a short nod, satisfied, then turned back toward the stairs.
They climbed to their room, the wooden steps creaking beneath their boots. Eva moved ahead of him, her movements quick and a touch nervous. Connor watched her without speaking, noting the way she folded the cloak fabric carefully, as if unused to fine things. The sight stirred something unexpected in his chest. He took the cloak.
As she drew the cloak around her shoulders, he stepped closer and adjusted the fastening himself.
“There,” he said quietly, his fingers lingering a moment longer than needed. “It’s meant to be worn, nae folded into a saddle bag.”
She glanced up at him, cheeks pink, and then looked away again, tugging the hood into place. He felt a pull toward her then, steady and sure.
“I’ll be ready to go soon,” she said.
Connor leaned back against the table while she made herself ready, his thoughts turning inward. She was strong in a way that mattered, stubborn where it counted, and gentle without being weak. He had known women bred for marriage and duty, all smiles and obedience, and none of them had stirred him as she did. Eva stood before him now, a villager by birth, yet she carried herself with an honesty he respected.
When she turned back to him, ready at last, he straightened and reached for his own cloak.
“We best be off,” he said, though his voice had softened.
“Aye,” she answered, steadying herself, “I’m ready.”
Connor held the door for her and followed her out, certain now of one thing as they headed for home.
She’s a fine woman indeed, and I’ve nay doubt she will stand as Lady of McLaren in her own way.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Eva stepped into the stable yard beside Connor, the smell of hay and damp earth wrapping around her like a memory. The horses stamped and snorted softly in their stalls, and she smiled at the familiar comfort of it.
