“He’ll be glad to be stretchin’ his legs,” she said lightly, glancing at their mount. Connor only gave a brief nod, his thoughts already elsewhere.
A cheerful call drew her attention to a small cart near the gate, piled high with sugared nuts and honeyed apples.
Eva’s eyes lit at once, and she tugged free of Connor’s side without thinking.
“Oh, look at that,” she said, hurrying over, her skirts swaying. “I’ve nae had sweets like these since I was a lass. Jason would love these.”
“Two of those, and a bag of the nuts,” Connor said, pressing coins into the man’s hand.
“Oh me brother will be so happy,” she said.
Eva turned back toward Connor and stopped short at the look on his face. A dark frown had settled in.
“Connor?” she asked gently, stepping closer. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”
His jaw tightened, and he looked past her instead of answering.
“Ye shouldnae waste time. Let’s be off,” he said at last, his voice rough and distant.
Eva blinked, the joy draining from her expression.
“They’re just sweets,” she replied softly, confusion threading her words. “I thought…”
He cut her off with a shake of his head.
“Let us go,” Connor said curtly, already moving toward the stalls.
Eva followed him slowly, her brow furrowed, clutching the small bag in her hands. She did not understand the sudden chill, only felt it keenly. And as she walked behind him, she wondered what shadow had crossed his heart so swiftly.
What did I say?
The road back from the village stretched long and quiet beneath a sky gone gray with gathering cloud. Eva sat before Connor on the horse, the rhythm of its gait steady beneath them, yet his silence pressed heavy against her back.
She twisted slightly and asked, “Are ye well, Connor?”
He answered only with a low grunt, his arms tightening briefly before loosening again.
She tried again after a time, her voice careful. “Did I do somethin’ at the inn, then?”
Another grunt came, shorter this time, and he turned his face toward the road ahead as though it held all the answers worth keeping. Eva swallowed and faced forward, her hands folding in her lap.
The wind tugged at her cloak as her thoughts began to race despite her efforts to still them. She replayed the morning again and again, from the sweets to the stable yard, searching for the moment she had erred.
“Maybe I spoke out of turn,” she murmured softly, more to herself than to him.
Connor did not reply.
Her hope faltered as worry crept deeper, unwelcome and sharp. She had learned young how quickly favor could turn to coldness, how easily security slipped away. The thought that he might regret his choice gnawed at her, though she dared not give it voice. She feared that naming it would make it real.
“Ye’re awful quiet,” she said at last, attempting a light tone that did not quite reach her eyes.
Connor shifted in the saddle and gave a brief sound of acknowledgment, no words following.
Eva’s fingers curled into the wool of her skirt, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. She wondered if this was how disappointment looked on a laird.
As the castle walls came into distant view, her worry only deepened. She imagined him calling the wedding off with a single sentence, his voice firm and unyielding. Her family’s faces rose before her, hope fragile and trembling. She pressed her lips together and kept her fears locked tight inside.
By the time they reached the gates, Eva felt wrung thin by her own thoughts.
