“Aye,” Eva said, smoothing his hair. “As much as ye like.” She stayed with them awhile longer, listening to Jason chatter and Nina offer gentle instructions.
Yet even as warmth filled the room, the memory of Connor’s turned back lingered, and Eva wondered how desire and distance could exist so closely together.
A few hours later, Eva left her mother’s chamber quietly, drawing the door shut with care before the latch could click too loud. The corridor beyond felt cooler, lonelier, the stone walls pressing in on thoughts she did not wish to entertain.
By the time she reached the servants’ passage, she knew she needed Amelie more than she cared to admit.
I need someone to talk to.
She found Amelie near the linens, folding sheets with practiced hands and a soft hum under her breath.
“Amelie,” Eva said gently, and the maid looked up at once, her face lighting with concern.
“Are ye well, mistress?” Amelie asked, setting the linens aside.
Eva hesitated, then said, “Could we have a word, if ye’ve the time?”
Amelie nodded without question and gestured down a narrow stair that led to a quiet alcove overlooking the lower courtyard. They settled there, the sounds of the castle fading to a distant murmur.
“What’s troublin’ ye?” Amelie asked softly, her tone more friend than servant. Eva folded her hands together, twisting her fingers as she searched for words.
“I daenae ken what I’ve done,” Eva said at last. “One moment he looked at me as though I were the only soul in the world, and the next he wouldnae even meet my eye.”
Amelie listened, her brow creasing. “The Laird can be… hard to read,” she said carefully. “He’s nae a man who wears his heart plain.”
Eva let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s a gentle way of sayin’ he turns cold as winter rain,” she replied.
Amelie tilted her head. “Aye, sometimes,” she admitted, “but it doesnae always mean what ye fear.”
Eva swallowed. “I fear it means he wanted only one thing,” she said quietly.
Amelie’s eyes widened. “Ye cannae truly think that,” she said.
“I gave in, Amelie, and showed him me desires. Though nae to make a bairn, but we lay together in some respects,” she whispered, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “And now I think he’s done with me, that I’ve naught else to offer.” The words tasted bitter, and once spoken, they refused to be taken back.
Amelie reached out and took Eva’s hands, squeezing them firmly. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice earnest. “Men like the Laird daenae think so simply, nor so cruelly.”
Eva shook her head. “Ye dinnae see his face when he left,” she said. “It was as if I were nay more than a stranger.”
“He’s burdened,” Amelie said gently. “There’s grief in him, old and deep, and sometimes it rises without warnin’.”
Eva frowned. “Grief doesnae excuse unkindness,” she replied.
Amelie nodded. “Nay, but it explains distance,” she said. “And distance isnae the same as regret.”
Eva leaned back against the stone, staring at the sliver of sky above the courtyard.
“I keep thinkin’ I should never have let meself hope,” she murmured. “Hope makes a fool of a woman.”
Amelie smiled sadly. “Hope makes ye human,” she countered. “And I’ve seen how he looks at ye when he thinks nay one’s watchin’.”
Eva turned to her sharply. “Ye have?” she asked.
Amelie nodded. “Aye,” she said. “There’s wonder there, and fear too, like a man who’s lost much and doesnae trust joy to stay.”
“Then why does he push me away?” she asked.
“Because closeness can frighten a man more than solitude,” Amelie replied. “Especially one who’s sworn himself to duty and loss.”
