Eva considered this in silence. “I daenae want to be a lesson he learns from, only his wife,” she said softly.
Amelie squeezed her hands again. “Give him time,” she said. “And give yerself grace.”
Eva drew a slow breath, feeling the knot in her chest loosen just a fraction. “I’m glad ye’re here,” she said.
Amelie smiled. “So am I, mistress,” she replied.
That night, Eva paced the length of her room.
“Where is he?” she muttered under her breath, wringing her hands.
Her heart ached with a mixture of hope and dread, for she could scarce believe that Laird McLaren would change his mind and come dine with her after all.
A sharp knock at the door made her jump, and she held her breath, hoping it was Connor.
“It’s only me, miss,” a timid voice called through the wood.
Eva’s chest sank slightly, and she opened the door to find a scullery maid carrying a tray.
“Yer supper, miss,” the girl said, curtsying as she placed the plate and cup down.
“Thank ye,” Eva said softly, forcing a smile as the maid hurried away.
She looked down at the table, her heart tightening, and noticed there was only one plate and one cup.
“Of course it would be like that,” she muttered, sadness creeping into her voice. She lowered herself onto the chair and pushed the food around with her fork, barely tasting it.
“Perhaps he’s changed his mind. Perhaps he’ll tell me in the morn that I’m nay longer his bride.”
The thought clawed at her chest, making her eyes sting with unshed tears. She poked at the stew absentmindedly, each bite tasteless as her mind raced with doubts.
“Why cannae he be like before?” she murmured. “Why does he go cold as the stone walls themselves?” The room felt colder now, and she hugged herself across the shoulders.
“I daenae ken what I did wrong,” she admitted aloud, though no one could answer her.
Her thoughts drifted to the evening they had shared, the warmth, the closeness, the passion.
“Was it all a lie?” Her chest constricted as she spoke the words, unable to stop the ache from spreading.
She set down her fork, pushing the untouched bread aside, and buried her face in her hands.
After some time, she forced herself to eat a little, murmuring quietly, “I must keep strong. If he truly desires me, he’ll come. He will not abandon me.”
But the more she spoke to herself, the heavier the room felt. Every creak of the castle and whisper of the wind made her jump, imagining Connor at the door.
“I cannae just sit here frettin’,” she muttered. She glanced out the window, the moonlight casting silver across the garden, and whispered,
By the time she turned to her bed, she was trembling, caught between hope and despair. She pulled the covers tight around her shoulders and closed her eyes, imagining Connor entering, smiling at her, and taking the empty space beside her.
“Please let him come to me,” she whispered, as sleep began to tug at her consciousness.
Yet sleep did not come easily. She tossed and turned, thinking of every word she had said, every glance they had shared.
Finally, exhausted, she drifted into a restless slumber, the candle sputtering low beside her bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Two days had passed, and Eva grew restless within the quiet of her chamber. She had not seen Connor once, nor heard word of him, and the absence gnawed at her thoughts.
