“I learned it from yer grandfaither,” she sniffed, straightening a bit. “And he had to be relentless, marryin’ me.”
Connor’s expression darkened with exasperated fondness, though he tried not to let it show. “The invitations have gone out. The clans’ll arrive by sunset?”
Margaret nodded eagerly, dabbing her eyes. “Aye, that they will.”
“It would dishonor them to send them away,” Connor said, shoulders sagging in resignation. “So, the ceilidh will happen.”
Margaret gasped with relief, dropping the handkerchief to clasp her hands together. “Bless ye, lad. Ye’ve made yer grandmaither very happy.”
“But,” Connor added sternly, pointing a finger at her, “ye are nae to count on me choosin’ a bride tonight. Or any time soon.”
Margaret sniffed again, but this time with far less sorrow and far more triumph. “Aye, aye, we’ll see about that.”
Connor glared. “Grandmaither.”
She offered him a cunning little smile that only confirmed his worst suspicions. “I’m only sayin’, Connor, miracles happen at ceilidhs.”
He turned away, muttering under his breath as he strode to his desk. “I should’ve stayed in the damned forest.”
Margaret patted his arm on her way out, her steps light, her spirits lifted. “Dress well, lad. There’ll be many bonnie lasses waitin’.”
Connor dropped heavily into his chair the moment she closed the door. He stared at the flickering fire in his hearth, feeling it mock him with its warmth and cheer.
“I’ll nae be choosin’ a bride,” he muttered again, though deep down he suspected the night would bring trouble all the same.
CHAPTER THREE
The music from the ceilidh drifted through the night air. Eva heard the lively fiddle and the beat of the bodhrán thrum against the stone walls, every note covering her footsteps as she crept toward the towering gates. Her heart hammered as loudly as any drum, but she kept her cloak pulled tight and her hood low. The night was her ally, and with everyone distracted, it felt like her only chance.
She slipped through the open side entrance where guests walked through and servants bustled in and out carrying trays of food. A pair of maids passed her, giggling about some handsome lad near the musicians’ stand. Eva forced a small smile and nodded politely.
“Good evenin’,” she murmured, praying they wouldn’t look too closely at her unfamiliar face.
The women barely noticed her, brushing past in a flurry of laughter and linen aprons. Eva let out a shaky breath and moveddeeper into the corridor, the flickering torchlight guiding her footsteps.
She whispered to herself, “Ye can do this, Eva. For Ma and wee Jason, ye must.” The words steadied her even as fear clawed at her ribs.
She padded softly down the long corridor, listening for footsteps, for voices, for anything that might give her away. Her pulse quickened each time she heard revelry echoing from the great hall, a reminder of how close she was to danger.
She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a passing servant carrying a tray of wine goblets.
“Oh, good evenin’, sir,” she said quickly.
The servant nodded, hardly glancing at her. “Aye, good evenin’ to ye, lass.”
“I was just on me way to the healers for a bit of a tonic before the feast. Can ye show me the way?”
“Aye, straight on then up the stairs and last door,” he said as he bustled by.
Eva walked on, her fingers trembling against her cloak.
“Just a bit farther. Ye’re nae doin’ wrong. Ye’re savin’ lives.” But guilt pricked her with every step, for she had never stolen a thing in her life.
The healer’s rooms were tucked in a quiet wing of the castle, far from the feast. The corridor leading to them was dim and cool, lit only by a single lantern hanging from a nail. Eva paused at the door, her breath shallow, and pressed her palm against the rough wood.
“Please let this work,” she murmured softly.
The door creaked as she pushed it open, and she held her breath, praying no one was inside.
