CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The next day, Connor sat heavily in the chair of his study. His mind replayed the previous night with Eva, the heat of her skin beneath his hands, the soft warmth of her hair brushing his fingers. A groan escaped him at the memory, both of pleasure and frustration at his own restraint. He shook his head, attempting to focus on the duties of the day, yet every thought was shadowed by her presence.
A sharp knock sounded, followed by the slow creak of the door. Fergus, bent with age but sharp of eye, stepped inside without waiting for an answer.
“Me Laird,” Fergus said, bowing his head, “I come with matters that daenae bring cheer.”
Connor exhaled through his nose and gestured to the chair. “Sit then, Fergus, and speak plain, for I’ve little patience this day.”
Fergus settled heavily and unfolded a bundle of letters. “They’ve begun to arrive in numbers, from neighborin’ Lairds whose daughters ye dinnae choose.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed as Fergus continued, his voice dry and measured. “They speak of insult and slight, of alliances spurned and pride wounded.”
Connor scoffed softly. “Let them nurse their pride elsewhere, for I asked none of them to offer me their daughters like coin.” Fergus raised a brow. “Some hint at strained relations if their grievances go unanswered.”
Connor stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “I dinnae choose a bride simply to soothe the egos of other men,” he said, his voice low but fierce. “She is kind, loyal, and of this land, and I’ll nae apologize for wantin’ a wife with a backbone instead of a silk tongue.”
Fergus watched him closely. “The council only worries for the peace, me laird.”
Connor turned, eyes blazing. “Peace bought by sacrificin’ me own authority to choose who I please is nay peace at all.”
He crossed the room and took the letters from Fergus, tossing them onto the fire one by one. “Let them see that Clan McLaren doesnae bend to petty resentment.”
Fergus sighed, though there was a hint of approval in his gaze. “Then it shall be known that ye stand firm.”
Connor nodded once, his shoulders squaring. “Aye, and they’ll ken this as well, Eva is me future Lady, and I daenae give a damn what any other Laird thinks of it.”
Fergus bowed his head and left the study. Connor poured himself a measure of whiskey. His temper boiled at the audacity of the other lairds to attempt to control him.
A few moments later, the door slammed open with such force that the room echoed, and Connor leapt to his feet.
“What in the saints' names do ye think yer doin’ bargin’ in like this?” he barked, glaring at the panting figure in the doorway.
David, his loyal man-at-arms, heaved in deep breaths, trying to compose himself. “Apologies, me laird,” he gasped. “I couldnae wait.”
Connor narrowed his eyes. “Out with it, David. What has ye in such haste?” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to suppress the irritation prickling at his nerves.
David wiped sweat from his brow and stepped closer. “We found the merchant, me laird. Spoke to him at once, and he led us to believe that Laird McKay, Jack Welsh, may have been seen on the road that day.”
Connor froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing. “Laird McKay?” he repeated, voice tight with disbelief.
A shadow of doubt crossed David’s features. “Aye, Laird, but the merchant only saw McKay further down the road from the accident, nae at the scene itself. He cannae say for certain if McKay was involved or simply passing that day.”
Connor ran a hand over his face, pacing in the study. “Me faither… he always spoke ill of Laird McKay. Despised the man,” Connor muttered, voice low, almost to himself. “But that’s all I ken of him. Nothin’ else. Never met the man in all me life.”
David shifted uncomfortably, hands folded. “Laird McKay keeps to himself. Attends nay clan gatherings. Few ken the man truly, and even fewer would speak if asked.”
“Then why… why would he have anything to do with me family’s death? He’s a stranger to me, a man I’ve never set eyes on. We must find out. And I ken a way. Go to McKay lands, but nae under the McLaren banners. Disguise yerselves as merchants or passin’ travelers, and keep yer ears open for word amongst the villagers. Go straightaway, David. Observe all comings and goings. Listen for talk. And mark me, our inquiries are to be discreet. None must suspect McLaren interest.”
David inclined his head, voice firm. “Aye, me laird. I will leave immediately.”
Connor exhaled slowly, the anger in him simmering beneath the surface.
“Michael had a birthmark on the left side of his neck,” he said quietly, almost as if confessing a secret to the empty room. “I daenae think he is alive, but if ye speak to guards or retainers of McKay… if such a bairn was ever targeted, perhaps they will remember that mark from twelve years ago.”
David’s expression hardened with resolve. “I ken, me laird. I will keep it in mind, every word, every sign.”
Connor nodded, eyes dark with a mixture of grief and determination.
