Eva dipped her head politely, smiling. “I hope ye’ll forgive me intrudin’, Pauline.”
Pauline laughed so hard her spoon rattled against a bowl. “Intrudin’? Nay, lass, any betrothed of the Laird is welcome here.”
Amelie chimed in, “She wants to learn to make the tarts her brother Jason loves.”
At the mention of Jason, Pauline’s expression softened. “Ah, the wee lad with the sweet tooth,” she said. “Aye, we can do that.”
Eva stepped closer, eager. “I’d be grateful if ye’d show me.”
Pauline shoved a clean apron into her hands. “Then tie that on and listen close, for pastry shows nay mercy.”
Flour puffed into the air as Pauline demonstrated, and Eva coughed, laughing.
“Saints preserve me,” Eva said, brushing her nose, “I look like a miller already.”
“One of us now,” a scullery maid named Elspeth teased.
Amelie laughed. “Wait till she tries rollin’ the dough.”
Eva pressed the rolling pin down with too much enthusiasm, sending dough slithering off the table. “Oh!” she gasped.
Pauline barked with laughter. “Easy, lass, ye’re makin’ tarts, nae battlin’ the English.”
Eva grinned sheepishly. “I ken I’ve more strength than grace. Our cottage was never blessed to have such fine flour, only made bread and nae much else.”
“Ye will learn in nay time at all,” Pauline said.
As they filled the tarts with berries and honey, the kitchen buzzed with chatter.
“Jason’ll devour three of these at least,” Eva said fondly.
Pauline nodded. “Aye, and then ask for a fourth.”
Eva smiled. “Let him. He’s grown stronger each day, and it gladdens me heart.”
One of the maids nudged Eva playfully. “Ye’ve a good way with folk, Miss.” Eva paused, surprised. “Do I?”
“Aye,” Amelie said softly, “ye speak to us like we matter.”
Eva felt warmth bloom in her chest. “Because ye do. We are the same.”
When the tarts were slid into the oven, Pauline wiped her hands. “There now, ye’ve done well.”
Eva peeked inside, eyes shining. “I cannae wait to see Jason’s face.”
Pauline chuckled. “Careful, or ye’ll be expected to bake every week.”
Eva laughed freely. “I think I’d like that.”
As the scent of baking filled the room, Eva realized her cheeks ached from smiling. She had learned something new, laughed without restraint, and felt, like she truly belonged. The kitchens no longer seemed loud or chaotic but full of life and warmth. And as she carried that feeling with her, she thought that perhaps being Lady McLaren meant moments just like this.
Eva hummed softly as she walked down the castle corridors, the echo of her footsteps mingling with the tune she barely noticed leaving her lips as she carried the basket of tarts. Her thoughts were a whirl of Connor’s kiss from the night before, warm andlingering, making her heart flutter with excitement and nerves. The wedding drew near, and though she felt anticipation, a touch of anxiety prickled at her stomach. She paused inside her mother’s room, only to find it empty. She set the basket of tarts down on the table and waited a few moments.
After her mother did not return, Eva wandered into the corridor.
“Excuse me, lass,” Eva called to a passing maid. “Have ye seen me maither? I had hoped to find her here.”
The maid stopped and smiled. “Aye, Miss Eva. I saw her in the courtyard a moment ago, sittin’ at the long table watchin’ Jason play with the other bairns.”
