Voices grew louder as they descended, the sound of lively music echoing up the stairwell. Eva felt it in her bones; the closer they got to the great hall, the worse her chances of simply slipping out became. Her heart pounded as she clung to her cloak, praying no one would notice the bulge of the stolen herb beneath it.
“Here ye are,” Amelie said.
She pushed open another door, and warmth spilled out like a flood. Eva stepped into the edge of the great hall, her breath catching as she took in the packed room. Candles glowed from chandeliers overhead, garlands hung from the beams, and couples spun in lively reels across the floor. Music, laughter, and the hum of voices filled every corner.
Just across the threshold stood Laird McLaren himself, broad, imposing, unmistakable, speaking with an older woman. Eva froze where she stood, her hood shadowing her face as she tried to edge backward, but Amelie kept her moving gently forward.
Eva listened as the older woman’s voice, sharp and insistent, carried easily over the music. “Connor, ye must choose a bride. I’ll nae let this night go to waste.”
Connor rubbed a hand across his jaw, irritation etched deep across his strong features. “Grandmaither, I told ye…”
The woman cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Nay, lad. Ye will choose tonight, or I’ll hound ye every hour of every day till ye do!”
Connor’s eyes narrowed in frustration, his voice dropping into a low growl. “If it will make ye leave me be, then fine. I choose… her.”
His hand lifted and pointed directly at Eva, the woman closest to him.
Eva’s breath left her in a stunned rush, her body going cold as stone. For a heartbeat, she wondered if he meant someone behind her, someone to the side, anyone else. But his gaze locked onto her with unshakable certainty, dark eyes assessing, unreadable, commanding. The hall seemed to quiet around her, as though the castle itself had drawn in a breath.
She stood trapped in the lantern glow, her stolen herbs heavy in her pocket and her fate suddenly bound to the man whose name carried power across the Highlands. She had come for medicine.
Instead, the Laird has become aware of me and possibly the crime I’ve done.
CHAPTER FOUR
Eva shrank back, unsure why Laird McLaren himself pointed at her as though she were the answer to some riddle. A warm flush crept up her neck, and her breath stuttered in her throat.
Connor stepped toward her with long, assured strides that parted the crowd as if the air bowed for him. He stood taller than she had imagined up close, with long brown hair that brushed his shoulders and eyes black as midnight embers. His presence pressed around her like a command she dared not refuse, and desire fluttered low in her belly despite her panic.
She swallowed hard, convinced he must have discovered her theft, and for a fleeting moment she considered bolting, though she knew she’d never outrun the guards.
He leaned in, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “What clan do ye hail from?”
Eva’s lips trembled as she forced out her answer. “I am from the village below the castle. I belong to clan McLaren.”
Connor’s dark brows rose, his expression shifting in a way she could not read. “A villager from me own village,” he murmured. “Aye, that will do.”
Eva blinked rapidly, confusion tumbling through her. “Do for what? I daenae understand what is happenin’.”
Connor’s mouth quirked in a grim line as if the matter irritated him more than it pleased him. “I have chosen ye as me bride.”
Her breath caught so sharply that the sound left her as a gasp. Pain, fear, and disbelief tangled inside her as though the ground beneath her tilted. She felt oddly weightless, trapped between wanting to flee and being unable to move at all. The noise of the gathering dulled until all she heard was the pounding in her ears.
Connor straightened, lifting his voice for all to hear.
“Excuse me as I speak with this woman in the business of marriage.”
The hall quieted at once, whispers swelling like a tide at the edges. Without waiting for her consent, he gripped her firmly by the arm. His touch wasn’t painful, but it left no room for argument.
Eva stumbled as he led her through the throng, her skirts brushing against the floor while her mind scrambled for reason. The scent of roasted meats, hearth smoke, and spilled ale felt suddenly too thick, choking her as she tried to keep pace. All around them, faces turned, some amused, some curious, others openly jealous.
She felt exposed, as though every secret she held pulsed visibly beneath her skin. As they passed a cluster of finely dressed women, their hushed voices carried far too clearly.
“Why her?” one scoffed. “With all the bonnie lasses here, the laird picks a plain, thick girl?”
Another sighed dramatically. “He must be jestin’. She isnae half as comely as the rest of us.”
Eva flushed so hot she feared her face might ignite. She had never considered herself beautiful; she lacked the fine features and polished manners of castle-born women, but hearing the cruelty aloud lodged a sharp ache in her chest. Embarrassment prickled over her skin, mixing with shame she knew she did not deserve. Still, the words found their mark, and she lowered her gaze as if the stone floor might swallow her whole.
