“Ye’ve chosen well,” she continued. “Eva has strength and compassion besides.”
Connor’s expression softened at the sound of her name. “She does,” he said quietly. “I’m a better man for knowin’ her.”
Margaret nodded, satisfied, and looked back to where Jason now chased the other lads.
“This,” she said, gesturing to the courtyard, “is what we build for.”
Connor followed her gaze, a sense of rightness settling deep within him. He knew then, without doubt, that whatever trials lay ahead, this was the life he would defend with all he had.
“Aye,” he said.
“I’m off to check with the kitchens that all is being stocked for the wedding feast,” Margaret said as she walked away.
Connor stood alone for a moment, the sounds of the courtyard drifting around him as his thoughts turned inward.
All me life I’ve wanted a family, one built on warmth instead of fear, for me faither had been a cruel man and the loss of Michael had left a hollow that never quite healed. Now I finally have a true family.
Soon there would be bairns running these grounds, and the thought made his chest swell with a pride so deep, it near stole his breath.
He was still smiling when Eva stepped into the courtyard, sunlight catching in her hair, and the sight of her struck him like a blessing. Before she could speak, Connor crossed the space between them, lifted her clean off her feet, and spun her once as she laughed in surprise. He set her down only to steal a kiss, warm and quick, his hands firm at her waist.
“I cannae wait to marry ye,” he said softly, his brow resting against hers.
Eva laughed, her hands curling into his tunic. “I’m glad to hear it, for I’ve already begun thinkin’ ye might change yer mind,” she teased.
Connor scoffed and kissed her again, slower this time. “Never,” he murmured, “I’d be a fool beyond help to let ye slip from me grasp.”
She smiled up at him, eyes bright with mischief. “Ye do ken I’ll hold ye to that,” she said.
Connor chuckled, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “Aye, and I’d have it nae other way,” he replied.
They walked together then, hands held, the world seeming steadier with her at his side. Connor glanced down at her and felt that quiet certainty settle in his bones again. This was his future, his family, and he would guard it with everything he was.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Eva rode onto the McKay lands with her spine straight and her hands folded in her lap, the weight of the day pressing upon her chest. McLaren guards surrounded them in quiet formation, their cloaks dark against the gray sky that hung low with mourning.
She leaned closer to Connor, keeping her voice low so only he could hear.
“Connor,” she whispered, “are we safe here, truly?”
She felt eyes on Connor the moment they dismounted, sharp and resentful. The looks followed him as he walked, unbowed, toward the gathered clan.
He did not look at her as he answered, his gaze steady ahead.
“For now, aye,” he murmured, “nay soul would dare spill blood at a funeral and shame their dead.”
They moved among the McKay folk, Eva’s heart pounding as the tension thickened the air. She glanced at Michael, who stood pale and rigid, his grief a quiet storm behind his eyes.
“Will they come for ye later?” she asked Connor softly.
“I daenae ken, but in time they’ll see this as justice, nae cruelty, for Jack’s sins were his own.”
The funeral grounds were set upon a rise overlooking the glen, the earth freshly turned and dark with rain. Men stood bareheaded, women wrapped in black cloaks, the wind tugging at wool and hair alike. At the center lay Jack’s coffin, simple oak bound with iron, marked with the McKay sigil. A hush fell as the kirkman stepped forward, his voice solemn and worn.
“We gather this day,” the kirkman said, “to commit Jack Welsh, Laird of Clan McKay, unto God’s mercy and the earth from which he came.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as he spoke of judgment and forgiveness, of sins weighed and souls answered for.
