Page 36 of The Iron Earl

He gave a slight nod. “The unmarried one still does. And just because you have plans to be a servant in my household, it does not negate the fact that you’re still of noble birth.”

“Yes, but does it matter?” Her lips drew inward for a moment and then she exhaled a long breath as she found his hazel eyes. “I know I’m ruined as far as society looks upon it, Lachlan. But that was the purpose of this. Escaping what I was. What I was going to be forced to be.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his head twisting as he surveyed the room. He looked back to her. “Then join me at a table.”

Lachlan walked across the dining room and Evalyn followed, weaving through the chairs until they reached a small table situated next to the wide fieldstone hearth that swallowed one wall of the large room. He pulled the chair closest to the roaring fire for her, she sat, and then he followed suit across from her, setting his tankard on the worn wood of the table.

A young barmaid was quick to their table, her pretty blue eyes hungry on Lachlan. “What ye be havin’, sir?”

“The grouse is gone?”

She nodded.

“We’ll both take the mutton pie and I’ll need another fill.” He lifted his near-to-empty silver tankard to the woman, then tilted his head toward Evalyn. “And the lady will have port.”

The barmaid nodded, an indecent smile curling onto her lips as she looked Lachlan up and down. “Straight ‘way, luv.” She didn’t bother with the slightest look toward Evalyn.

An exhale of relief escaped her. Not noticed again. She was actually starting to enjoy the anonymity. She watched the barmaid move away from the table, stopping, stooping over to flirt with men along the way, her fingers on their shoulders, a willing smile on her face as she angled her bare ample bosom to them. A brutal pang of jealousy sliced through Evalyn’s chest.

That woman was free. Free to be a flirt. Free to eat wherever she chose to. Free to insinuate exactly what she wanted from her customers.

“You didn’t need to carry the dress all day, Evalyn.” Lachlan’s deep voice snatched her attention forward.

Her brow furrowed. The backs of her upper arms still twinged with the weight of carrying the heavy wet dress all day. “But I did.”

“There was room in the wagon for it.”

She exhaled a quick sigh. “You said there was no room and I said I would carry it. So carry it I shall. It’s no one’s burden but my own.”

Lachlan lifted his tankard and swallowed the last drops of his ale, his hazel eyes fixed on her. “You’re a stubborn one. And you don’t trust us—trust me not to leave it behind.”

Her eyes grew wide. “I…I…I didn’t say that.”

He inclined his head to her, leaning back in his chair as he studied her. “But you thought it. It’s a funny thing, that you trust us—me—enough to escape your stepfather. But you don’t trust me enough to not destroy the dress. I promised I would leave it be.”

She met his scrutinizing gaze. “I’ve been promised things before, Lachlan.”

“And?”

“And promises are made to be broken.”

“I think you mistake the definition of a promise, Evalyn.”

“I know exactly what a promise is, Lachlan. But I also know in practice a promise usually ends up as the exact opposite of the definition. Promises are cruelty. Promises are snares tossed to collect hope. To collect trust.” Her fingernails curled into the rough wood of the table. “What I know is that it is one of the cruelest punishments to make one believe in a promise when it’s never intended to be kept.”

“You’ve never had someone keep a promise to you?”

“My stepfather was cruel with his promises, though not nearly as cruel as my mother was.”

The barmaid arrived at the table, juggling two plates on one arm and the fresh tankard full of ale in her fingers along with the glass of port for Evalyn in her other. She set the drinks to the table and then unloaded her left arm quickly.

Evalyn stared at the thick crust of her pie, her stomach no longer rumbling, no longer the slightest bit hungry.

Lachlan waited until the barmaid took several steps away from the table before his hazel eyes pinned Evalyn. “What did your mother promise you?”

She looked up from her plate of food. “That she wouldn’t die. She promised she wouldn’t until her last breath.”

He nodded, his hand moving to the fresh tankard. He tilted it back, taking a healthy swallow. It clunked as he set it back onto the table and his look didn’t veer off of her. “How old were you?”

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