“Rory obviously did no’ trouble himself to see to bandaging yer wound ere hying off with the other men, did he?” Saidh asked with annoyance.
Evina merely shook her head as Greer set her down on the bed in the chamber Aulay and Jetta were using.
“Oh, dear, ye’re bleeding,” Jetta said, moving to her side at once.
Evina glanced down. The plaid had slipped at some point, revealing the top of her breast and the wound there. Blood was sliding from it and disappearing under the plaid.
“Damn,” she muttered in an irritated whisper. The wound hadn’t bled since the second day, but it seemed its getting wet, or perhaps her struggles against the man who had tried to drown her, had opened it up again.
She wasn’t the only one cursing. As Tildy hurried to her side, she had some fine choice words to say about the men running off without tending her wound first.
“I’ll have to get me medicinals, the salve Lord Rory gave me and some linens from yer room and bind ye up again,” Tildy said with annoyance as she examined the wound.
“Here we go again,” Alick muttered.
“Here we go what?” Tildy asked with confusion.
“They’ll no’ let ye go back to me room any more than they did me, Tildy,” Evina reminded her.
Evina scowled at the young man, still annoyed that they hadn’t let her go back to her room to fetch clothes. They had nearly been to this room when she’d recalled the gown she’d dropped when Conran had picked her up so abruptly and startled her. She’d immediately asked Greer to set her down so that she could return to her room to collect the gown and a tunic, but everyone had protested the suggestion. Not wanting to have to sit about in mixed company with only the plaid wrapped around her for covering, Evina had argued strenuously. But when Saidh had offered to loan her a tunic and gown, she’d finally relented. She’d rather have her own clothes, but Greer and Alick simply weren’t going to allow her to return alone to her room. Borrowed clothes would have to do.
“I have some wrappings and medicinals,” Jetta announced now, hurrying to a chest against the wall. “I always bring them with me when we travel. Just in case,” she added, not needing to say more. Accidents happened, and it was always good to have such things on long journeys.
“Perhaps we should step out in the hall while the women tend Evina’s wound, Alick,” Greer suggested.
“Do ye think we should?” Alick asked. “Conran wanted us to watch her. What if there is a passage entrance in here and her attacker uses it to get to the women?”
“I’m sure that with the women here . . .” Greer began, and then paused and frowned as his gaze moved to his wife and settled on her still-flat stomach.
Saidh’s eyes narrowed angrily on her husband, and she opened her mouth, but before she could spit out whatever she would have said, Jetta blurted, “’Tis fine. I’ll grab one of Aulay’s plaids and Saidh and I can hold it up to give Evina privacy while Tildy tends her wound. Ye can stay.”
Saidh snapped her mouth closed, but continued to glower at Greer.
Biting her lip, Evina glanced at the pair silently. She could quite easily imagine this same argument cropping up between her and Conran if they married. Did she really want that?
“Why are ye stopping?”
Conran didn’t respond right away to Laird Maclean’s hissed question. He stayed still, never taking his gaze off the shifting darkness in front of them as he listened, but finally whispered, “I thought I heard a scuffing sound from ahead.”
They were both silent for a moment, and then the Maclean sighed and muttered, “’Twas probably me shuffling along behind ye. Sound carries oddly in here. A noise from behind can seem like it came from in front, and another from in front can sound as if it came from behind.”
Conran wasn’t convinced and waited another moment. But when he didn’t hear anything else, he started forward again. After another couple of minutes though, he asked, “I thought ye said there were stairs leading down just beyond where the passages separated?”
“Nay, I said they were a bit beyond where the passages separated,” the Maclean corrected.
“Well, what do ye consider a bit?” he asked with irritation. It seemed to him that they’d gone quite a distance since parting ways with Aulay and Rory.
“They should be just ahead. Here, let me lead the way so ye do no’ come upon them unexpectedly and take a tumble. They’re steep, the edges on the stairs deadly sharp. Ye do no’ want to tangle with them.”
Conran stopped and turned sideways in the narrow passage. Pressing his back tight to the wall, he held his torch high and waited for the older man to slide past. It was a tight fit, but the Maclean managed it. Although the wince that crossed his face, and his sudden inhalation halfway through the maneuver, suggested to Conran that the old man might have rubbed his injured behind up against the opposite wall in passing. Fearghas didn’t complain about it. However, Conran noted that he was hobbling a little more than he had before as he led the way to the stairs.
“It’s narrow and turns,” the Maclean warned, pausing suddenly. When he put one hand out to the side to brace himself, Conran suspected they’d reached the stairs and held his torch up a little higher. Over the man’s shoulder, he could see the steps hewn into the stone, and that they disappeared around a curve. They were entering the wall of the tower now, the stairs following the curve around the outside as they descended.
Conran waited, watching until the man was three or four steps down. He started to follow then, but a noise behind him made him hesitate. Turning, he held the torch up and started back the way they’d come, his eyes narrowing as he searched the shadows. He didn’t see anything, but something had made that noise.
“Oy! What’s happening? The light is dimming. Buchanan?” the Maclean shouted, sounding distressed.
“I’m here,” Conran reassured him, spinning back the way he’d come. He started forward, but a slight sound, almost like an exhalation, made him stop once more. Before he could turn again to look around, he was punched in the upper back.
Caught by surprise, Conran stumbled forward three steps. It was only three, because on the third when his foot came down, the ground suddenly wasn’t there. It was the first stair tread leading down, but by the time he realized that, it was too late. He’d lost his balance and was falling.
Conran shouted as he went. He heard the Maclean’s responding shout of alarm, and then he was crashing and rolling down the stairs, pain exploding in his head, his shoulder, his leg. He was vaguely aware of something catching at his plaid at one point, but it barely slowed him. A tearing sound rent the air as he continued careening down the sharp, hard steps. By the time Conran came to a halt at the bottom of what he’d begun to think was an endless stairwell, he was hurting everywhere. But he hadn’t been knocked unconscious. That was something.
“Buchanan!” That shout was followed by the sound of the Maclean hobbling quickly down the stairs after him and he wondered a little dazedly how he hadn’t knocked the man down in the narrow space, and sent him tumbling too.
“Are ye all right, lad?” The Maclean’s voice sounded closer this time and Conran wanted to tell him he was all right, but was busy trying not to scream in pain. Dear God, he hurt everywhere, but his back hurt the worst.
Something brushed up against Conran’s foot, but he couldn’t see what in the darkness, so was relieved when the Maclean spoke. “That’s you, is it? Damn, lad, ye took a hell of a tumble.” His voice was at the same level as Conran now, and he guessed that the man had dropped to his knees beside him. “I should have warned ye the stairs were uneven and like to trip ye up if ye were no’ careful.”
“I didn’t trip. I was pushed,” Conran hissed through his gritted teeth.
“Pushed?” Fearghas gasped with a new alarm.
“Aye, well, punched in the back, really,” he said grimly. “Either way, I didn’t fall, and the bastard is here somewhere.”
“Damn, he could be creeping up on us as we speak,” the Maclean growled. “It’s bloody dark in here without the torch. I can no’ see a thing, whether we’re alone, how badly ye’re hurt, nothing.”
Conran had no idea where the torch was. He’d dropped it as he fell, and it had apparently gone out. He didn’t bother to say that though; he was busy listening for any sound of someone approaching.
“Can ye stand?”
Conran gave up listening and slowly began to sit up. Everything hurt. His head, his chest, his back, his shoulder, his hip, his knee . . . but he managed to sit upright. Now he just had to stand. Grimacing, he braced one hand on the ground and one on the wall and started to push himself to his feet. His legs were oddly weak and shaky, however. Probably from the shock of the fall, he thought grimly.
“Here.” The Maclean felt around until he found the hand Conran had braced against the wall and drew it up over his shoulder. “I’ll help ye up, son. Just put yer weight on me.”
Conran shifted slowly, bracing his other hand on the wall now to help take his weight as he half pushed himself upward, and was half pulled to his feet.
“Damn,” Conran breathed once he was upright. He was standing, but felt like hell and thought he must have taken a good crack to the head.
“Ye’re none too steady on yer feet, son,” Fearghas said with concern. “Mayhap I should go get some help.”
“Nay!” Conran grabbed his arm to stop him as the man started to shift away in the dark. “If whoever punched me is still here, they could attack ye. It’s better to stick together. I’m fine. I can make it. Just give me a minute to catch me breath.”
The Maclean held his tongue, but Conran could practically feel his concern reaching out to him through the darkness. Fortunately, after taking a few deep breaths, he felt a good deal steadier.
“Let’s go,” he said, shuffling in the direction he thought the stairs must be. A little relieved breath slipped from him when the toe of his boot bumped up against the first step.
“Take it slow and easy,” Fearghas warned, following so closely behind him Conran was sure he could feel the heat from the old man’s body at his back.
“Aye,” was all Conran said. Slow and easy was all he could manage at the moment anyway. At least, at first, but after several steps some of the aches began to recede and he started to feel a little better and began to move more quickly. Dear God, the stairs felt as endless going up as they had coming down, and Conran was just about to ask how much farther the Maclean thought they had to go when he heard his name called. Pausing, he peered up, and noted the weak light creeping around the curving staircase, pushing into the darkness ahead of them.
“Aulay?” he asked, quite sure that was who had called his name.
“Aye,” came the reply. “We heard shouts. Are ye all right?”
“I’ve been better,” he muttered, starting to move again, but warned, “He’s up there somewhere. The bastard punched me in the back and sent me tumbling down the stairs. We’re coming up now.”
“Is anything broken?” Rory asked. “Do ye need help?”
“Nay,” Conran sighed the word, and then said it louder, before adding, “I lost me torch, is all, so we’re moving slowly. We’ll be there . . .” He paused in surprise as he took the next step and realized how close to the top they’d been when the lit torch and a lone figure came into view.
“Rory?” he asked, squinting at the figure as he continued up the steps.
“Aye. Aulay’s checking the passage for yer attacker,” Rory explained his absence.
Nodding, Conran took the last few steps up to the landing in silence, relieved to get off the deadly stairs.
“Ye’re rubbing yer head. Did ye hit it?” Rory asked, holding the torch toward him briefly as the Maclean moved up beside them.
“Aye, and ’tis pounding a bit,” Conran admitted in a mutter.
“Are ye all right?” Aulay asked, coming out of the shadows.
“I’ll survive,” Conran said with a shrug that made him wince. Damn, the bastard had hit him hard. His shoulder was killing him.
Aulay was silent for a minute, and then pointed out, “For someone to push ye, they had to have got around behind ye.”
“Aye,” Conran murmured, peering into the darkness of the passage.
“He must have slipped into one of the bedrooms until we passed and then come out behind us,” Fearghas said grimly.
“We should have stationed someone in each of the rooms before we entered the passage,” Conran said grimly. “But I thought from Tildy’s description that he was an outsider and would just flee.”
“What about her description made ye think he was an outsider?” Rory asked with interest.
Rather than answer, he asked, “Have ye seen anyone at Maclean wearing ratty clothes or who were so unkempt their hair was matted?”
“Nay,” Rory admitted, appearing surprised. “Everyone I’ve seen seems to make an effort to look clean and presentable.”
“Aye, me wife always insisted on it,” Fearghas growled. “She said filth spreads disease and she’d no’ have the servants and soldiers bringing in lice and fleas and illness.” He sighed, and then admitted, “After she died, I probably would have let well enough alone and allowed the servants and soldiers to carry on as they wished, but Evina was her mother’s daughter. She insisted things continue as they had before.”
“So, the attacker has to be an outsider,” Aulay murmured.
Fearghas ran a hand through his wiry hair in agitation. “I just can no’ see how an outsider found out about the passage.”
“Ye say ye only told Evina and Gavin?” Aulay asked.
“Aye.”
Conran frowned. “Then one of them must have told someone else.”
The Maclean scowled at him for the suggestion. “Nay. Neither of them would tell anyone.”
“Perhaps when they were children,” Rory suggested gently.
“Neither of them kenned as children,” Fearghas countered. “I did no’ tell Evina until she was sixteen. Gavin either. I only told him just months ago on his birthday. Neither of them would reveal the secret to another. I’d stake me life on it,” he said with certainty.
When no one had any other suggestions as to how an outsider could know, Conran shifted wearily and said, “We’ll need to station men in each room with an entrance to the passage so that he can’t use them to avoid us as we search the passages again.”
“Or I could just lock off the entrances from each room,” the Maclean suggested.
Conran glanced at him sharply. “They lock from the inside?”
“Well, aye. Ye have to be able to secure them for just such a situation as this,” he pointed out.
“O’ course,” Conran agreed with a wry smile, but then his expression grew serious and he said, “Ye shouldn’t go alone in case he’s in one of the rooms right now.”
“He probably is,” Aulay said now. “He pushed ye from up here, and neither Rory nor I encountered him on our return along the path around the castle. He must have slipped into one of the rooms after pushing ye.”
“Aye, and he can slip out again as we enter the rooms to lock the entrances, unless someone is here,” Conran pointed out. “Will ye and Rory—?”
“We’ll guard the passage until ye get each of the entrances locked,” Aulay assured him.
“Thank ye,” Conran murmured. “Then I’ll accompany Laird Maclean. We’ll try to be quick.”
When the two men merely nodded, Conran turned to head up the passage.
“Con?”
Pausing, he glanced back in question, noting his eldest brother’s serious expression in the light from the torch. “Aye?”
“Ye need to start with the Maclean’s room, and move this way. The passage starts there.”
“Aye, he’s right,” Fearghas murmured behind him.
Conran didn’t bother mentioning that he’d thought of that himself; he merely asked the Maclean, “Ye can open it from this side, can ye no’?”
“Aye. Follow me.” The old man squeezed past him and led the way to the end of the passage. It took them away from the light cast by Aulay’s torch. Conran was about to suggest his brother move farther down this way, but Aulay did it of his own accord.
“Stand there.” Fearghas took Conran’s arm to shift him so that his body blocked what he was doing from his brothers. The old man then turned a rock that looked just like all the others, and stepped back as a section of wall slid outward.
“We’ll search the laird’s room before we lock the entrance from inside,” Conran told his brothers as he started to follow his soon-to-be father-in-law into the room. “We’ll open it again and give ye the all clear before we lock it and move on to Evina’s room.”
He heard Aulay’s grunt of acknowledgment as he stepped into the chamber.
The bright light after so long in the dark was blinding. Conran paused just inside the room, blinking rapidly in an effort to regain his sight more quickly.
“Damn, we were in there so long I forgot ’tis early morning yet,” the Maclean growled, rubbing his eyes irritably.
Conran glanced to the open shutters. Dazzling sunlight was pouring through them and filling the room, highlighting the fact that it was empty, and didn’t have much in the way of hiding spaces. Just two places that he could see—under the bed, or in one of the chests against the wall.
“I’ll check the chests,” Fearghas growled when Conran moved to the bed and dropped to his knees.
Conran merely nodded, and looked under the bed. He was getting back up almost as soon as he got down. The only thing under it was a half-gnawed bone. He supposed it must have been left behind by one of the dogs the Maclean had mentioned. Joining the man at his chests, Conran opened one and began pulling out shirts and plaids.
“Surely that’s no’ necessary,” the Maclean said with surprise.
“We once had someone we were hunting evade us by hiding under the clothes in a chest,” Conran said grimly.
“Oh.” Fearghas eyed him with interest. “Did ye catch them?”
“Aye. Eventually,” he muttered, and dropped the clothes back in. Conran closed that chest, and moved to the second one even as the Maclean started dragging bed linens out of the one he’d been searching.
“Empty,” the Maclean announced a moment later.
“Mine too,” Conran said, letting the lid of the chest he’d been rifling through slam shut.
Nodding, Fearghas moved back to the passage entrance, opened it and stuck his head out to tell Aulay and Rory the room was clear, and they were locking the entrance and moving on to the next room.
Geordie was standing guard outside the door to Evina’s room as requested. But there were so many people around him it was hard to tell at first.
“Get on with ye,” the Maclean growled as he led Conran through the group. “Surely ye’ve all got work to do. Get to it. Me daughter’s fine and there’s nothing more to see here.”
The crowd dispersed quickly, everyone heading for the stairs, and Geordie nodded in greeting. He also raised an eyebrow at the fact that they’d come from behind the crowd rather than out of Evina’s room, but Conran didn’t explain. He merely nodded at his brother in response and followed Fearghas Maclean into Evina’s room. Aulay stood in the open entrance to the passage when they entered.
Conran acknowledged him with a glance and then peered around the room. Everything looked just as it had when last he saw it. As with the Maclean’s room, there were just the chests, and under the bed to check. They made quick work of it.
“Rory and I’ll move down the passage to the next entrance,” Aulay said once they’d finished. He then slid away from the entrance as the Maclean started to close and lock it. That done, they moved on to the next room, nodding at Geordie again in passing.
After a quick search of Gavin’s room, where Saidh and Greer were staying, they were moving on to Conran’s own room. He didn’t even have a chest though, so it was a quick check under the bed and they were done.
Conran had entered each room with his hand on his sword, ready to draw it if needed, but as they approached the room Rory and Alick had been given, he unsheathed it altogether to hold it at the ready.
“Aye, I’m getting a little tense meself,” the Maclean said quietly.
“Trouble?” Geordie asked, approaching.
“The bastard has to be in one of these last two rooms,” Fearghas explained solemnly.
“This room,” Conran corrected him, and then pointed out, “Aulay and Jetta are staying in the last room, and Greer, Saidh, Jetta and Tildy took Evina there while we searched the passages. There is no way he would go there. That leaves only this room for him to hide in.”
“Well, hell,” the Maclean muttered, and reached for his own sword even as Geordie did.
“Ready?” Conran asked once they all had weapons in hand.
“Aye,” Geordie said quietly.
“Open it,” the Maclean growled.
Nodding, Conran tightened his grip on his sword and thrust the door open with his free hand. The three of them then lunged through together, swords raised and eyes wild as they searched the . . . empty room.
Feeling a little foolish, Conran lowered his sword and grimaced at the other two men.
“No chests,” the Maclean pointed out. “Yer brothers only brought bags with them.”
Conran merely nodded and moved to look under the bed. He did it from several feet away though, just to be safe. But it was a wasted effort. This room too was empty. Getting back to his feet, he glanced to the other two men and shook his head.
“Well, hell,” Fearghas muttered, and slid his sword back into its sheath. Frowning, he glanced toward the fireplace, and then toward Geordie. Seeing that Conran’s brother had walked back to stand in the doorway and peer out into the hall at something, the Maclean quickly walked over to the fireplace and turned the torch holder next to it.
Aulay appeared at once when a section of wall slid silently inward. He opened his mouth to speak, but when the Maclean put a finger to his lips in a motion to be quiet, and then waved him in, he merely raised his eyebrows and led Rory to the center of the room. His brothers were then good enough to keep their backs to Evina’s father, allowing him to lock down the passage without witnesses.
“I gather ye did no find the man?” Aulay said once the Maclean had closed and locked the passage and moved to join them.
Conran saw Geordie glance over his shoulder with surprise at Aulay’s question, but merely shook his head. “And Greer, Alick and the women are in the last room so the attacker can’t be there.”
“Where the devil did the bastard go?” Fearghas asked with frustration. “He could no’ have slid past us on the steps, ’tis too narrow. He should have been in the passage or the rooms. Unless . . .” He turned to Geordie. “No one came out into the hall?”
Conran nodded in appreciation when Geordie stepped back into the room and closed the door before speaking. The Maclean was so upset he’d started talking about the passage with the door wide open. Not that it mattered, he supposed. Everyone probably understood there were passages in the keep now.
“No’ that I saw,” Geordie answered, and then pointed out, “But there were a lot of people in the hall, and someone could have slipped out of one of the rooms and joined the others without me noticing.”
“Ye’d have noticed,” Conran said with certainty. “Filthy and with matted hair, he’d have stood out among the others.”
“Aye,” the Maclean muttered, and glanced to Aulay and Rory. “And ye’re sure he didn’t get past the two o’ you?”
Both men shook their heads, but Rory added, “There is no way he could have slid past us in the passage we took. There simply wasn’t room,” Rory said with certainty. “Ye’re sure he wasn’t in any of the bedchambers?”
“Positive,” Conran assured him.
“Did ye check the chests in each room thoroughly?” Aulay asked, his gaze narrowing.
“Aye,” Conran assured him. “We took out clothes and linens or whatever was in them.”
“So, he isn’t in the passages, or the rooms,” Aulay murmured, and then frowned. “He didn’t just disappear into thin air. We’ve missed something.”
“Aye,” Conran agreed. “But what?”
Aulay shook his head, obviously not coming up with anything either.
“Conran.”
“Hmm.” He glanced to Rory absently, his mind on Tildy’s description of the man who had tried to drown Evina. While everyone at Maclean was well-kempt, it occurred to him that he had seen someone with matted hair and filthy ratty clothes since coming to Maclean, but—
“Ye’re bleeding.”
“What?” Conran asked with surprise, his attention captured. Raising his eyebrows, he glanced down at himself, but didn’t see any blood.
“Yer head,” Aulay growled as Rory crossed the room to get a better look at him.
“Oh.” Conran shrugged that concern away. He’d noted that as he’d searched the laird’s room. He’d felt something drip down his cheek as he’d bent to look under the bed, and had wiped it away with the back of a hand. There had been blood on his hand afterward, but it hadn’t seemed a lot, so he hadn’t worried overmuch about it.
“Ye’ve a nasty knot and gash,” Rory announced, clasping his chin and the back of his head to tilt him this way and that as he squinted at his scalp.
“’Twill go nicely with the other two bumps I got ere arriving here,” Conran said dryly, tugging his head free of his brother’s hold. “’Tis fine. There did no’ appear to be much blood when I wiped it away.”
“How are ye feeling?” Rory asked, frowning at the wound on his head. “Any dizziness? Is yer vision all right? Nausea? Confusion? Headache?”
“Me head hurts a bit,” he admitted. “And aye, I’m a might confused, but only about how a bandit could find out about the Maclean passages.”
“A bandit?” Fearghas asked aghast.
“Aye,” Conran said solemnly. “The bandit who injured Gavin and then escaped is the only person I’ve met since coming to Maclean who matches Tildy’s description.”
When the Maclean looked nonplussed at the words, and then frowned and shook his head, he added, “All of the bandits were a mangy crew, but the one who got away fit Tildy’s description perfectly. He was a match for Gavin, the same basic size and shape, and had long, matted and greasy hair as well as dark ratty clothes,” he explained, and then sucked in a sharp breath as Rory poked at the wound on his head. He scowled at his brother and then turned back to see that the Maclean was staring at him as if he’d gone daft.
“The bandit may have fit the description, lad,” Feaghas said dryly. “But I somehow don’t think a mangy bandit could find out about our passages.”
Conran nodded. That had been his thought too, but . . . “It’s possible he paid a servant to tell him about any points of entry to the keep.”
“Aye, but as I told ye,” Fearghas said as if weary of repeating himself, “only Evina, Gavin and meself ken about the passages.”
“That ye ken of,” Conran said softly, and added, “’Tis hard to keep secrets in a castle with so many eyes and ears, m’laird. A servant could have been listening at the door when ye told Gavin, or even when ye told Evina years ago. Or one of yer people may have stumbled on the entrance in that clearing ye told Donnan to take men and search. That is where the passage leading down comes out, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” the Maclean admitted reluctantly.
“Well, one of yer people may have found the entrance entirely by accident and followed it up to the passages in the walls, and then told someone about it, who told another and—Ow! Damn, Rory! Leave off!” he growled as his brother’s prodding sent sharp pain through his head.
“There is what looks like a splinter o’ stone in the gash,” Rory said grimly. “I’m going to have to get it out, or ’twill infect.”
“It very well could be the bandit who escaped,” Aulay said mildly as Rory moved over to his medicinal bag and began to gather items. “However, the question is where he is now.” Raising an eyebrow, he asked Conran, “Is it possible he pushed ye down the stairs and got into the room Jetta and I are using ere Greer got there with Evina and the other women?”
Conran considered the possibility. The room was the last along the passage. He’d passed Evina to Greer, and then gone back through the room and along the passage. It was dark and slightly uneven while the hall was flat and well-lit, he was sure he’d moved much more slowly than Greer and the women would have traversed the hall the same distance. It didn’t seem likely that the attacker had pushed him down the stairs and then managed to get into that bedchamber and hide before Greer got there with the women. Well, at least, not unless—
“If Greer and the women were delayed for some reason in reaching the room, then perhaps he could have managed to punch me and flee back to the room ere they entered,” he admitted, and then glanced to Geordie in question. “Did they go straight to the room?”
“They started to,” Geordie said quietly. “But then Lady Evina asked to go back to her chamber. She was no’ comfortable in just the plaid, and wanted to go back for a gown. Greer said nay, her father had wanted everyone out. She insisted that didn’t include her, and they all started arguing about whether she was capable o’ fetching a gown on her own, or—Where are ye going?” Geordie broke off his explanation to ask as Conran spun on his heel and headed for the door.
“Next time, Geordie, just say, ‘Nay, they didn’t go straight there,’” Aulay suggested dryly as he started to follow Conran.
“Wait a damn minute, Conran. I need to tend yer head wound ere ye—” Rory’s words died as Conran opened the chamber door and they heard a muffled shriek and a crash from the next room.
“Nay!” Evina said with disbelief to Saidh’s words, her attention immediately reclaimed from watching Greer and Alick carry a chest across the room to set by the fireplace. Jetta and Saidh had held up a plaid to give her privacy while Tildy had tended her wound and then helped her dress in the borrowed clothes. But once that was done, Tildy had gone below to fetch beverages for everyone, and Jetta, Saidh and Evina had all taken up positions on the bed, sitting cross-legged in a triangle. It was Jetta who suggested the men make use of her chests and sit on them. The men were now moving them across the room to sit by the empty fireplace. She supposed it was an effort on their part to give them some privacy to talk.
“Aye,” Saidh assured her with amusement, drawing her back to the conversation.
“Ye had three bairns at once?” Evina asked with dismay. She’d never met anyone who’d had more than one child at a time. She’d heard tales of such things, but—
“Aye, three girls,” Saidh said with a grin. “They’re two and a half now, thank goodness.”
“Why thank goodness?” Evina asked with curiosity.
“Because I don’t think I could have handled a fourth child while the first three were still in nappies or teething. But the lassies are done with both. Well, for the most part anyway. There may be one or two teeth still to come, but that should be done by the time I have this one,” she said, placing a hand on her stomach.
“What if ye have triplets again?” Evina asked, eyeing her stomach with wonder.
Saidh shrugged. “Then I hope they are boys to balance things out.”
“Ye would no’ mind having three again?” she asked with surprise, her gaze sliding back to the men as they set down the first chest and returned for the second one at the foot of the bed.
“Whether I mind or no’ won’t make any difference to the number that shows up,” Saidh said with amusement. “So why fret over it? I just hope however many there are, they are healthy.”
“Healthy is good,” Evina agreed, glancing down to her own stomach and wishing the same for the baby she might be carrying.
“Triplets run in the family,” Saidh announced, and then amended, “Well, twins do.”
“Do they?” Evina asked with concern.
“Aye. Aulay and Ewan were twins,” Saidh told her. She glanced down at Evina’s stomach and teased, “So, perhaps you’ll have two or three bairns at once yerself when ye start having them.”
“Accck!” Evina shrieked, and then peered sharply toward the fireplace as Alick lost his grip while lowering the chest and it dropped with a heavy thud. Shaking her head with amusement when Alick made a face, she looked back to Saidh and said, “Do no’ even jest about something like—”
Evina broke off mid-sentence, turning wide eyes toward the door this time as it suddenly crashed open and Conran, his brothers and her father all charged in, swords at the ready.