Conran leaned forward to check his patient’s forehead again, and was rather proud to note that the fever, while still present, was much reduced. The Maclean was only a little warmer than he should be. The man’s color was also better, his cheeks pink, but not as flushed as they’d been when he’d first seen Fearghas. Both were good signs and Conran hoped they meant that he’d got all the infected flesh when he’d cleaned the wound he’d found while bathing the old man in the cold bath he’d sent for.
He’d had Donnan and Gavin remain to help him bathe the man. It was as they’d stripped away his nightshirt that Conran had spotted the large, angry wound on the old laird’s behind. It had been impossible to tell what had caused the infected, inflamed and oozing scabbed wound. Conran had asked about it, but neither soldier had seemed to know when or how their laird had suffered the injury.
Leaving the matter for the time being, Conran had concentrated on just submerging the Maclean in the cold water and keeping him there. Of course, the moment the water had closed around his overheated body, the man had begun to thrash and cry out as he tried to escape the cold.
Weak as Fearghas had appeared in his sickbed, it had taken the three of them to keep him in the water. But the effort had been worth it. The man had cooled relatively quickly, and then Conran had had the soldiers help get him out, dry him off and lay him on his stomach on the bed. Donnan and Gavin had then helped further by holding the old man still while Conran had cleaned the wound he’d noticed on his arse. Fortunately, he’d accompanied Rory on enough healing jaunts to know the unknown wound was probably the source of the man’s fever, and that the infection needed to be cleaned out to bring it down permanently.
In the end, Conran had to cut out a large section of the man’s arse to get it all. He’d then packed the wound as he’d seen Rory do with other patients, and bandaged it before covering the old man and letting him rest. That had been hours ago and Conran had been watching the man alone for most of that time. He’d released Donnan and Gavin to go have their sup and get some sleep after catching them yawning a time or two. He’d realized then that while he’d been unconscious and rested during the ride here from Buchanan, the two men had ridden straight through both ways and were no doubt as exhausted as their lady.
Now it was close to dawn. At least that was Conran’s guess by a glance at the gray sky outside the open window shutters, and he found himself now yawning as weariness crept up on him. He was also hungry, Conran acknowledged with a frown, and glanced toward the door, wondering if there would be anyone up or around who could at least lead him to food, if not bring him some.
He slid his gaze back to Fearghas Maclean and leaned forward to feel his forehead again. Finding it little different than the last time he’d checked, Conran shifted impatiently and then stood and moved to the door. The old maid had offered to fetch him food before retiring, but he hadn’t been hungry then. He was now.
Opening the bedchamber door, Conran started out into the hall and then paused as he noticed the woman on a pallet lying across the doorway. Lady Evina. She was sleeping as he’d insisted, but not in her room. Instead, she’d chosen a spot as close to her father as she could manage without entering his bedchamber.
Mouth softening, Conran peered at her silently for a moment, noting how small she really was. Considering the force she’d used in slamming her sword hilt into his head, he would have expected there to be more to her than the whip-thin figure he could see where this gown lovingly hugged her. But she was truly a petite little thing, he noted as he gave her the once-over.
Conran could see a resemblance to her father. Evina had her father’s eyes and hair color. He’d noted the red threads of hair sprinkled among the gray on the father’s head as he’d tended him. She also had his strong chin though, he saw now. But she must have got her slightly tipped nose from her mother. Fearghas had a much larger, hawkish nose. And her face was a soft oval with high cheekbones, while the Maclean’s was long and lean and presently scruffy with several days’ beard growth.
She was a beauty though, Conran acknowledged, letting his eyes slide again over her face and hair. She’d obviously taken a bath. Her face and her hands were clean. The pale, yellow gown she wore was as well, and the hair she’d had scraped tight back into a bun earlier presently fell in soft waves around her face, much as the hair of the woman in his dreams had.
Feeling his body responding to the memory of that rather lusty dream, Conran grimaced and quickly turned his gaze away from her to peer across the landing and over the rail at the great hall below. Much to his surprise, the room was a hive of activity with half the people up and moving quietly around, while the others were just stirring.
Apparently, it wasn’t as early as he’d thought. The gray light he’d spied through the open shutters must be a result of a coming rain rather than the hour. On the bright side, that meant Cook should be up and about, and there would be something for him to eat.
Conran’s gaze dropped to the woman again and he briefly debated what to do. He didn’t wish to wake Evina, but didn’t want to leave her lying there on her hard little pallet either.
Turning, Conran peered back into the laird’s bedroom, considering the large bed the man was in. There was more than enough room for Evina to sleep there without it disturbing her father’s rest, he decided, and it would certainly be more comfortable than sleeping on the hard floor.
Decision made, he bent to scoop her carefully and gently into his arms. Much to Conran’s surprise, he managed the task without waking her. Letting out a little breath of relief, he held Evina close to his chest and straightened with her, then turned to walk to the bed.
All went well until he walked around to lay her next to her father. Conran was perhaps halfway up that side of the bed when he tripped over what felt like a discarded fur on the floor. Caught by surprise, he stumbled forward several steps, his arms tightening around his burden as he tried to keep his balance.
Despite Conran’s best efforts, he couldn’t save himself. The only thing he could do was throw himself toward the bed at the last moment, with the hope to at least give himself and the lass a softer landing than the floor would offer.
It was something pulling tight around her legs and shoulders that drew Evina from sleep. Blinking her eyes open, she was just in time to note the Buchanan’s face above hers, and his expression of alarm as they tumbled forward. She had no idea how she’d gotten into his arms, but didn’t care in that moment. She simply threw her own arms around his shoulders and cried out as they fell toward the floor.
Evina was sure they were in for a hard landing, one she would take the brunt of, so was quite surprised when instead of the hard, wood floor slamming into her back and side, she landed on something softer. It gave under her weight, but then the Buchanan came down on top of her, his body pushing her deeper into the softness she’d landed on.
“Are ye all right?”
Evina opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed at that question and blinked in confusion at the Buchanan. While he’d pulled back slightly, the man was still resting on top of her, his face so close she could count the stubby hairs growing around his mouth. They outlined his full lips, and Evina was sufficiently distracted by those lips that she merely stared. They looked incredibly soft in comparison to the prickly stubble. But then Evina knew his lips were soft. She’d felt them when she’d blown air into his mouth after pulling him out of the water.
Absorbed by his lips and her thoughts, Evina didn’t at first realize his mouth was lowering toward hers until it brushed gently across her own. She tightened up in surprise then, and shifted her hands from where they still grasped his shoulders. She moved them to his chest instead. Evina did so with the intention of pushing him away, but her hands never pushed. Much to her surprise, they merely curled into the cloth of his plaid as the caress of his mouth on hers brought a bewildering rush of sensation and feelings clamoring up inside her.
He tasted of cider, Evina noted when his tongue pushed between her lips to explore her mouth. It was the last near-sensible thought she had. In fact, had she the ability to describe it, Evina would have said that at that point her brain disengaged altogether, overwhelmed by the excitement and desire that suddenly exploded to life inside her. She wasn’t aware that her hands had begun tugging desperately at his plaid, or that little mewls of need and pleasure were sounding in her throat as she began to kiss him back, her mouth emulating his.
Evina felt one hand close over her breast through her gown and gasped into his mouth at the fire that went whipping through her body. She arched her back, instinctively pressing eagerly up into the caress. Conran responded to the silent invitation by finding her pebbling nipple and pinching it lightly through the cloth of her gown. When she cried out into his mouth in response, he ran his thumb over the hard bud again and again in what might have been meant as a soothing caress, but merely made her squirm and shudder under him.
The Buchanan groaned as her actions made their lower bodies rub together, and then ground down into her, his kiss becoming more demanding. Evina responded in kind, kissing him eagerly back, her hips pushing up in return. She wasn’t at first aware that his free hand had snaked under her skirt and was gliding up her outer leg; it wasn’t until it slid around and his palm pressed between her thighs that she became aware of it.
Evina broke their kiss on a gasp, and then glanced sharply toward the door as a knock sounded. She heard the Buchanan utter a soft oath, and then his weight was off of her. She turned to see that he was leaping to his feet next to the bed just as he grabbed her hand and pulled her up with him. Evina was on her feet so swiftly she was nearly dizzy, and then she whirled to stare wide-eyed at Tildy as the maid bustled into the room.
“Oh,” the woman said, coming up short to peer at them with surprise, and then her eyes began to narrow and her body to stiffen.
“I was going to head below in search of food, and found Lady Maclean asleep on the floor outside the chamber door,” the Buchanan explained calmly. “I thought to bring her in and let her sleep in here where she might be more comfortable. I even managed to pick her up without waking her. However, then I tripped over a fur and tumbled onto the bed with her once I got her inside.” He offered a self-deprecating grimace and shrugged. “I fear I am not always the most coordinated member of me family.”
“Oh.” Tildy relaxed, a faint smile claiming her lips. “Well, that would explain m’lady’s flustered and disheveled appearance,” she commented with amusement, and then closed the door to move farther into the room. “No harm done though. Ye got lucky landing on the bed and no’ the floor.”
“Er . . . aye,” the Buchanan said with a crooked smile.
“Shall I fetch ye food? Or would ye be wanting a break from the room and the chance to go below to eat at table?” Tildy asked as she stopped at the bed to peer down at Evina’s father. Glancing up to the Buchanan, she added, “’Tis why I came. I thought ye must be hungry by now.”
“I think I could do with a break,” the Buchanan murmured, moving toward the door. “Thank ye.”
Evina stood where she was, feeling bereft as she watched him go. Her body was still aching from his attention and craved more of it.
“Oh!”
Tearing her gaze away from the now-closed bedchamber door, Evina glanced to Tildy with alarm. “What is it?”
“Oh,” Tildy repeated, more calmly, and pressed a hand to her chest as she shook her head. “Nothing. ’Tis just that for a moment I thought yer father’s eyes were open and he was awake. But it must have been a trick o’ the shadows in here. He’s sound asleep still.”
Evina glanced down at her father. His eyes were closed, his face in repose. Bending over him, she pressed a hand to his cheek, relieved to feel how much cooler he was. Good Lord, Rory Buchanan was a miracle worker. He’d only arrived the night before and her father was already improving, she thought, and then smiled when he moaned and turned his face into her caress. “Da?”
His eyes blinked open slowly and settled on her face. “Daughter?”
Evina winced at the rasp to his voice, but nodded. “Aye.”
“I’ll fetch him some mead to wet his whistle,” Tildy murmured, hurrying for the door.
“How are ye feeling?” Evina asked, settling on the edge of the bed and watching him with a combination of worry and relief. He was awake. He was not fully recovered yet and was still ailing, but she never thought she’d see him even this well again.
“Better than I did yesterday,” he growled, lifting one hand weakly before letting it drop back to the bed.
Evina took his hand in hers and squeezed gently.
Her father shifted restlessly, and then scowled and asked, “Who was the man trying to drown me in me bath?”
Evina frowned, a combination of concern and confusion rising within her at the question, and then understanding pushed the expression away, and answered, “Rory Buchanan. He was no’ trying to drown ye. He was trying to cool ye off.”
“The water was ice cold,” he complained.
“Aye. Donnan told me the Buchanan said ’twas necessary to get yer temperature down,” she said soothingly. “And it worked. Ye’re much better today.”
Her father grunted at the claim, and then asked, “How did he get here?”
“Who?” Evina stalled.
“The Buchanan,” he growled impatiently. “Who do ye think?”
“Oh, aye,” she muttered, and forced a smile as she admitted, “Well, I took Donnan and Gavin with me and fetched him.”
“And he came willingly?” the Maclean asked, eyes narrowing as if he knew something about the way the man had got here.
Evina hesitated, several responses coming to mind, including the truth, but in the end, she simply said, “He is willing to help ye, Father, and we are lucky he is. Tildy and I had tried all that we could think of and nothing was working to get yer fever down. Yet he’s achieved that in one night.”
“Hmm,” he muttered, and shifted restlessly before asking, “And where is he now?”
“Below, breaking his fast,” she answered at once.
“By himself?”
She blinked at the question, surprised by it. “Well, aye. He’s taking a break and I am sitting with ye while he eats.”
“Hmm,” he grunted, and then narrowed his eyes and asked, “What is he like?”
Evina sat back slightly, startled by the question. “He seems very . . . competent,” she finished finally because, really, she hadn’t spent much time with the man. At least, not while he was conscious. What she had seen of him conscious, aside from that he was an amazing kisser, which she would never tell her father, was that he was apparently well-hung. That was something else she would never tell her father.
“And?” her father prodded.
“And what?” she asked uncertainly.
“Surely there is more to the man than his being competent,” he said with exasperation.
“Aye, well . . . he’s bossy,” Evina added, irritation beginning to prick at her as she recalled his ordering her from her own father’s room as if he had a right to. She almost told her father that the man had bit her too, and tried to drown Gavin, but that would mean explaining how he’d come to be there, so she kept the information to herself. It didn’t stop her from thinking about it and getting irritated herself though.
“Hmm.”
The sound drew her gaze to her father to see that he was eyeing her closely.
“Well,” he said finally, “even so, he should no’ be left to eat on his own. He’s a guest here. Ye should go keep him company. Tildy can sit with me,” he added before she could protest, and as if the sound of her name had conjured her up, the bedchamber door opened and Tildy bustled back in with the drink she’d gone to fetch.
“Go on,” her father said, tugging his hand free of hers. “Keep the lad company, else he might feel unwelcome and leave ere he finishes healing me.”
Evina peered from her father to the maid and back, but then sighed and stood. Her father had taught her that hospitality was important here in the inhospitable north of Scotland. Besides, if he was willing to put up with Tildy’s company to get her to leave, he was serious about this. Her father usually avoided the maid like the plague.
“I’ll come sit with ye again later,” Evina murmured, heading for the door.
“While ye’re down there, ask the Buchanan if the laird can have something to eat now he’s awake,” Tildy suggested. “I should have done it meself, but did no’ think o’ it until just now.”
“Aye,” Evina murmured, and stepped out of the room. She pulled the door quietly closed and then walked to the top of the stairs. With one hand on the rail, she looked down over the busy great hall until she spotted Rory Buchanan seated alone at the high table. One of the maids must have directed him there, she supposed.
Evina stared at him silently, her mind battling with itself. While part of her wanted to go below, throw herself at him and get him to give her some more of those kisses she’d enjoyed so much, the rest of her was horrified that she’d let him kiss her at all. She didn’t even like the man, for heaven’s sake. He’d tried to drown Gavin, and then he’d bit her, and yes, perhaps there were good explanations for those two things—well, at least the drowning-Gavin part, Evina supposed. She couldn’t think of a good excuse for his biting her. But none of that mattered anyway, because there was no good excuse for his throwing her out of her own father’s room last night. Or for the insulting way he’d done so. In her own home! And when she was so obviously worried sick about the man.
Nay. She didn’t want to go anywhere near Rory Buchanan again. Unfortunately, her father had just ordered her to. She watched Donnan approach the man and knew that he was doing so only because the Buchanan was all alone. He was taking up her hostess duties in her absence, she acknowledged with shame, and started down the stairs.
“How’s he doing?”
Conran glanced to the large man who had just settled on the bench beside him.
Donnan. The Maclean’s first. A huge bull of a man who he was coming to realize was as wise as he was big. A rare combination. Men of this soldier’s size generally didn’t have smarts to go along with their brawn. But this man had said and done a couple things while they’d worked at cooling down Fearghas last night that had made Conran think he might be an exception to that rule.
“Better,” he said finally, realizing the soldier was still awaiting an answer. “He is no’ out o’ the woods yet, but his fever has gone down quite a bit.”
“Good,” Donnan said, relaxing slightly and glancing around before gesturing at a passing servant. The woman smiled and nodded as she flew by and Donnan returned his gaze to Conran. “How’s yer head?”
“Oh.” Conran raised a hand to feel the knot on the side of his forehead where Evina had slammed her sword hilt into him, and then to the one on the back of his head where he’d apparently hit it on falling off his horse. They both felt a little smaller than they’d been when he’d woken up here last evening. The aching, thankfully, had ended shortly after waking.
“Fine,” Conran said finally. “I’m a fast healer.”
Donnan nodded, and then suddenly said, “Lady Evina would no’ have hit ye but she was worried about ye drowning Gavin.”
“He’s important to her, is he?” Conran asked, trying to sound uncaring, but aware that he was suffering a touch of a jealousy he really had no right to. He barely knew the woman.
“Everyone here at Maclean is important to Lady Evina,” Donnan said solemnly.
“O’ course,” Conran murmured, relaxing, until the man continued.
“Although Gavin is mayhap a little more important than most. At least, she tends to favor him.”
“Does she?” he asked grimly.
“Aye. But then there’s good reason.”
“I’m sure there is,” Conran said dryly.
“He is her first cousin and she did raise him after his parents died,” Donnan added.
Conran glanced at him with a start. “How could she have raised him? He’s older than her, is he no’? He looks older.”
Donnan grinned and shook his head. “Gavin’s a big boy for his age, carries himself well, and his facial hair came in early, but the lad’s only sixteen.”
“Good God!” Conran said with true amazement. He would have guessed the boy was at least twenty-five. “How old was he when his parents died?”
“Two,” Donnan answered.
“And Lady Evina was . . . ?”
“Ten.”
The answer came from over Conran’s left shoulder and in a woman’s voice. He turned his head slowly, unsurprised to find Evina standing behind him.
Nodding a silent greeting, he let his gaze rove over her. There was still a hint of hectic color in her cheeks. From their tumble on the bed? He wanted to think so. Certainly, that was why her hair was mussed and her gown wrinkled. She looked like she’d just tumbled from bed, or been tumbled on one, Conran thought with an inner smile, and only wished they hadn’t been interrupted. Although he supposed he should be grateful they had. Evina was a lady, the daughter of the laird here. She wasn’t to be trifled with.
“I was ten when Gavin came to us,” Evina added quietly now.
Realizing he’d been sitting there ogling her, Conran forced a polite smile to his face and commented, “That’s young to take up mothering the lad.”
Evina relaxed a little and shrugged. “Me own mother had died just weeks before. There was no one else to do it.”
Conran felt his eyebrows raise at this news, but did the math. She was ten when Gavin came at the age of two. He was sixteen now, so Evina was twenty-four . . . and still unmarried. Why?
“Ah, here we are.”
Conran glanced around at Donnan’s words to see that the servant the man had gestured to earlier was pausing before them with a large platter in hand. It held pastries, cheese and fruit, he noted as a second woman appeared with two mugs and a pitcher of what appeared to be cider.
“Thank ye, lassies, but ye’d best fetch another mug for Lady Evina,” Donnan said with a smile as the two women finished setting down their burdens and straightened.
“No mug,” Evina said, moving to settle on the bench next to Conran. “I’ll have mead instead, please, Sally.”
“Aye, m’lady.” The woman who had brought the cider bobbed a curtsy and the two women rushed off.
“Tell me, Lady Maclean, why are ye no’ married?” Conran asked once the servants had moved away.
Evina had raised up off the bench to reach for a pastry on the tray when he’d asked that. She froze briefly at the question, he noted with interest, and then took a pastry and settled back in her seat before answering, “I have. I’m actually Lady MacPherson.”
Conran blinked at the simple words, shock rolling through him. She was married. Dear God and he’d kissed her. She’d kissed him back too.
“The Buchanan says yer father is improved,” Donnan commented into the silence that had fallen.
“Aye. His fever is down,” Evina said easily as if she hadn’t just sent Conran’s world into chaos. Then she added, “And he’s awake. In fact, I was to ask if he could have something to eat?”
Conran stared at her silently, his mind in an uproar. Not one of his thoughts was about her father though. His mind was full of her scent, and the feel and taste of her. Her excited gasps and mewls of sound were still ringing in his ears. He could still taste her on his tongue . . . and she was married.
“Broth perhaps, m’lord?” she asked, curiosity on her face now as she watched him.
Forcing his mind to her question, Conran sucked in a deep breath and turned toward the platter to grab a couple of pastries.
“Broth would be fine,” he growled, standing up with the pastries he’d taken. “I’d appreciate yer asking yer cook to send it up. I need to go check on him now he’s awake.”
Conran didn’t wait for a response, but headed for the stairs at a quick clip, his mind roaring. She is married!
He shouldn’t care, Conran told himself firmly. He hardly knew her. She’d knocked him senseless, kidnapped him, dragged him here trussed up and naked . . . and she kissed like an angel. Or a whore, he supposed. There had been no holding back, no tentativeness to her. She’d opened for him like a flower, spreading her legs and writhing in his arms like a well-trained lightskirt . . . because she was well-skilled, he realized. She was married after all, and apparently free with her favors.
Christ! Where was her husband? Was she as free and easy with every man who visited Maclean? Perhaps he shouldn’t complain. Perhaps he should just take her up on what she offered and bed the woman, scratch the itch that had been raised in him.
It wasn’t the first time a married woman had offered herself to him. Conran had never accepted before. He believed in the sanctity of marriage. But he was tempted this time. Evina was a tasty little bundle and full of passion. He wanted to drink up that passion and bury himself in her eager body.
Just thinking about it had him hard as he mounted the stairs to her father’s room. Conran wanted to strip her gown away and see those full soft breasts he’d touched through the cloth. He wanted to caress and suckle them, and he wanted to bury his face between her thighs and sip of her essence. He wanted her strong legs wrapped around his hips as he thrust into her, and then he wanted to flip her over and take her from behind, pulling her hair as he drove into her. Christ! He wanted her every way it was possible to take a woman.
An image came to mind of her on her knees taking him into her mouth, and Conran stopped at the top of the stairs, battling the urge to turn around, rush down, grab Evina by the hand and lead her someplace where they could do all those things. But then he gave his head a shake and forced himself to continue forward. She was a married woman, with a husband who wouldn’t take kindly to his wife indulging in such things with another man. At least Conran wouldn’t take kindly to her sleeping with someone else if she were his wife. Where the hell was her husband?
Away performing his service for the king, he supposed. Or perhaps off with some lover somewhere. Maybe there was a reason Evina had been so free with him. Mayhap her marriage was miserable and her husband neglected her.
Conran shook his head slightly. It didn’t matter. She was married. He would do better to stay away from her while here. His conscience couldn’t bear his trysting with a married woman when there were so many unmarried and available women out there willing to satisfy his needs. From now on, he would keep his distance from Lady Evina MacPherson, he told himself firmly . . . and just hoped that was something he could manage.