“What’s going on between ye and me daughter?”
Conran was reaching out to retrieve more bandages from the trunk he’d pulled over beside the bed when the Maclean asked that. The question startled him sufficiently that he dropped the wrappings on the floor. Cursing, he bent to pick them up and eyed the bits of dirt and pieces of rushes clinging to the formerly clean cloth. Conran tossed the soiled material aside with disgust and grabbed a clean one.
“Well?” Fearghas Maclean asked, sounding testy.
“What do ye mean?” Conran asked carefully. Nothing was going on between him and Evina. At least, nothing had gone on between them in the four days since he’d learned she was married. He’d been avoiding her like the plague since then. Fortunately, she appeared to be doing the same, making it easier for him to steer clear of the temptation she offered with her very presence.
“I ne’er see the two o’ ye together,” the Maclean growled, sounding annoyed. “She sits with me while ye eat, and leaves the minute ye return. ’Tis like ye’re avoiding each other. Are ye still mad at her for kidnapping ye and dragging ye here?”
Conran sat back to peer toward the man’s face, but since Fearghas was lying on his stomach in the bed with his head down, he couldn’t see his expression. Narrowing his eyes, Conran asked, “Ye ken about that?”
“I was awake when they first brought ye up here,” he admitted. “I heard everything. Well,” he added, his voice wry, “most o’ it anyway. I was a bit out o’ me head at the time. The fever was doing me in. But I got enough to understand ye did no’ come here willingly.”
Conran remained silent for a moment and concentrated on packing the wound, but finally said, “I am no’ angry about that. I do no’ believe she intended to kidnap me.” Well, certainly she hadn’t intended to kidnap him, he thought. He wasn’t Rory. But he didn’t even think she’d planned to kidnap Rory. “’Twas just an unfortunate turn o’ events that ended with me being knocked out, and carted here without their gaining my agreement first.”
“Hmm,” Fearghas muttered, and then asked, “So why are the two o’ ye avoiding each other?”
“Where is her husband?” Conran asked instead of answering the question.
“Her what?” The Maclean reared up on the bed, pushing his chest up with his arms and turning to gape over his shoulder at him with amazement.
“Her husband,” Conran said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I asked why she was no’ married and she said she was.”
“Oh. Aye.”
Conran caught the grief that flashed across the laird’s face, but then the Maclean allowed himself to drop back to lay flat again with a sigh. A moment passed before he answered his question though.
“Her husband’s dead.”
The words were blunt and spoken in an empty voice that told Conran how much the loss had affected Fearghas Maclean. Conran stared at the back of the man’s head, his thoughts in a mass of confusion. Part of him wanted to shout, “Yes!” at the news that Evina was widowed and so had not been messing about behind some poor husband’s back when they’d kissed on this bed. The other part though was noting that Evina’s husband had obviously been well-loved by his father-in-law, and he suspected that meant probably by Evina too. Was she still in mourning? How long ago had the husband died?
“He drowned some years back,” Fearghas added sadly as if he’d asked the question aloud. “Long enough ago I forget some days that she was ever married. And then other days I can think of little else but what happened that day. ’Twas a terrible tragedy.”
Conran returned to packing the man’s wound, but his mind was filled with Evina. She wasn’t married. She was widowed. Dear God, this changed everything. Being widowed was much better than just being unwed. It meant she was no innocent. She was a woman experienced in the bedchamber, and free to indulge in affairs if she wished. So long as they didn’t flaunt the affair too much, no one would think twice about their having one. He could stop avoiding her and start wooing her instead.
A heavy sigh drew his attention back to his patient and Conran considered him briefly. The Maclean had obviously been brought low by thinking about Evina’s husband’s death. Which made him feel like a bit of an ass for being so grateful that she was widowed. Hoping to distract him, he asked, “Are ye going to tell me how ye came by yer wound?”
“What wound?” The Maclean glanced over his shoulder with befuddlement.
“The one I am presently tending to, m’laird. On yer left arse cheek,” he said dryly as he packed the last bit of bandage into the large hole in the man’s derriere.
Snorting, the Maclean turned his head away. “’Twas no wound. The only thing on me arse was a boil that’s come and gone as it pleased for years.”
“For years?” Conran asked with disbelief. “Why did ye ne’er tend to it?”
“Well, I could no’ even see it being on me arse as it was, could I? How could I tend it?”
“Ye could have had Tildy lance it or—”
“Oh, hell, no!” Fearghas Maclean roared, interrupting him. “That lass has been trying to get a look at me arse for better than a decade. Since before me dear wife passed even. The hell if I was giving her an excuse to see and fondle me jiggly parts,” he said with affront, and then added, “Besides, ’twas a bit o’ bother when ’twas tender, but otherwise no’ a problem.”
“No’ a problem,” Conran muttered to himself with disgust, and then snapped, “It damned near killed ye, m’laird.”
“What?” The Maclean glanced around with amazement and then shook his head. “Leave off. The fevers are what near killed me, no’ a bloody boil.”
“The boil was the reason fer the fevers,” Conran growled impatiently. “Yer left butt cheek was so full o’ infection and rot when I got here I had to cut half of it away. That infection is what caused the fevers. Ye’re lucky it did no’ kill ye.”
“Ye jest!” he said, raising himself up to peer around with dismay. “All o’ this from a blasted boil?”
“Aye,” Conran said shortly.
“Well, hell,” Fearghas Maclean muttered, and flopped back on the bed again. Heaving a sigh, he said, “’Tis good ye cut it out, then.”
Shaking his head with exasperation, Conran continued his work, but then said, “I’m thinking I should send a message to Buchanan to let them ken where I am and that I’m well. They’ll be worrying about me.”
“Aye.” A frown sounded in the Maclean’s voice. “Well, we can no’ have yer family fretting. Ye write a message and I’ll have one o’ the men carry it to Buchanan fer ye right quick.”
Conran relaxed a little. He hadn’t been treated like a prisoner, but the way he’d arrived had made him wonder if they would refuse to allow him to send a message to Buchanan. He hadn’t really thought they would, but there had always been the chance. However, the Maclean was willing to send a messenger for him, so all was well.
He really should have thought to do so sooner than this though, Conran acknowledged. His brothers must be worried sick about him, he thought with a frown, and wondered if now was not the time that he should admit to the Maclean that he was actually Conran Buchanan, the fourth son, and not the sixth son and healer, Rory.
Considering how to broach the subject, he finished with the wound and then stood and moved to his saddlebag on the bedside table. Conran had intended to make another tonic for the man. One he’d made several times under Rory’s instruction. His brother said it was to build a patient’s blood and help them sleep, both of which could only aid in Maclean’s healing, he assured himself. It wasn’t that he’d planned to have the man sleep the afternoon away so that he’d be free to seduce his daughter. Truly. However, when Conran got to the table and picked up the saddlebag, it was empty.
“What the hell,” he muttered, opening the bag and peering into its yawning depths.
“Oh, aye, I forgot to tell ye,” Fearghas said behind him. “Tildy sent maids up to change me bed linens while ye were breaking yer fast this morn, and one o’ them knocked yer bag over. Yer weeds all got mixed together and in the rushes, so she swept them up and put them in the fire so the dogs would no’ eat anything that might make them sick.”
“What dogs?” Conran asked with surprise. He hadn’t seen one since arriving.
“My dogs,” the Maclean said as if that should be obvious.
“I’ve seen no dogs since I got here,” Conran explained his ignorance.
“They’ve been kept out in the bailey since I fell ill. But they usually sleep in here.” Frowning slightly, he added, “They’re probably following Evina around while I’m unavailable. Well, when she does no’ come up here,” he added.
Conran nodded and set the empty bag on the table, then began to rub the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he pondered what to do about having lost all of Rory’s weeds. Obviously, he needed to replace them, and quickly. The Maclean was on the mend and would survive without them, but Rory would need them. His brother was probably fretting up a storm over his disappearing without delivering them to Buchanan as he promised he would. That would have been the first telltale sign that all was not well and he had not left willingly.
“No’ to worry though,” the Maclean said now. “I’ve arranged to fix the problem.”
Conran let his hand drop from his face and turned in question to the man. “How?”
Fearghas opened his mouth, and then paused and smiled as a tap sounded at the door. “I’ll wager there’s the answer now.”
Curious, Conran turned toward the door as it opened, his eyebrows rising when Evina entered with a tray in hand and Gavin on her heels.
“Thank ye,” Evina murmured to Gavin as he opened the door and held it for her. She took several steps into the room and then slowed when she noted that Conran was still with her father. Usually he was out and below at table by now, leaving the way clear for her to take her noon meal with her father. It was what he’d done the last four days since their encounter in this room. She’d just assumed he’d continue the practice, and when she’d noticed he wasn’t at table yet as she’d carried the tray across the great hall, she had assumed he was simply in the garderobe or something. She’d been wrong.
Raising her chin, Evina continued forward and forced a smile to her lips. Keeping her tone light, she said, “They’re serving the noon repast below, so I brought up lunch for Father.” Focusing her gaze on her father only, she added, “We can eat together while Lord Buchanan goes below to take a break and enjoy his meal. As usual.”
Evina winced as the last words slipped out. Even to her they sounded a bit snippy, almost accusatory, as if she were commenting on the fact that he was still there and she didn’t like it.
“That’s sweet, me dear, but there’s going to be a change in routine today,” Laird Maclean announced, sounding suspiciously cheerful, she thought, and wished she could see his expression. That was the one thing most annoying about his constantly lying on his stomach to avoid pressure on his bottom. She could never see his expressions when they talked, and they’d talked a lot the last few days. Mostly about the Buchanan. Her father was constantly asking her questions about the man, or telling her things about him. She had begun to suspect the man was up to something. She still did.
“What change in routine are we having?” Evina asked warily, stopping next to the bed with the tray.
“Our healer needs more weeds,” her father announced. “Ye need to show him where to get them.”
“What?” she asked with alarm. “But he had a whole saddlebag full of weeds. He—”
“I fear they were lost this morn when one of the lassies knocked it over while changing me bed linens,” her father said, raising himself up so he could turn to look at her. “Unfortunately, they got mixed in with the rushes and had to be disposed of.”
“But . . .” Evina turned a blank expression to him. “I was here when they changed the linens. I do no’ recall—”
“I only noticed after ye left the room,” he said easily. “I had the maid clean it up when she returned with me emptied and clean bedpan. Ye’d left by then,” he added with a shrug, letting his head drop again. “Regardless, he ca no’ heal without his medicinals, so ye’ll have to take him out and help him hunt up more.”
Evina frowned, and shifted on her feet. Avoiding looking at the Buchanan, she finally said, “Fine. I’m sure Gavin can take him out to—”
“Nonsense,” her father interrupted at once. “The lad does no’ ken the first thing about weeds and where to find them. Besides, I have another job for him.”
“But . . .” She cast around desperately for an excuse, and then held up the tray. “What about the nooning meal? I was going to eat with ye and ye should no’ be left alone—”
“Tildy can sit with me,” he interrupted again.
“Tildy?” Evina said with amazement. Her father generally avoided any situation where he might have to be alone with the woman for more than a couple minutes. The maid had been mooning after him for years and her father acted like her affection might be infectious, avoiding her like she was a leper, and yet this was the second time he’d willingly arranged for her company.
“Aye. Tildy,” the Maclean said firmly. “That way, ye can go without worrying.” Apparently, thinking the situation was decided then, he lifted his head and turned to look at her cousin. “Gavin, go down and ask Cook to pack a lunch for yer cousin and the Buchanan. They can take it with them and eat as they hunt for medicinals.”
“Aye, Uncle.” Gavin headed out of the room at once, casting Evina an apologetic look as he went. He seemed to know she was not pleased with this turn of events.
“Rory, lad, why do ye no’ go ask Donnan to speak to the stable master to arrange for yer and Evina’s horses to be saddled,” her father suggested now. “I’d have a word with me daughter.”
“O’ course.” The Buchanan grabbed his empty saddlebag and turned to leave the room.
Evina frowned after him. The man had been smiling. She hadn’t seen him smile in . . . well, she didn’t think she’d actually seen him smile once since encountering him in the clearing five days ago. At least, his expression whenever he’d seen her the last four days had been hard and closed . . . ever since that kiss here in this room when she’d acted such a tart, she thought on a sigh.
“Evina.”
Blinking her thoughts away, she glanced to her father uncertainly.
“Come. Set the tray down on the bedside table,” he instructed solemnly.
Mouth tightening, Evina did as he ordered. She eased the tray onto the table, carefully pushing the few items on it across its surface with the tray itself until they all fit on it.
“Now, sit for a minute,” he said when she’d finished the task.
Again, she did as he asked, but Evina eyed him warily. He was definitely up to something. She just had no idea what.
“I want ye to be on yer best behavior this afternoon,” he said quietly.
Evina stiffened. “What do ye mean? I’m always on me best behavior,” she muttered, wondering if he knew about the kiss.
“Are ye wearing braies under yer gown?”
That question caught her by surprise. “Aye. Why?”
“Because ladies do no’ wear braies, ride astride or carry swords,” he said grimly. “Take them off.”
“What?” she asked with amazement.
“Ye heard me. Take them off. Right now,” her father said firmly, and when she just stared at him, he raised himself up slightly and turned to scowl at her. “I’m closing me eyes and counting. The braies had best be on me bed by the time I reach ten and open them again.” The Maclean then actually closed his eyes and began to count.
Evina stared at him blankly until he reached three, but then jumped up and quickly yanked her skirts up to reach her braies and tug them down and off.
“There,” she snapped, letting her skirts drop and tossing the braies across the bed as he reached eight.
Her father opened his eyes and smiled when he shifted so that he could look around and see the braies on the end of the bed. “Good. Now the sword.”
“The sword?” Evina asked, and started to shake her head. “I—”
“Ladies do no’ carry swords around on their person,” he said firmly. “Remove it and set it on the braies. Ye can have it back when ye return.”
“A fat lot of good ’twill do me then,” she snapped at once. “If ye’re going to make me ride outside the bailey with him, that’s when I’m most likely to need me sword. We could be attacked by bandits, or—”
“I’m sure Rory can protect ye against anything that might crop up,” he said, unconcerned.
“Rory is a healer, no’ a warrior,” she said with disdain.
“And ye’re a lady, no’ a young lad,” he snapped back, and then said slowly and firmly, “Ladies do no’ carry swords. They are sweet, and gentle. They smile, and coo, plea prettily and compliment a man. They do no’ hit him in the head with the hilt of their sword and drag his naked arse back to my castle!”
“He told ye,” Evina whispered with dismay.
“Sword,” he growled, pointing toward the braies on the bed.
Biting her lip, Evina removed her sword and set it carefully on the bed.
“He did no’ tell me,” her father said now. “I was awake and heard everything when ye arrived back and were arguing here in me chamber.”
“Oh,” she breathed, and then sucked in a mouthful of air and said defensively, “Ye were very sick at the time. Deathly so. I was just trying to get him back here to save ye.”
“For what?” the Maclean asked dryly. “So I’d be healthy when his brothers came to kill us all for kidnapping one of their own?”
Evina’s eyes widened incredulously. “I’m sure he will no’ send for his brothers. He seems perfectly content helping ye. I have no’ had to hold me sword to his throat to get him to do it or anything as I feared on the ride back. He—”
“O’ course he’s acting content,” her father snapped. “He is alone in a strange castle, surrounded by strangers, all of whom are armed while he is no’. Did ye expect him to refuse to tend me, or tell ye he would complain to his brothers about his treatment? Only a fool would do that. Ye might kill him and bury him here so no one ever kenned what happened to him.”
“I ne’er would!” Evina gasped with amazement.
“I ken that,” her father said wearily. “But he does no’. The Buchanan does no’ ken ye, lass. He kens none o’ us. What do ye think he’s been thinking while being kept here?”
“I . . .” Evina shook her head helplessly. She hadn’t really thought much on how he might be feeling. They weren’t keeping him prisoner with guards on him or anything. She’d assumed he understood that he was a guest, not a prisoner. Not that he wouldn’t have been a prisoner had he refused to help her father. The truth was, she would have made him help her father at sword point had he refused at first. But he hadn’t; he’d set to work on the man the moment he saw how ill he was.
“The Buchanans are becoming a very powerful family, lass,” her father said solemnly. “The boys have been marrying into, and becoming lairds over, keeps with their own armies. If ye go up against one, ye’ll find yerself dealing with all o’ them, and all o’ their soldiers. That would be the Buchanans, the Drummonds, the Carmichaels and the MacDonnells combined. And their friends the Sinclairs would no doubt join in any battle they took on as well. All those armies at once would crush Maclean . . . and Rory’s asked to send a message to his family,” her father told her unhappily before admitting, “I fear what he’s going to say, but can hardly refuse to let him send a message else he would be a prisoner.”
Evina’s eyes had widened further and further with every word out of her father’s mouth, until she was now gaping at him with horror. She truly hadn’t considered the fact that the brothers had married into their own keeps complete with armies, or that they’d doubtless combine forces with the Buchanan army in any battle they took up.
“Where is his sword?” her father asked now.
“What?” She blinked at him in confusion, her mind still picturing a massive army under half a dozen flags, marching on Maclean.
“I presume Buchanan had a sword with him when ye found him?” her father said grimly.
“Oh, aye. I think so.” Evina added that last bit because she wasn’t at all sure. “If so, Donnan probably has it.”
He nodded. “Then have Donnan fetch it and ye return it to the Buchanan ere ye leave the bailey.”
Evina nodded, but then shifted restlessly and asked, “What if he rides off for home the minute he has his horse and sword back?”
“He will no’,” her father said with certainty, which just rather confused her. He was suggesting the man thought himself a prisoner and would call up the Buchanans—all of the Buchanans under each family name—against them in retaliation. Why wouldn’t the man then flee at the first opportunity to do just that?
“But if he thinks he’s a prisoner here—” she began to argue the point.
“Ye’re going to assure him he’s no’ a prisoner,” her father interrupted firmly. “Say something soothing when ye give him the sword. Tell him that ye just forgot to give it to him ere this.”
Evina smiled wryly at the suggestion. That was the truth after all.
“And then thank him prettily for taking such good care o’ me. Tell him ye appreciate it dearly.”
Also the truth, she thought.
“And try to give him a compliment or two. And smile,” he added, looking her over with a testy frown. “And let yer hair down, lass. Go on, take it out o’ that bun thing ye’re always putting it up in.”
“Why do I have to take it down?” Evina asked with bewilderment as she reached up to unpin her hair.
“Because ye’re much prettier with it down. More womanly.”
Evina paused with half the pins out to gape at him. “What does that matter?”
“Ye catch more flies with honey than vinegar, lass. We want the lad to like ye.”
“What? Why?” she asked with disbelief.
“So he does no’ call up the Buchanans and the Carmichaels, and the Drummonds and—”
“Yes, yes,” she interrupted impatiently, going back to removing pins. If Rory was going to complain about being brought here and demand his family seek vengeance, her wearing her hair down rather than up wouldn’t make a lick of difference, Evina was sure. But she also didn’t think it was good to upset her father just now. He was still recovering from being deathly ill, and she was actually beginning to worry about his faculties. Rory had said did they not get the fever down his brains would boil . . . or had he said something about them turning to pudding? She wasn’t sure; she’d heard it secondhand from Gavin after they came below that first night and she had been exhausted at the time. Perhaps he’d said both, but, whatever the case, she was beginning to think some damage had been done by the high fevers.
Evina’s father never troubled himself with the goings-on at Maclean. He generally left that to her while he rode off to hunt or fish or visit with friends. But now he was involving himself. It was something she had been hoping for, for some time now. Unfortunately, he wasn’t making any sense. He said Rory felt like a prisoner and might seek vengeance, but didn’t worry about his leaving once he had his horse and sword. And he seemed to think that if she was just a little friendlier to the man, Rory would give up any idea of seeking vengeance on them. But her father knew she was no good at toadying to others. Just telling her to be nice to him guaranteed she’d inadvertently insult him the next time they met.
Truly, she was growing very concerned about her father.
“Much better.”
Evina grimaced at that compliment as she finished loosening her hair and quickly finger-brushed it away from her face.
“Ye’re as lovely as yer mother was when I met her.”
Evina frowned at the sadness in his voice, and then glanced toward the door as a knock sounded. As before, the person didn’t wait for a welcome, but opened the door and they both watched Gavin enter, a sack in one hand and a rolled-up fur in the other.
“Cook put together a nice repast, and I grabbed a fur from by the fire below for them to eat their meal on,” the lad announced, moving toward the bed.
“Good thinking, lad. Give them to Evina so she can go. The horses are probably saddled by now, and the Buchanan waiting.”
Evina accepted the sack and rolled-up fur, and then frowned and glanced to her father.
“Go on,” he said encouragingly, and when she turned to leave the room, he added, “And remember what I said, make him like ye.”
“Make him like me,” Evina muttered as she closed the door.
“Make who like ye, m’lady?”
Evina glanced around sharply at the question, and grimaced when she saw Tildy approaching up the hall.
“The Buchanan,” she said wearily, heading for the stairs. “Father’s sending me out to look for medicinals with Rory and wants me to be nice and make him like me so he will no’ call up his brothers’ armies to punish us for bringing him here.”
“Oh, he would no’ do that, I’m sure,” Tildy said at once, falling into step beside her. “As fer making him like ye, that should no’ be hard. I think he likes ye well enough already.”
“The Buchanan?” she asked with amazement, and when Tildy nodded, Evina shook her head. “He’s always cold and stern around me.”
“Well, that’s a man for ye, hiding their feelings and such. But he’s always looking at ye when he thinks ye are no’ looking back,” she informed her lightly. “And that’s a sure sign o’ liking.”
“Really?” Evina asked with interest as they reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the great hall doors.
“Aye, but then ye do the same when ye think he is no’ looking too,” Tildy announced.
Evina flushed with embarrassment, but didn’t comment. What could she say? She did look at the Buchanan when he was looking elsewhere. She couldn’t help it. He was very handsome, and she kept remembering his kissing and touching her and . . . well, then she’d peer at him. Probably with a stupid longing-type look as she wished he’d kiss her again. There was no way she could explain that. It was beyond Evina how she could lust after a man she didn’t even know, let alone like.
“If ye’re going to be out hunting up weeds with the Buchanan, who’s sitting with yer da?”
“Ye are,” Evina said wryly.
“Really?” Tildy practically squealed, and Evina smiled with amusement. The woman was obviously pleased at the thought that he’d actually requested her presence again. Although Evina suspected her father hadn’t really intended for the woman to sit with him. She didn’t think he would have sent for Tildy once she was gone. But now he didn’t have to. She’d done it for him.
“Aye, that’s what he said,” Evina assured her. “I took a meal up for the two of us and he said nay, he’d have it with you, as I was to go look for medicinals with the Buchanan.”
“Oh, goodness,” she said breathlessly, her cheeks flushing. “I’d best get up there, then.”
“Aye,” Evina agreed easily.
“Have a nice time looking for weeds,” Tildy said excitedly, and turned to rush away.
Evina smiled with amusement at the thought of her father’s consternation when Tildy showed up ready to eat with him. Her smile faded though when she reached the keep doors and she stared from it to her full hands. She was just shifting the fur and sack to free one hand when the door opened and Donnan started in.
“Oh, m’lady.” He stopped just in time to avoid trampling her, and then glanced down to the items in her hands and reached to take them. “Let me get those fer ye, m’lady.”
“Thank ye, Donnan, but first,” she said, stepping back and out of reach. “Did the Buchanan have a sword with him when we came upon him in the clearing?”
Donnan’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the question. “Aye. ’Twas strapped to his horse.”
Evina relaxed a little. “Where is it now?”
“In yer father’s room,” he answered.
Evina sighed with exasperation. “Well, if he wants me to give it to him, then why did Father no’ just give it to me instead o’ telling me to ask ye for it?”
“I do no’ think he kens ’tis there,” Donnan said with a shrug. “I put it on the mantel in there the night we arrived with the Buchanan.” Stepping inside, he let the door close and said, “I’ll go fetch it at once.”
“Thank ye,” Evina murmured, moving to the side to get out of the way of anyone coming or going.
Donnan swept past her and hurried for the stairs. The man was fast on his feet. It seemed to her he hardly disappeared from the top of the stairs than he was coming back down them.
“I’ll carry it,” he offered as he approached and eyed the items she already held. “In fact, why do ye no’ give me the fur too?”
Evina handed it over without protest. She’d only refused the first time because she’d needed him to fetch the sword, but the sack of food she held was quite heavy. If she were to judge it by weight, she’d have said the cook had packed enough food for a small army. Leaving the sword and fur to Donnan, Evina turned and opened the door for him, smiling when he slipped through with a chagrinned, “Thank ye.”
“To the stables?” he asked as they started down the stairs to the bailey.
“Aye. Ye had the horses saddled?” she asked as they started that way.
Donnan nodded. “The Buchanan said yer father ordered it so the two o’ ye could fetch more medicinals. I spoke to the stable master, and then left the Buchanan with him while I returned to the keep to speak with yer father.”
“To be sure he truly did order it?” she guessed, unsurprised that he would check. He’d probably instructed the stable master and the men at the gates not to let Rory leave until he’d verified that he was allowed to.
“Aye,” Donnan admitted, and then asked, “Ye’re going beyond the castle walls?”
Evina could tell he obviously had qualms about the plan. She had a few of her own, but said, “Aye. Father insists I’m to take the Buchanan out to replace his weeds.”
“Hmm,” Donnan murmured.
“What’s that mean?” Evina asked at once. She recognized his “hmm” as the sound he made when he thought he knew something others might not.
“Yer father has been asking me a lot of questions since his fever dropped,” Donnan said quietly.
“About?” she asked warily.
“About ye . . . and the Buchanan,” he responded.
“What kind of questions?” Evina asked, her feet slowing as she waited for the answer.
“Whether ye speak to each other or anything else when no’ in the room with him,” he admitted.
Evina frowned over that, but asked, “What did ye say?”
“That ye’re ne’er in each other’s company out o’ his room that I ken of. That one is always with him and the other away. Ye do no’ spend any time together apart from in passing when ye trade places at his side.”
Evina nodded. What he said was true. She and the Buchanan didn’t spend any time together outside the room, apart from in passing as one entered and one left. At least, they hadn’t since that first morning when they’d fallen on the bed and he’d kissed her. But she had no idea why her father would ask such a question.
“Here we are.”
Evina raised her head to see that they had nearly reached the Buchanan and the stable master. The two men stood outside the stables with her mare and his horse already saddled and waiting.
“Let me take that, m’lady,” the stable master said, rushing forward to take the sack of food from her.
“Thank ye,” Evina murmured, watching with interest as the Buchanan moved forward and took the fur, not the sword, from Donnan. Wondering if he hadn’t recognized it, she took the sword from her father’s first and thanked him for his assistance. As Donnan nodded and moved away, she turned to watch the Buchanan finish securing the first two items to his saddle. She’d expected at least one of them to go on her horse, but didn’t mind if he wished to carry everything with him.
Of course, if he was planning to ride off now that he had his horse and sword, the food would certainly come in handy. Although he didn’t yet have his sword, she recalled, and held it out when he’d finished securing the first two items and turned back to her.
“Ye forgot this.”
The Buchanan eyed the sword briefly, but merely arched an eyebrow at her in question.
Shifting her feet uncomfortably, she explained, “It’s been on the mantel in me father’s room since ye arrived.”
“I did see it there,” he admitted.
“Aye, well, ye forgot it when ye came out here, so Donnan fetched it down for me to give to ye,” she said lightly.
The Buchanan arched his other eyebrow at that. “Will I need it?”
Several answers came to mind. Ye will if ye plan on riding off back home, or That depends on what yer plans are, but she settled on simply saying, “One can ne’er be too careful when leaving the safety o’ the castle.”
Nodding solemnly, he took the sword and slid it through the belt around his waist. Raising his head then, he asked, “Then why are ye without yers today?”
“Good question. Ask me father,” Evina muttered as she swung away to walk to her mount. Reaching her mare, Evina grabbed the pommel and started to raise a foot to the stirrup to mount, and then froze.
“Is something amiss, m’lady? Do ye need a leg up?” the stable master asked, hurrying to her side with surprise on his face. She hadn’t needed a leg up since she was a child. Evina hated asking for help, so had learned quickly to manage things on her own.
“Nay, a sidesaddle,” Evina said finally on a sigh, lowering her foot from the stirrup. There was no way she could ride astride without braies on.
“A sidesaddle?” the stable master echoed with bewilderment. “I do no’ think we have one.”
“Surely me mother rode sidesaddle when she was alive?” she asked with a frown.
“Oh, aye!” The man brightened. “I’ll go fetch it.”
“I gather ye usually ride astride,” the Buchanan commented as the stable master rushed off.
Evina turned to peer at him, unsurprised to see that he was already mounted. He would have done so when she moved to mount her mare. “Aye.”
“Why sidesaddle today, then?” he asked with curiosity.
“Because Father insisted,” she admitted.
“Why?” he asked with surprise.
Evina shook her head, and then asked, “Do ye think ’tis possible he suffered some damage to his head from the fevers? Gavin said ye did say he could did the fever get too high.”
The Buchanan’s eyebrows rose at the question, but he considered it briefly, and then nodded. “’Tis possible, but I have no’ seen any sign o’ it.”
“Ye do no’ ken him though, and might no’ notice right away,” she pointed out.
“True,” he agreed with a faint smile.
“Here we are. ’Tis a little dusty, but—Oh, hell!”
Evina glanced to the side just in time to see the stirrup strap the stable master had in one hand snap. The man managed to hold on to the saddle for a moment with his other hand, but then it slid to the ground.
“It has no’ been used in years. I guess the leather is in bad shape,” the stable master muttered, bending to pick up the damaged saddle.
“Ne’er mind. Lady Evina can ride with me,” the Buchanan announced.
“Oh, nay, I—” Evina’s protest died on a gasp as his arm suddenly snaked around her waist from behind and she was lifted up onto the saddle before him.
“Hold on,” the Buchanan ordered, and immediately turned his mount and urged it toward the bridge out of Maclean . . . at speed. So far, this trip wasn’t going at all to plan, Evina thought with dismay as they charged out of the bailey.