Evina remained silent after the bedchamber door closed behind the Buchanans. She didn’t know what to say. Her mind was awhirl with several different worries and fears.
“A baby running the halls again would be nice.”
Evina glanced up at her father’s words and bit her lip. “Could I really be with child?”
“Ye ken that better than I? Did he breach ye?”
“Aye,” Evina sighed the word.
“Then aye, ’tis a very real possibility,” he said solemnly, and then pointed out, “Ye can no’ let the child grow up a bastard, lass. No’ when the father is here and willing to marry ye.”
Evina closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them and blurted, “But he does no’ want to marry me, Da. I was no better than Betsy for him.”
“He said that?” her father asked aghast.
“Aye,” she said, and then grimaced and admitted, “No’ the Betsy part. I sorted that out on me own, but he apologized and said he was sorry. He’d thought me an experienced widow who would be happy for a dalliance.”
“Hmm,” her father murmured. “Well, I’m no’ surprised. He is a fourth son with little in the way o’ prospects. He probably assumed his suit would ne’er even be considered. That I would be like most lairds and demand a first son with a castle, lands and wealth of his own for ye.”
“Why?” she asked with surprise. “I am yer only heir and we could only live at one castle at a time. If we had two, one would always have to be left unattended.”
“Exactly me thinking,” he said wryly. “But for some, a lot is ne’er enough. They must have more.”
Grimacing, Evina lowered her head and peered at her stomach again, wondering if Conran’s seed had taken root. And if she could bear to have a husband.
“Ye’ll have to marry him, lass,” her father repeated solemnly. “Why do ye no’ give him a chance and see if ye might no’ like him? He seems a nice lad to me.”
“A nice lad?” she asked with disbelief. “He lied about who he was.”
“Did he lie, or did ye just assume he was Rory, and he did no’ correct ye?” the Maclean asked gently.
Evina’s mouth tightened. “He lied by omission, then.”
“He also saved me life,” her father pointed out. “And when he found out I’d told his brothers ye’d kidnapped him, he defended ye, assuring them he was here willingly.”
“Did he?” she asked with surprise.
“Aye. In truth, daughter, he’s been very understanding about everything, even the manner in which ye brought him home. I would no’ have been nearly as good about it meself had some strange woman knocked me out, and dragged me across the country, naked, tied up and hanging over the back o’ me horse. It’s part o’ the reason I think he’d make ye a good husband. He’s obviously coolheaded and patient, and a lass as trying as ye needs a man like that.”
When Evina narrowed her eyes and scowled at him, he shrugged. “’Tis the truth. I fear I have no’ been a good father since we lost yer mother. I let ye do as ye like, and now ye’re far too used to having yer own way.”
When Evina glowered at him, refusing to even speak to the suggestion, her father shrugged. “Well, if there’s a possibility ye’re with child, ye’ll have to be wed and quickly. That means ye either marry Conran Buchanan, or I accept the MacMurray’s latest offer and ye arrange a marriage contract with him.”
“Nay!” Evina gasped with dismay. Their neighbor, MacMurray, had been making offers for her hand in marriage for years now. But he was a pretentious little prick with a nervous laugh and a tendency to be cruel to his servants. Evina knew darned right well he’d be just as cruel to her if he ever got her to agree to marriage and had her under his thumb. Her father knew it too, which is why he’d always refused the offers. She couldn’t believe he’d even consider the partnering now. That told her just how serious he was about her having to marry now that she might be with child.
Good Lord! All of this because of a few minutes in a field that she’d regretted from the second it happened.
“Well, then, I suggest ye seriously consider wedding Conran Buchanan,” her father said quietly. “Else I’ll have to look elsewhere, and MacMurray would accept ye at once.”
Evina frowned and lowered her head, her thoughts whirling as she considered everything. Her father was right. Conran had been rather good about her kidnapping him. He’d told her at their picnic that he had no intention of complaining about it to his brothers. And he hadn’t. Her father had. Besides, she could hardly fault him for thinking her an experienced widow. She was the one who had told him she’d been married.
And then, if she considered his perspective, he’d been set up. Really, they both had. Her father had arranged an excuse to send them off on their own, and then sent Gavin to bear witness to force the man to marry her. By all rights, Conran should be stomping about, shouting and screaming about being set up so. Instead, he was willing to marry her.
“I’d rather ye marry the Buchanan, lass,” her father said now. “I think ye could be happy with him, but if it does no’ work as I think ’twill and ye’re no’ happy . . .”
“We could always kill him,” she suggested.
Her father bent a dry look on her, and shook his head. “’Tis a good thing I ken ye well, and ken that was a joke.”
Evina merely grimaced. It had been a joke . . . mostly.
“Nay, if it does no’ work, ye may no’ have to live with him.”
Evina jerked her head back with surprise. “What?”
“Well, if he proves unkind or unbearable, we can always send him out to live in the hunting lodge on the edge o’ Maclean land.”
“But he thinks he would be yer heir and run Maclean when ye die,” she pointed out.
“I made that offer to Rory Buchanan, no’ Conran, and we have no’ written up the contracts yet. Changes can be made,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll put off writing up the marriage contract for a couple weeks while ye get to ken him.”
“A couple weeks?” Evina asked dubiously, wondering how he would put off the Buchanans for that long.
“Aulay Buchanan said ’twould probably take that long for his sister and brothers and their mates to get here,” he explained. “They want to hold the wedding until they can all attend.”
“Oh,” Evina said, relaxing a bit. She didn’t have to decide anything right away. She had two weeks to sort out her future. That was something at least.
“I’ll go fetch Donnan to carry ye back to yer room,” he murmured, moving toward the door.
Evina almost told him not to bother and assured him she could manage on her own, but then thought better of it. Getting here with Tildy’s help had been a struggle. Her father was still recovering and couldn’t help her himself, and as much as she hated to admit it, she wouldn’t make it back on her own.
“Oh! Buchanan.”
Evina glanced around at her father’s startled words to see Conran Buchanan framed in the doorway.
Conran nodded solemnly and said, “It occurred to me that Evina might need help getting back to her room when ye’re done talking, so I thought I’d wait out here.”
“Oh, aye.” Her father glanced back at her in question, and Evina sighed, but then nodded. She was supposed to get to know him and she only had two weeks to do it. She may as well start now.
Turning back to the door, her father opened it wider. “Come on in, then. We are done talking and she is no doubt tired.”
Conran nodded, entered the room and crossed to where she sat.
Evina started to get up, but paused and gasped as pain assailed her again. She then released another gasp as Conran scooped her up in his arms, plaid and all.
“Ye should no’ be walking, lass,” he said quietly, cradling her against his chest and turning toward the door. “Ye’ve been sore wounded and need to heal. Ye could be pulling yer stitches out running about like this.”
“I did no’ exactly run here,” Evina pointed out, keeping herself as stiff in his arms as she could.
“Nay, ye did no’,” Conran conceded, nodding to her father as he walked past him.
Evina didn’t respond and they fell silent as he carried her down the hall to her room. But once there, she stiffened even further in his arms and glanced around with a frown. “Me door is open.”
“Aye, I opened it ere I came to stand outside yer father’s room. I thought ’twould be easier than trying to open it with me arms full, or making ye open it and possibly pull yer stitches,” he explained.
“Oh,” she murmured, thinking that wasn’t just considerate, it showed forethought. Relaxing a little against his chest, she peered at him with curiosity. “How long were ye standing outside the door?”
“No’ long,” he said with a shrug that shifted her slightly against his chest as he crossed the room.
Evina stared up at him silently and then offered a quiet, “Thank ye.”
“Me pleasure,” he responded solemnly as he paused to set her down on her bed.
Conran straightened then and hesitated, uncertainty crossing his face. “Yer wound should be checked.”
Evina stiffened, alarm racing through her. She knew he was the one who had tended her wounds up to now, and then there was the fact that he’d seen her breasts bared before. Still, she felt a great deal of discomfort at the thought of his baring her chest now that she was awake, and not an excited mass in his arms.
“But no’ by me,” Conran added.
Evina let her breath out on a sigh of relief, and then suggested, “Tildy can look at it.”
Much to her surprise, he shook his head. “I’d rather me brother did it.”
“Yer brother Rory . . . the healer,” she added grimly, some of her resentment showing. The man had taken her innocence without even telling her his true name.
Sighing, Conran settled on the edge of the bed and peered at her solemnly. “I ne’er meant to lie to ye. One minute I was cleaning up under the falls after having helped Rory collect medicinals, and the next I was struggling with a stranger, and then knocked out by a beautiful lass with red hair.”
That explained the weeds in his saddlebag that had made her think he was Rory Buchanan, Evina thought unhappily, barely giving notice to his compliment. He’d called her that before, a red-haired beauty, but . . . Well, she just assumed it was one of those flowery compliments men were always throwing around to gain something. She had no idea what he hoped to gain. As far as everyone was concerned, she had to marry him. There was no wooing needed.
“And then I woke up here,” he continued. “At first, I did no’ tell ye who I was because . . . well, frankly I did no’ want Rory suffering the same treatment I had. But then when I saw how sick yer father was, I kenned the situation was desperate, and aye, Rory was needed. But I also kenned there was no way to get him here in time. So, I did what I could.”
“And let us continue to think ye were Rory,” she said quietly.
Conran nodded apologetically.
“Even as ye were kissing and touching me,” Evina added, anger beginning to writhe in her stomach. Dear God, she hadn’t even known the proper name of the man she’d let take her innocence. At least Betsy knew who she was servicing.
“That was no’ well done o’ me,” Conran admitted quietly. “But, in truth, I was no’ thinking o’ me name at the time. In fact, after first letting ye all think I was Rory, I did no’ think much on it again. Ye all called me ‘Buchanan,’ or ‘m’lord,’ most o’ the time. Even yer da mostly called me ‘lad.’ In truth, I do no’ recall any o’ ye actually addressing me as Rory.”
“I thought o’ ye as Rory though,” she said quietly. “I thought ye were Rory, and ye were Rory in me head. And now ye’re . . .”
“Conran,” he said quietly.
“Conran,” Evina echoed, testing the name and not at all sure she liked it. She was used to thinking of him as Rory. Conran felt strange in her mind.
They were both silent for a minute and then he shifted, looking uncomfortable, and said, “Should I fetch Rory to tend to ye?”
“Nay,” she said quietly. “I think I’ll let Tildy tend me from now on.”
Concern crossed his face. “Rory is really very good at healing, Evina. And yer wound is a serious one. Ye’d do better to let him tend it or at least check that I did everything right.”
Evina lowered her gaze, her mind arguing with itself. She really wasn’t comfortable with the idea of baring her chest for Conran’s brother and would rather Tildy tend it. On the other hand, Rory Buchanan was quickly gaining the reputation as the best healer in Scotland and he might have a tonic that could ease the difficulty she was having breathing, not to mention her pain. She was still debating the issue when a knock sounded at her door.
Conran stood at once and moved to answer it.
Evina stiffened as she watched him, half suspecting it would be Rory at the door, calling to check on her. But instead, it was Tildy, she saw. The woman was carrying a tray of both food and drink, and she definitely wasn’t pleased to see Conran there. In fact, judging by the blistering look she gave him as she moved past him, Evina would say the maid wasn’t pleased with Conran at all. But then the maid had heard the conversation in her father’s room. She knew he’d let them think he was Rory when he was Conran, and that he’d tumbled her in the field.
“I thought ye’d be ready fer that broth and some mead now,” Tildy said, her expression easing as she approached the bed. “Ye have no’ eaten since the attack, and need yer strength fer healing.”
“Aye. Thank ye, Tildy,” Evina murmured as the woman set the tray on her bedside table.
“Shall I feed ye?” Tildy asked, casting her an uncertain glance.
Evina smiled faintly at the woman’s expression. The maid knew how much she hated to admit she needed help of any kind. This was no exception, and she opened her mouth to refuse the offer, but Conran did it for her.
“I’ll help her, Tildy. Thank ye,” he said firmly.
The maid turned another scalding look on him. “I asked m’lady, no’ you, sirrah.”
Evina’s eyes widened incredulously at the insult in her addressing him as sirrah. Afraid Conran would get angry and dress her down for it, she said quickly, “’Tis fine, Tildy. Ye’ve enough on yer plate what with the Buchanans here and such. There’s no need to stay here with me.”
“Are ye sure?” Tildy asked, turning to her with concern.
“Aye. Go on about yer business and leave the tray here. I’ll be fine,” she assured her solemnly.
“Hmm.” Tildy shifted her hard gaze to Conran, but then nodded grimly and turned to bustle out of the room.
“I’m starting to think Tildy no longer likes me,” Conran said dryly, moving to inspect the broth and mead.
“She was me nursemaid until I was married, and then became m’lady’s maid. She’s always looked out fer me,” Evina said quietly.
“And is no’ pleased that I no’ only let ye continue to believe that I was me brother Rory, after I was conscious, but took yer innocence,” he suggested.
Evina felt her face flush with embarrassment, and scowled at him for causing it. “I’d appreciate it if ye could see yer way clear to no’ mentioning that again.”
“Very well,” he said quietly, lifting the mug of mead and settling on the bedside with it. “If ye agree that we forget about it and start fresh.”
“Start fresh?” Evina asked, eyeing the mead greedily. She was very thirsty. Unsurprising, she supposed, since she’d slept for so long without food and drink.
“Aye,” he said solemnly, and then held out his free hand and said, “Good day, Lady Evina. My name is Conran Buchanan. ’Tis a pleasure to make yer acquaintance.”
Evina hesitated, but then placed her hand reluctantly in his and whispered, “Good day.”
Smiling, he squeezed her fingers, and then released her hand to hold up the mead. “May I help ye sit up and prop some pillows behind yer back so ye can drink?”
“Aye,” she breathed, relieved that he wasn’t going to insist on holding the mug to her mouth and treating her like a child or invalid.
Nodding, Conran set the mead back and stood to help her sit up. He then rearranged her pillow and rolled up a fur to put behind her back so that she had support to sit. “How is that?”
“Good,” Evina said a little breathlessly, and then as an afterthought, added, “Thank ye.”
“Can ye hold the mug yerself?” he asked, picking it up.
“Aye,” she answered, and then nearly dropped it when he placed it in her hand. Closing his fingers over hers, Conran prevented the spill and then urged her to drink without comment.
Grateful that he didn’t make a big deal of it, Evina watched him place the mead on the table and pick up the broth instead, but then asked, “Did ye and Gavin manage to capture all the bandits?”
“Nay,” he said, turning to her with the broth. “We killed three, injured and captured one who died here later, but one got away.”
“Oh,” Evina murmured as he spooned up some broth and held it out to her. She opened her mouth to accept the offering and then closed her eyes as she swallowed the light broth. It was beef broth, and bursting with flavor, the best thing she’d ever tasted . . . which told her just how hungry she was. She’d never been very keen about beef, preferring chicken and pork.
“Actually, I suspect the one who got away would ha’e killed Gavin had ye no’ called out when ye did,” Conran announced as he scooped up more broth, and held it out. “The bandit had already wounded Gavin’s sword arm, and was swinging his sword back, preparing to gut yer cousin, when ye startled us all by calling Gavin’s name.”
“Oh,” Evina murmured with a frown, and then accepted the broth. She hadn’t really noticed that the man was swinging his sword back in preparation of a killing blow. Just that he’d wounded her cousin.
“After that,” Conran continued as he collected more broth with the spoon, “Gavin seemed to regather himself more quickly than the bandit and managed to get his sword back up before the man could strike the killing blow. The fellow just turned and fled then,” he told her solemnly. “Donnan has sent men out to the woods every day to hunt for the one that got away, but so far there has been no sight of him. Or any other bandits, for that matter,” he murmured, concentrating on his task.
“Was Gavin badly hurt?” she asked between spoonfuls.
“Nay. He got lucky. ’Twas a mild wound at best,” he assured her solemnly. “He’s back to practicing in the yard with the other men.”
“Already?” Evina asked with surprise.
Conran nodded. “Donnan is taking it easy on him, but aye.”
“Oh, good,” she murmured, but shook her head when he held out more broth. “I am full.”
Conran glanced down at what remained of the broth, and then smiled slightly as he set the full spoon back in. “Ye did well. There is little left. ’Tis a good sign, I think.”
Evina watched him set the broth back on the side table, but shook her head when he tapped the mead and raised an eyebrow in question.
“No’ right now, thank ye,” she murmured.
Nodding, he left the mead and stood to pace the room. “I am sorry.”
Now that she’d had something to eat and drink, Evina found herself weary, and her eyes had been drifting closed when he spoke. Now they popped open. “What for?”
“For . . . everything,” Conran said wryly after a hesitation.
Evina was silent for a minute as she watched him pace. As promised, he hadn’t mentioned the events in the field, but that was still included in his apology, she knew, and felt sure he deserved whatever guilt he was suffering that had brought out yet another apology. But then she recalled her father’s words about how he’d been good about being kidnapped and such, and she sighed and said, “I should apologize too.”
When he stopped pacing to peer at her with surprise, she pointed out, “I kidnapped ye and brought ye here in the first place.”
“’Twas no’ a kidnapping,” he reminded her with a crooked smile.
Evina smiled despite herself and shook her head. “Aye, it was. Or ’twould have been if ye’d been conscious and refused to come to help me father. I was that desperate to see him healed.”
Understanding softened his expression, and he shrugged. “But I was no’ conscious. And ye could no’ just leave me there, naked, defenseless and unconscious by the river. So . . . ye were saving me too. Thank ye for that, by the way.”
“I’m the one who knocked ye unconscious,” Evina reminded him with amusement, and when he merely shrugged, she added, “And then there is me father.”
“Hmm. Aye. He was a difficult patient,” Conran commented. “The man is testy, and impatient with being ill now that he’s feeling a little better, but I would hardly blame ye for that.”
“I meant for his trapping us the way he has,” she said with exasperation.
Conran was silent for a moment as he continued to pace, and then he peered at her solemnly. “Did ye ken what he was up to when we rode out?”
“Nay,” Evina assured him quietly. “I only realized what he’d done after Tildy came to fetch ye and said yer brothers were here, and then told me that Da was the only one to send out a message.” Meeting his gaze, she added, “I would no’ have been a party to it had I realized what he was up to ere we rode out that day.”
“Because ye do no’ wish to marry me?” he asked solemnly.
“Because I did no’ wish to marry any man,” she corrected, and he moved back to the bed to peer down at her face with interest.
“Why?”
Evina shrugged uncomfortably. “I was married already. I did no’ like it.”
“Evi, ye were married for three days at ten years old and in name only,” he pointed out with exasperation. “What was there to dislike?”
Evina lowered her gaze to the coverings he’d pulled up over her, and began to pluck at the fur on the top one. “Me husband told me on the first day of the journey back that as his wife I had to do anything he told me to,” she said quietly. “After which he produced a worm he’d been saving in his pocket, and ordered me to eat it.”
“The little bugger,” Conran said with wonder. “What did ye do?”
“Punched him in the face,” she admitted.
Conran grinned. “Good for you.”
“No’ so good,” Evina assured him. “I was punished for it. Me da gave me a good whipping,” she added. “And I was told that aye, technically a wife had to do as her husband said. But I could refuse to eat worms and, by rights, he could no’ punish me for it until I was twelve and the wedding was consummated.”
“Hmm.” He frowned.
“Collin, me husband,” she explained, unsure he knew his name, “he apparently did no’ ken about his no’ being able to punish me until the marriage was consummated. On the second day of the journey, he hit me when I refused to eat a wormy apple.”
“What was his fascination with worms?” Conran asked with disgust.
Evina shrugged with bewilderment. It was beyond her. She’d never seen the attraction herself, but said, “’Twas no’ just worms. He drowned because he was trying to catch a fish to make me eat raw.”
“Yer father said he was fetching water,” Conran said with surprise.
Evina shook her head. “That’s what Father tells people, but in fact, Colin was standing on a log, dipping a bucket in to try to catch a fish.”
Conran grunted with disgust. “It sounds like yer husband was a spoiled brat.”
“Aye,” she muttered.
“But he was a lad, Evina,” he added quietly. “I am no’.”
“Me uncle was no’ a lad,” Evina said solemnly.
Conran stilled, and asked with confusion, “Yer uncle?”
“Gavin’s father, Garrick MacLeod,” she explained quietly. “He beat me aunt Glenna to death for displeasing him somehow.”
Conran sat back with dismay. “That is how Gavin came to be here?”
“And Donnan,” Evina murmured. “He was Garrick’s first. He’d pledged his fealty to both me uncle Garrick on accepting the position, and to me aunt Glenna when she married me uncle. But Donnan had to choose between them in the end.”
“And he chose yer aunt,” Conran murmured.
Evina shrugged. “Donnan’s own father had been free with his fists when drinking. There is nothing he hates more than a man who enacts violence against women and children. After years of suspecting me uncle’s doings, he saw him at it with the last beating and that was the final straw. He decided his loyalty was to me aunt. He bundled them up, me aunt Glenna and Gavin both, and brought them here to Maclean in hopes me father could keep them safe from me uncle. Me aunt did no’ live more than an hour after arriving here, just long enough to tell me father what had happened and to beg him to look out for Gavin and ne’er let his father get him back.”
Evina sighed. “Tildy said me aunt had wounds inside that could no’ be healed. Bleeding inside. But truly, there were enough wounds on the outside to kill her anyway. To this day I have ne’er seen anyone so battered and bruised as Aunt Glenna. Both her arms were broken, one o’ her legs and several ribs. Traveling here must have been agony fer her,” she said quietly. “Donnan said he wanted to let her heal before leaving, but she knew she would no’ survive, and was determined to get Gavin away from his father.”
“Surely yer uncle was punished?” Conran said with a frown. “Correcting a wife is allowed, but beating her to death is no’.”
“Nay,” Evina said on a sigh, and then grimaced and admitted, “Well, God punished him.”
“God?” he asked dubiously.
Evina nodded. “Father was preparing to petition the king for justice in me aunt’s murder when uncle Garrick’s brother, Tearlach, arrived at Maclean. It seems Garrick, on realizing Donnan had taken me aunt and Gavin away, rode out after them, determined to bring them back. He was still drunk, however, took a tumble from his horse and broke his neck.”
“Ah.” Conran nodded. “So why was the brother there? Why did he no’ just send a messenger?”
“He wanted our silence,” she said grimly. “He had inherited the title and castle, and had no interest in Gavin, but wanted to ensure our silence on the matter. He didn’t want the MacLeod name tainted by his brother’s actions. In exchange for our silence, he offered a king’s ransom in jewels and coin. He called it a thyftbote.”
“A theft fine,” Conran said grimly.
Evina shrugged. “Murder is looked on as a theft of life.”
“And yer father accepted?” Conran asked, sounding outraged.
“No’ at first,” she said solemnly. “But then, as he explained it to me later, he realized that Garrick was dead, and me aunt was dead, but Gavin yet lived. His name too would be sullied. He’d grow up the son of a murderer, and at least this way he’d have an inheritance. Father kept the thyftbote for him and plans to give it to him when he is eighteen.”
Conran was silent for a moment. He was impressed that she’d told him this. It was another example of her honesty. Many would have kept such dark family secrets just that, a secret. As if the fact that it happened somehow reflected on them. She had told it simply and without concern for how he would take it. But what he was seeing was that her aunt’s story, while a tragic one, was made more so because it had happened when Evina was ten. That was a very impressionable age, and with it following on the heels of an immature boy for a husband who tried to make her eat worms and hit her when she refused, it must have just seemed like men, or at least husbands, were the devil.
“Evina,” he said finally, “I’m sorry about what happened to yer aunt, but I can promise ye I would ne’er beat ye.”
Conran knew that hadn’t soothed her when she asked, “But what if ye want me to do something I do no’ want to do?”
Conran sat back again and peered at her solemnly. “I ken ye’re afraid o’ ending up like yer aunt, but—”
“Aye, I am,” Evina interrupted him to agree. “But I also do no’ want to be beaten for disobeying, or refusing to do something I do no’ want to do,” she said grimly. “And I will.”
When Conran raised his eyebrows, she nodded solemnly. “’Tis the truth, I’m no’ very good at doing what I’m told if I do no’ agree with it,” she admitted quietly. “Father puts up with me ‘rebellious nonsense’ as he puts it. But who’s to say ye would? And if we married, ’twould be yer right to beat me,” she pointed out.
“I’ve ne’er beaten a woman in me life, Evi,” Conran told her firmly. “No’ even me sister, Saidh, and if anyone deserved a beating ’twas her. Yet even when wrestling and play-battling, me and all me brothers were always careful no’ to hurt her. I think I can safely promise no’ to ever beat ye.”
Evina nodded, but was thinking he’d hardly admit he would beat her night and day. She’d never marry him then.
“I suppose it’s difficult for ye to trust that what I say is true,” he murmured after a moment, surveying her expression. When she didn’t respond, he suggested, “We could put it in the marriage contract.”
“That ye’re no’ allowed to beat me?” she asked uncertainly.
“Aye, and that if I do . . .” He paused, apparently unable to come up with a suitable punishment. Evina had one though.
“If ye do, then ye have to live in the hunting lodge on the edge o’ Maclean and leave me to live here alone in peace,” she suggested quietly.
Conran raised his eyebrows at the suggestion, but nodded. “Very well. We’ll put that in the marriage contract, then.”
“Okay,” Evina agreed, relaxing a little. She wondered though if he really would. If so, she might just be willing to marry him. Certainly, his agreeing to do so made her happier and more relaxed about this getting-to-know-him business.