The Wrong Highlander, page 10
“What are ye doing, lass? Ye were sore injured! Ye should no’ be trying to get up,” Tildy cried, bending as if to prevent her rising, but stopping short of actually touching her.
“I have to,” Evina got out through gritted teeth as she tried to sit up and pain raced through her chest. Trying to ignore it, she gasped, “Help me. We have to stop Da.”
“Stop him from what?” Tildy asked with concern, taking her arm to help her up.
Evina didn’t answer; she couldn’t speak at the moment. She was too busy trying not to pass out as she struggled to her feet. Dear God, her chest hurt. Even breathing caused a burning pain. Breathing hard now as she was felt like she was being repeatedly punched. It was enough to make her want to just collapse back on the bed and hopefully lose consciousness. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. If her father was up to what she thought he was, she had to stop him.
Chapter 7
Conran pushed the door to Laird Maclean’s room open and then stopped abruptly on the threshold as he stared at the four men in the room. His oldest brother, Aulay, and his two younger brothers, Rory and Alick, were all there, as well as Evina’s father. He scowled briefly at the old man who was standing next to the mantel rather than lying abed as he should be, but then Conran pushed the door closed and turned his attention to Aulay. “What are ye doing here? How did ye even ken where I was? I ne’er got the chance to write ye and tell ye I was here.”
“I wrote them,” Fearghas Maclean said solemnly.
“Aye,” Aulay growled. “A messenger arrived from Maclean just after the sup the night before last.”
“Oh.” Conran relaxed somewhat and then smiled crookedly. “Ye must have been worried sick ere the message arrived to let ye ken I was okay.”
“Actually, we had no idea ye were missing,” Aulay said wryly.
“What?” Conran blinked at this news and then shifted his gaze to Rory and frowned. “But ye must have realized something was amiss when I did no’ drop off the medicinals as I promised.”
Rory grimaced. “I’m afraid I was held up at the inn, dealing with the innkeeper’s daughter for several days. Her labor was long and hard as I feared, but she survived. I only arrived home the day before the message arrived at Buchanan, and when I realized ye had no’ dropped off the medicinals, I just assumed ye’d forgotten and set off, taking them with ye.”
“Aye,” Alick said with amusement. “He was fair froth with ye until we got the message and learned what really happened.”
Conran scowled at this news, offended that his brother would imagine he’d forget something like that. But rather than address it, he turned to the Maclean. “Why did ye write them?”
“He wrote to apologize,” Aulay answered for the old man. “In his message, he explained he was sorry that his daughter had kidnapped Rory and dragged him back here to Maclean, and explained that it was all in a desperate bid to save his life.” His eldest brother arched an eyebrow, his lips pursed. “Ye can imagine our surprise since Rory was sitting right in front o’ me while I read the message.”
“Ah.” Conran grimaced and glanced from his brother to Laird Maclean, and back. Both men were looking at him as if he’d piddled on the floor. “Aye. Well,” he muttered, “there was a bit o’ a mix-up there.”
“Nay? Do tell,” Aulay said dryly.
Conran scowled at his sarcasm, and said firmly, “First o’ all, Evina did no’ kidnap me.” Turning to Fearghas then, he glared at him grimly for throwing his daughter under the horse that way, and barked, “What were ye thinking telling them something like that?”
Before the man could respond, Aulay asked with interest, “So, she did no’ drag ye here to Maclean, unconscious, over the back o’ a horse?”
“And naked?” Alick added with a grin, obviously amused at the thought of it.
Conran scowled at his youngest brother. “How I got here is no’ important.”
“Is it no’?” Aulay asked mildly.
“Nay, it is no’,” Conran assured him, and then admitted, “There was a bit o’ confusion at the start, but once here, I stayed o’ me own free will.”
“Confusion like their thinking ye were me?” Rory asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Aye,” he admitted with a grimace. “They meant to take ye, but got me instead.”
“And ye said naught because . . . ?” Fearghas Maclean asked, finally speaking up.
“Well, I hardly wanted me brother kidnapped too, did I?” Conran snapped irritably. To his thinking, the Maclean had nothing to complain about. He’d saved his life, hadn’t he? Which was something his daughter, or Tildy, could have easily done if he’d revealed the sore on his bottom to them. That was the only reason they hadn’t been able to deal with the situation. They’d been fighting blind; not knowing about the wound, they’d thought him down with some exotic ailment.
“I thought ye were no’ kidnapped?” Aulay pointed out.
Conran glanced to him sharply, and then cursed, and shook his head. “All right, I was brought here, unconscious. But I was no’ really kidnapped. They could hardly just leave me there in the woods naked and unconscious, could they?” he pointed out, using Evina’s own argument, and then assured him, “And as I said, I chose to stay once here.”
“Why?” Aulay asked at once.
“Aye, why?” the Maclean asked with interest.
“Because ye were so ill,” Conran answered abruptly, and turned to his brother to explain. “His fever was extremely high. I kenned the man would no’ last long enough for Rory to be fetched back, and I thought I kenned what he’d do, so I did it. And it worked,” he pointed out, turning back to the Maclean. “Look at ye! Yer fever’s gone and yer even up hobbling around.” Conran paused to frown now, and added with concern, “Which ye really should no’ be doing, m’laird. Ye may tear yer stitches, or start yerself bleeding again.”
“Stitches?” Rory asked, drawing his gaze. “He told us he merely had a fever. That ye managed to bring it down, and he’s well now.”
“He had a fever because he had a boil on his arse that was so infected I had to cut away near half his behind to get it all,” Conran told him grimly.
Rory’s eyebrows rose, but he considered the Maclean, who was now looking both embarrassed and annoyed. Finally, he said, “Well, ye must have done a fine job. He’s up and about and no longer feverish.”
Conran shrugged. “I did me best, but ye still may want to take a look yerself now ye’re here.”
“Later,” Aulay said impatiently. “We’ve other matters to deal with now.”
“What other matters?” Conran asked warily.
“Well, the Maclean wrote to offer his daughter’s hand in marriage for her ‘desperate attempt to save his life’ by kidnapping Rory,” Aulay informed him dryly.
Conran stiffened, and then said, “But yer already married, Aulay.”
“He did no’ offer me her hand,” Aulay said with exasperation. “He was offering to give ye her hand. He only wrote to me, because I am the eldest brother, and head o’ the clan.”
“And the one most likely to lay siege to Maclean to get ye back,” Rory added dryly, and then frowned and added, “Or who the Maclean thought was me . . . Actually, he offered me her hand in marriage. The letter said Rory Buchanan.”
“What?” Conran growled.
“Aye,” Alick said with a grin. “And he promised to make Rory his heir. He’d become laird here when the Maclean passes.”
“Aye, it did say Rory Buchanan,” Aulay agreed, his eyebrows rising. “Now is no’ this a pickle?”
“It’s no’ a pickle,” Conran snapped. “Rory can no’ marry her.”
“Why?” Aulay asked with interest.
Conran merely scowled at the question, his feelings in an uproar. He’d been more than eager to bed Evina, but hadn’t ever contemplated marrying her. He hadn’t considered that an option. He was a fourth son, with a small inheritance, and some coin of his own he’d made helping out his brothers with their various endeavors, but had no castle to put a wife in. He was hardly in a position to offer marriage to someone like the Maclean’s daughter. Most men like the Maclean would want a man with better prospects for his daughter.
“O’ course,” Alick said, drawing him from his thoughts. “He made that offer ere he learned ye’d tumbled his daughter and—Ouch!” he complained, grabbing the back of his head when Aulay smacked him.
“Shut it,” Aulay growled, and then lowered his voice to say, “Ye do no’ ken who may be listening outside the door. The whole Maclean clan does no’ need to ken Conran ruined their laird’s daughter. Are ye trying to shame the lass or get Conran strung up?”
“Sorry,” Alick muttered, rubbing his head. “I was no’ thinking.”
“Ye rarely do,” Aulay said grimly, and then turned to Conran and said quietly, “Alick is right though. When we got here, the man was understandably froth. He did no’ even allow me to introduce Rory and Alick before announcing that the situation had changed: Rory had tumbled the lass in the field ere they were attacked by bandits. The marriage was no longer an offer, but a demand. Rory would now have to marry the lass to save her honor.”
“That’s when yer brother introduced me to these two lads here.” Fearghas gestured to Alick and Rory. “As ye can imagine, I was a bit dismayed to learn ye were no’ the man I thought ye were.”
Aulay nodded and then raised his eyebrows in question. “So? Is the Maclean’s daughter ruined?”
Conran stood frozen for a moment, completely stunned. He hadn’t imagined anyone knew about what had happened in the clearing . . . except perhaps the bandits. But then he recalled Gavin appearing suddenly in the clearing. The arrow had already hit Evina, and the bandits had rushed from the woods to attack him when the lad had suddenly appeared. At the time, he’d considered it a lucky happenstance that Evina’s cousin had been passing when needed. But now he wondered what the lad had been doing there. Had he been sent to watch them? Had he seen the whole thing? His kissing and caressing Evina, and then taking her innocence?
Conran noted the Maclean’s satisfied expression and felt his stomach drop as he realized he’d been completely wrong about his eligibility when it came to Evina. The Maclean didn’t think him not good enough to be a son-in-law. It looked to him as if the man wanted him for the position. So much so, in fact, that Fearghas Maclean had set him up. At least, he’d apparently wanted him for a son-in-law when he’d thought him Rory, Conran thought. Fearghas obviously got rid of the weeds as an excuse to get him and Evina away from the keep and alone in the hopes that something might happen between them . . . and then Gavin had been sent to be a witness.
But had Evina been a party to the plot? Conran wondered, and considered the possibility that he hadn’t been the seducer at all. After a moment though, he shook his head. Nay. He was the one who had initiated things. He was the one to kiss her first, and then to caress and so on. And he’d pulled her down on top of his cock, taking her innocence. Mostly, Evina had just held on and responded, and her responses had shown her inexperience. In fact, if he hadn’t been so desperate to plant his cock in her, he would have realized she wasn’t the knowledgeable widow he’d thought she was before breaching her innocence, he acknowledged.
Besides, there was no mistaking Evina’s shock when it happened. She’d looked almost traumatized. And then there were her comments just now in her room. Much to his chagrin, she hadn’t at all enjoyed the experience. At least, not enough to make up for the pain that had followed. She’d certainly made it clear she had no desire to repeat it.
Nay, Evina hadn’t been the seducer. She wasn’t skilled enough for that. But she had, at least, been bait. And he’d taken that bait. Now, it looked like her father was offering her in marriage . . . to Rory of all people, he thought grimly, and then glanced toward the bedchamber door when it burst open.
A brief stillness fell over the room when Evina staggered in. She had a plaid wrapped around her shoulders that didn’t completely hide the fact that she was dressed only in a tunic, and she was leaning heavily on Tildy.
“Daughter!” the Maclean cried, pushing away from the mantel and hobbling as quickly as he could toward her. “Ye’re awake!” The old man hugged her briefly with obvious relief, and then pulled back to frown at her. “Ye were sorely wounded, lass. Ye should be abed. What are ye doing up?”
“What are ye doing, Da?” she countered breathlessly. “Why was Gavin in the clearing? Why are the Buchanans here? What have ye done?”
“Now, lass,” the Maclean said soothingly, taking her free arm and helping Tildy to get the girl to one of the chairs at the table by the fire. “I’m just looking after yer future.”
“Me future?” she gasped with amazement. “Maclean is me future.”
“Aye, but what o’ a family?” her father asked with a frown. “A husband and bairns?”
“Ye said I did no’ have to marry,” Evina reminded him grimly. “Ye said I’d always have a home here. I’m to run Maclean, and then Gavin will take over from me when I retire or die.”
“Aye, I did say that,” he agreed, but then added with regret, “But that was before.”
“Before what?” she asked sharply.
“Before I nearly went to meet me maker,” the Maclean growled, and then took a deep breath, shook his head and said, “Lass, I was sure I was going to die, and I was preparing meself. I was thinking on how I’d see yer mother again, and how happy I’d be to see her . . . and how very angry she’d be with me for no’ ensuring ye married again, and had babies.”
“She would no’ be upset,” Evina assured him quickly. “She’d ken I do no’ want to marry.”
“Aye, but what o’ bairns o’ yer own?” her father asked. “And do no’ lie and say ye have no interest in babies. I saw ye with Gavin. Ye were a fine little mother, fer all ye were only ten. I ken ye must want children.”
“I’ve thought on it,” Evina admitted, and then scowled in Conran’s direction and added, “But to get bairns ye have to bother with that bedding business and I’ve no interest at all in that. ’Tis painful and unpleasant and just awful,” she finished unhappily.
Fearghas blinked at those words and then turned to scowl at Conran. “What the devil did ye do to the lass?”
“Nothing,” he said abruptly, and then grimaced. “Well, o’ course I did something, but . . .” Pausing, he took a deep breath to calm himself and then said carefully, “Thinking her an experienced widow, I was perhaps a little bit eager, and showed less care and finesse than I could have.”
“Hmm,” the Maclean grunted, and then turned to Evina and patted her shoulder, muttering, “I suppose getting shot with an arrow at the end did no’ help.”
Evina snorted at the suggestion and snapped, “The arrow hurt less than the breaching.”
“Oh, now,” Conran protested, sure she was exaggerating.
“Ye do no’ think so?” Evina asked archly. “Which would ye rather have driven into ye? An arrow this big?” She placed her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart to signify the widest part of the arrow tip. “Or something this big?” Now she held her hands in a circle, thumbs to thumbs, and forefingers to forefingers.
A startled laugh slipped from Conran. When the others turned on him, he bit it back and said, “While I appreciate the compliment, m’lady. No man’s equipment is that big around.”
“Yers was,” she assured him. “The size of a battering ram. At least it felt like it was.”
Conran grinned at the suggestion. “Talk like that could make a man fall in love with ye, lass.”
Evina scowled and turned to her father. “I am no’ marrying him. I do no’ even like him.”
“Ye seemed to like him well enough when the two o’ ye were rolling around on top o’ me in me deathbed,” Fearghas snapped.
“’Twas no’ yer deathbed,” she snapped right back, and then her eyes widened in horror. “Ye were awake?”
“A dead man would have been hard-pressed no’ to wake up had the two o’ ye fallen on top of him and commenced to moaning and rolling about as ye did on me,” the Maclean roared, and then took a deep breath and said more calmly, “Ye’ve ne’er, ever shown such an interest in any other man, no’ once through the years, lass. So I thought, well, ye obviously liked him and should marry him. I just had to sit back and wait fer the two o’ ye to come to that conclusion yerselves. But ye two idiots were avoiding each other. Ye barely even looked at each other unless ye thought the other was looking away . . .” Grimacing, he admitted, “It fell to me to see to it meself.”
Evina narrowed her eyes and growled, “So ye sent us out alone in hopes we’d misbehave, and put Gavin on us to catch us in the act?”
“Which ye did,” her father pointed out, and added triumphantly, “Which just proves ye do like him!”
“I don’t!” she snapped. “And I will no’ marry him. I’d rather have me arms and legs cut off than do that.”
“Would ye rather marry our other brother here?” Aulay asked suddenly, and gestured to Rory.
“Aulay!” Conran growled.
“’Tis who her father offered her to,” Aulay said with a shrug.
“What?” Evina asked, glancing from brother to brother with bewilderment.
“It seems ye kidnapped the wrong man,” the Maclean explained quietly. “That is Rory Buchanan. Ye brought Conran Buchanan home. But thinking Conran was Rory, ’twas Rory I offered marriage to in me message.”
“What?” she repeated, her voice growing weaker. Worse yet, her eyes now sought out Conran, appearing bewildered and wounded.
The combination was enough to move Conran to say, “O’ course she’ll no’ marry Rory. She can no’. No’ when she could be carrying me child.”
The way Evina glanced down sharply to her stomach and covered it protectively with one bemused hand just underlined her innocence for him. He hadn’t got the chance to spill his seed, but she didn’t appear to know that and truly believed she might be carrying his child.
