The Wrong Highlander, page 12
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.
