The Wrong Highlander Read online

  Sitting up a little straighter, Evina retrieved her sgian-dubh, pulled the trencher closer and began to eat.

  Chapter 3

  Conran leaned forward to check his patient’s forehead again, and was rather proud to note that the fever, while still present, was much reduced. The Maclean was only a little warmer than he should be. The man’s color was also better, his cheeks pink, but not as flushed as they’d been when he’d first seen Fearghas. Both were good signs and Conran hoped they meant that he’d got all the infected flesh when he’d cleaned the wound he’d found while bathing the old man in the cold bath he’d sent for.

  He’d had Donnan and Gavin remain to help him bathe the man. It was as they’d stripped away his nightshirt that Conran had spotted the large, angry wound on the old laird’s behind. It had been impossible to tell what had caused the infected, inflamed and oozing scabbed wound. Conran had asked about it, but neither soldier had seemed to know when or how their laird had suffered the injury.

  Leaving the matter for the time being, Conran had concentrated on just submerging the Maclean in the cold water and keeping him there. Of course, the moment the water had closed around his overheated body, the man had begun to thrash and cry out as he tried to escape the cold.

  Weak as Fearghas had appeared in his sickbed, it had taken the three of them to keep him in the water. But the effort had been worth it. The man had cooled relatively quickly, and then Conran had had the soldiers help get him out, dry him off and lay him on his stomach on the bed. Donnan and Gavin had then helped further by holding the old man still while Conran had cleaned the wound he’d noticed on his arse. Fortunately, he’d accompanied Rory on enough healing jaunts to know the unknown wound was probably the source of the man’s fever, and that the infection needed to be cleaned out to bring it down permanently.

  In the end, Conran had to cut out a large section of the man’s arse to get it all. He’d then packed the wound as he’d seen Rory do with other patients, and bandaged it before covering the old man and letting him rest. That had been hours ago and Conran had been watching the man alone for most of that time. He’d released Donnan and Gavin to go have their sup and get some sleep after catching them yawning a time or two. He’d realized then that while he’d been unconscious and rested during the ride here from Buchanan, the two men had ridden straight through both ways and were no doubt as exhausted as their lady.

  Now it was close to dawn. At least that was Conran’s guess by a glance at the gray sky outside the open window shutters, and he found himself now yawning as weariness crept up on him. He was also hungry, Conran acknowledged with a frown, and glanced toward the door, wondering if there would be anyone up or around who could at least lead him to food, if not bring him some.

  He slid his gaze back to Fearghas Maclean and leaned forward to feel his forehead again. Finding it little different than the last time he’d checked, Conran shifted impatiently and then stood and moved to the door. The old maid had offered to fetch him food before retiring, but he hadn’t been hungry then. He was now.

  Opening the bedchamber door, Conran started out into the hall and then paused as he noticed the woman on a pallet lying across the doorway. Lady Evina. She was sleeping as he’d insisted, but not in her room. Instead, she’d chosen a spot as close to her father as she could manage without entering his bedchamber.

  Mouth softening, Conran peered at her silently for a moment, noting how small she really was. Considering the force she’d used in slamming her sword hilt into his head, he would have expected there to be more to her than the whip-thin figure he could see where this gown lovingly hugged her. But she was truly a petite little thing, he noted as he gave her the once-over.

  Conran could see a resemblance to her father. Evina had her father’s eyes and hair color. He’d noted the red threads of hair sprinkled among the gray on the father’s head as he’d tended him. She also had his strong chin though, he saw now. But she must have got her slightly tipped nose from her mother. Fearghas had a much larger, hawkish nose. And her face was a soft oval with high cheekbones, while the Maclean’s was long and lean and presently scruffy with several days’ beard growth.

  She was a beauty though, Conran acknowledged, letting his eyes slide again over her face and hair. She’d obviously taken a bath. Her face and her hands were clean. The pale, yellow gown she wore was as well, and the hair she’d had scraped tight back into a bun earlier presently fell in soft waves around her face, much as the hair of the woman in his dreams had.

  Feeling his body responding to the memory of that rather lusty dream, Conran grimaced and quickly turned his gaze away from her to peer across the landing and over the rail at the great hall below. Much to his surprise, the room was a hive of activity with half the people up and moving quietly around, while the others were just stirring.

  Apparently, it wasn’t as early as he’d thought. The gray light he’d spied through the open shutters must be a result of a coming rain rather than the hour. On the bright side, that meant Cook should be up and about, and there would be something for him to eat.

  Conran’s gaze dropped to the woman again and he briefly debated what to do. He didn’t wish to wake Evina, but didn’t want to leave her lying there on her hard little pallet either.

  Turning, Conran peered back into the laird’s bedroom, considering the large bed the man was in. There was more than enough room for Evina to sleep there without it disturbing her father’s rest, he decided, and it would certainly be more comfortable than sleeping on the hard floor.

  Decision made, he bent to scoop her carefully and gently into his arms. Much to Conran’s surprise, he managed the task without waking her. Letting out a little breath of relief, he held Evina close to his chest and straightened with her, then turned to walk to the bed.

  All went well until he walked around to lay her next to her father. Conran was perhaps halfway up that side of the bed when he tripped over what felt like a discarded fur on the floor. Caught by surprise, he stumbled forward several steps, his arms tightening around his burden as he tried to keep his balance.

  Despite Conran’s best efforts, he couldn’t save himself. The only thing he could do was throw himself toward the bed at the last moment, with the hope to at least give himself and the lass a softer landing than the floor would offer.

  It was something pulling tight around her legs and shoulders that drew Evina from sleep. Blinking her eyes open, she was just in time to note the Buchanan’s face above hers, and his expression of alarm as they tumbled forward. She had no idea how she’d gotten into his arms, but didn’t care in that moment. She simply threw her own arms around his shoulders and cried out as they fell toward the floor.

  Evina was sure they were in for a hard landing, one she would take the brunt of, so was quite surprised when instead of the hard, wood floor slamming into her back and side, she landed on something softer. It gave under her weight, but then the Buchanan came down on top of her, his body pushing her deeper into the softness she’d landed on.

  “Are ye all right?”

  Evina opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed at that question and blinked in confusion at the Buchanan. While he’d pulled back slightly, the man was still resting on top of her, his face so close she could count the stubby hairs growing around his mouth. They outlined his full lips, and Evina was sufficiently distracted by those lips that she merely stared. They looked incredibly soft in comparison to the prickly stubble. But then Evina knew his lips were soft. She’d felt them when she’d blown air into his mouth after pulling him out of the water.

  Absorbed by his lips and her thoughts, Evina didn’t at first realize his mouth was lowering toward hers until it brushed gently across her own. She tightened up in surprise then, and shifted her hands from where they still grasped his shoulders. She moved them to his chest instead. Evina did so with the intention of pushing him away, but her hands never pushed. Much to her surprise, they merely curled into the cloth of his plaid as the caress o
f his mouth on hers brought a bewildering rush of sensation and feelings clamoring up inside her.

  He tasted of cider, Evina noted when his tongue pushed between her lips to explore her mouth. It was the last near-sensible thought she had. In fact, had she the ability to describe it, Evina would have said that at that point her brain disengaged altogether, overwhelmed by the excitement and desire that suddenly exploded to life inside her. She wasn’t aware that her hands had begun tugging desperately at his plaid, or that little mewls of need and pleasure were sounding in her throat as she began to kiss him back, her mouth emulating his.

  Evina felt one hand close over her breast through her gown and gasped into his mouth at the fire that went whipping through her body. She arched her back, instinctively pressing eagerly up into the caress. Conran responded to the silent invitation by finding her pebbling nipple and pinching it lightly through the cloth of her gown. When she cried out into his mouth in response, he ran his thumb over the hard bud again and again in what might have been meant as a soothing caress, but merely made her squirm and shudder under him.

  The Buchanan groaned as her actions made their lower bodies rub together, and then ground down into her, his kiss becoming more demanding. Evina responded in kind, kissing him eagerly back, her hips pushing up in return. She wasn’t at first aware that his free hand had snaked under her skirt and was gliding up her outer leg; it wasn’t until it slid around and his palm pressed between her thighs that she became aware of it.

  Evina broke their kiss on a gasp, and then glanced sharply toward the door as a knock sounded. She heard the Buchanan utter a soft oath, and then his weight was off of her. She turned to see that he was leaping to his feet next to the bed just as he grabbed her hand and pulled her up with him. Evina was on her feet so swiftly she was nearly dizzy, and then she whirled to stare wide-eyed at Tildy as the maid bustled into the room.

  “Oh,” the woman said, coming up short to peer at them with surprise, and then her eyes began to narrow and her body to stiffen.

  “I was going to head below in search of food, and found Lady Maclean asleep on the floor outside the chamber door,” the Buchanan explained calmly. “I thought to bring her in and let her sleep in here where she might be more comfortable. I even managed to pick her up without waking her. However, then I tripped over a fur and tumbled onto the bed with her once I got her inside.” He offered a self-deprecating grimace and shrugged. “I fear I am not always the most coordinated member of me family.”

  “Oh.” Tildy relaxed, a faint smile claiming her lips. “Well, that would explain m’lady’s flustered and disheveled appearance,” she commented with amusement, and then closed the door to move farther into the room. “No harm done though. Ye got lucky landing on the bed and no’ the floor.”

  “Er . . . aye,” the Buchanan said with a crooked smile.

  “Shall I fetch ye food? Or would ye be wanting a break from the room and the chance to go below to eat at table?” Tildy asked as she stopped at the bed to peer down at Evina’s father. Glancing up to the Buchanan, she added, “’Tis why I came. I thought ye must be hungry by now.”

  “I think I could do with a break,” the Buchanan murmured, moving toward the door. “Thank ye.”

  Evina stood where she was, feeling bereft as she watched him go. Her body was still aching from his attention and craved more of it.

  “Oh!”

  Tearing her gaze away from the now-closed bedchamber door, Evina glanced to Tildy with alarm. “What is it?”

  “Oh,” Tildy repeated, more calmly, and pressed a hand to her chest as she shook her head. “Nothing. ’Tis just that for a moment I thought yer father’s eyes were open and he was awake. But it must have been a trick o’ the shadows in here. He’s sound asleep still.”

  Evina glanced down at her father. His eyes were closed, his face in repose. Bending over him, she pressed a hand to his cheek, relieved to feel how much cooler he was. Good Lord, Rory Buchanan was a miracle worker. He’d only arrived the night before and her father was already improving, she thought, and then smiled when he moaned and turned his face into her caress. “Da?”

  His eyes blinked open slowly and settled on her face. “Daughter?”

  Evina winced at the rasp to his voice, but nodded. “Aye.”

  “I’ll fetch him some mead to wet his whistle,” Tildy murmured, hurrying for the door.

  “How are ye feeling?” Evina asked, settling on the edge of the bed and watching him with a combination of worry and relief. He was awake. He was not fully recovered yet and was still ailing, but she never thought she’d see him even this well again.

  “Better than I did yesterday,” he growled, lifting one hand weakly before letting it drop back to the bed.

  Evina took his hand in hers and squeezed gently.

  Her father shifted restlessly, and then scowled and asked, “Who was the man trying to drown me in me bath?”

  Evina frowned, a combination of concern and confusion rising within her at the question, and then understanding pushed the expression away, and answered, “Rory Buchanan. He was no’ trying to drown ye. He was trying to cool ye off.”

  “The water was ice cold,” he complained.

  “Aye. Donnan told me the Buchanan said ’twas necessary to get yer temperature down,” she said soothingly. “And it worked. Ye’re much better today.”

  Her father grunted at the claim, and then asked, “How did he get here?”

  “Who?” Evina stalled.

  “The Buchanan,” he growled impatiently. “Who do ye think?”

  “Oh, aye,” she muttered, and forced a smile as she admitted, “Well, I took Donnan and Gavin with me and fetched him.”

  “And he came willingly?” the Maclean asked, eyes narrowing as if he knew something about the way the man had got here.

  Evina hesitated, several responses coming to mind, including the truth, but in the end, she simply said, “He is willing to help ye, Father, and we are lucky he is. Tildy and I had tried all that we could think of and nothing was working to get yer fever down. Yet he’s achieved that in one night.”

  “Hmm,” he muttered, and shifted restlessly before asking, “And where is he now?”

  “Below, breaking his fast,” she answered at once.

  “By himself?”

  She blinked at the question, surprised by it. “Well, aye. He’s taking a break and I am sitting with ye while he eats.”

  “Hmm,” he grunted, and then narrowed his eyes and asked, “What is he like?”

  Evina sat back slightly, startled by the question. “He seems very . . . competent,” she finished finally because, really, she hadn’t spent much time with the man. At least, not while he was conscious. What she had seen of him conscious, aside from that he was an amazing kisser, which she would never tell her father, was that he was apparently well-hung. That was something else she would never tell her father.

  “And?” her father prodded.

  “And what?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Surely there is more to the man than his being competent,” he said with exasperation.

  “Aye, well . . . he’s bossy,” Evina added, irritation beginning to prick at her as she recalled his ordering her from her own father’s room as if he had a right to. She almost told her father that the man had bit her too, and tried to drown Gavin, but that would mean explaining how he’d come to be there, so she kept the information to herself. It didn’t stop her from thinking about it and getting irritated herself though.

  “Hmm.”

  The sound drew her gaze to her father to see that he was eyeing her closely.

  “Well,” he said finally, “even so, he should no’ be left to eat on his own. He’s a guest here. Ye should go keep him company. Tildy can sit with me,” he added before she could protest, and as if the sound of her name had conjured her up, the bedchamber door opened and Tildy bustled back in with the drink she’d gone to fetch.

  “Go on,” her father said, tugging his hand fre
e of hers. “Keep the lad company, else he might feel unwelcome and leave ere he finishes healing me.”

  Evina peered from her father to the maid and back, but then sighed and stood. Her father had taught her that hospitality was important here in the inhospitable north of Scotland. Besides, if he was willing to put up with Tildy’s company to get her to leave, he was serious about this. Her father usually avoided the maid like the plague.

  “I’ll come sit with ye again later,” Evina murmured, heading for the door.

  “While ye’re down there, ask the Buchanan if the laird can have something to eat now he’s awake,” Tildy suggested. “I should have done it meself, but did no’ think o’ it until just now.”

  “Aye,” Evina murmured, and stepped out of the room. She pulled the door quietly closed and then walked to the top of the stairs. With one hand on the rail, she looked down over the busy great hall until she spotted Rory Buchanan seated alone at the high table. One of the maids must have directed him there, she supposed.

  Evina stared at him silently, her mind battling with itself. While part of her wanted to go below, throw herself at him and get him to give her some more of those kisses she’d enjoyed so much, the rest of her was horrified that she’d let him kiss her at all. She didn’t even like the man, for heaven’s sake. He’d tried to drown Gavin, and then he’d bit her, and yes, perhaps there were good explanations for those two things—well, at least the drowning-Gavin part, Evina supposed. She couldn’t think of a good excuse for his biting her. But none of that mattered anyway, because there was no good excuse for his throwing her out of her own father’s room last night. Or for the insulting way he’d done so. In her own home! And when she was so obviously worried sick about the man.