The Wrong Highlander Page 7

  “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 quest
ion, 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.

  Chapter 5

  “That should be good enough, and this seems a nice spot. Why do we no’ stop and eat now?”

  Evina straightened slowly from the horehound she’d been gathering. She rubbed her lower back as she glanced from the bulging saddlebag the Buchanan was carrying to the clearing they were standing on the edge of.

  “Aye,” she said on a weary sigh, more than ready to rest if not eat. After the exciting start of his dragging her up on his horse and charging out of the bailey, their trip had calmed down considerably. The minute they were away from the keep, he’d slowed his horse and asked where he should go. He’d followed her directions, and before long they’d both been off the horse, gathering the weeds and wild herbs he needed for healing.

  Some of the plants they’d gathered were ones they had in the garden at Maclean. Evina had told him as much and offered for him to take what he liked from there, but he’d said, “Why pilfer the gardens when they are growing wild out here? The ones in the garden might be needed later,” he’d pointed out, “and the ones in the wild would just wither away unused.”

  Evina had shrugged and gathered what he wanted. Now his saddlebag was full to bursting again and she was exhausted. It felt like they’d been walking the woods and fields for a full day gathering herbs and weeds, although they had probably only been at it for a little over two hours.

  “Tired?” the Buchanan asked sympathetically as he slung his saddlebag over his horse’s back.

  “Aye,” Evina said simply as he gathered his horse’s reins and moved toward her. She could play at swords for hours in the practice field with the men, but harvesting plants was backbreaking work her body was unused to, using different muscles than fighting did. Not having had the nooning meal yet probably didn’t help either, she supposed.

  “The middle o’ the clearing looks a likely spot for our meal,” he suggested after pausing beside her to glance around.

  Evina nodded silently, uncaring where they sat so long as they sat.

  “Here.” The word was her only warning, and not really much of one, Evina decided as he suddenly clasped her by the waist and tossed her up onto his horse. Grabbing the pommel to keep from sliding off, she peered at him wide-eyed, and he grinned. “Ye’re done in. Just rest on me mount and I’ll walk ye out to the middle o’ the clearing.”

  Evina forced herself to relax, and settled more comfortably in the saddle as he led the horse. It was a much longer distance than she’d initially thought, and she was grateful for his kindness by the time they reached the desired spot.

  “Here we are,” he said cheerfully, lifting her off the horse moments later.

  “Thank ye,” Evina murmured, turning to unhitch the sack of food from the saddle as he grabbed the fur and quickly unrolled it on the ground. She swung back just in time to see him remove his sword from his waist and lay it on the fur. They then both dropped to sit on it, and Evina glanced around as she set the bag down in front of her. Seated as they were, she couldn’t see over the tall grasses unless she craned her head, she noted, and smiled faintly as it stirred old memories.

  “What’s brought on that smile?” the Buchanan asked with interest.

  Evina shrugged, and turned her attention to opening the sack of food. “This spot reminds me o’ me brother, Daniel. He used to like to play in places like this—high grass we could creep through and hide from each other in, then leap out and scare each other. ’Twas usually war games,” she explained.

  “Ye have a brother?” the Buchanan asked with surprise. “Yer father’s ne’er mentioned him.”

  “He would no’. Daniel died when I was eight,” she said softly. “I do no’ think Father ever truly got over it.”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and then asked, “How did he die?”

  Evina shrugged and began pulling out the food Cook had packed: a roasted pork leg, bread, cheese, boiled eggs, cold boiled potatoes, custard, cherries, a skin of wine and two mugs. Closing the bag once it was empty, she set it aside and finally said, “I’m no’ sure. I was little. He got sick. Healers were brought in. Mother prayed until her knees were bleeding from kneeling, but . . .” She shrugged again. “We lost him.”

  “So yer brother died when ye were eight, yer mother when ye were ten . . .” He hesitated and then said, “And ye raised Gavin from two on.”

  “Aye.” Evina smiled faintly at the thought of her cousin. He’d been such an adorable little boy. All rosy cheeks and childish laughter. He’d brought sunshine and happiness back to Maclean after weeks of dark misery and mourning. If nothing else, she would always love him for that. Sighing, she watched the Buchanan use a sgian-dubh to carve hunks of meat off the pork leg, and asked, “What about you? Father mentioned ye have brothers?”

  “Aye. Six of them now,” he announced, and passed her a hunk of meat on the end of his knife.

  “Now?” she asked quietly as she tugged the bit of meat off the sgian-dubh.

  “There used to be eight of us boys,” he explained quietly. “But Ewan, the younger twin of our eldest brother, Aulay, died some years back. In battle.”

  “I’m sorry,” Evina murmured.

  The Buchanan nodded, but said, “We have a sister too. Saidh.”

  He stopped talking to take a bite of meat, and they both fell silent for a bit to concentrate on eating. While Evina hadn’t been much interested in food when he’d first suggested stopping, she found herself starved now that they were sitting and the food was laid out. They made a good effort at putting away everything Cook had packed for them, and had turned their attention to the custard and cherries when the Buchanan asked, “So why did yer father no’ wish ye to wear braies and ride astride today?”

  Evina took a moment to readjust her mind from the food to conversation. She spent another minute trying to think of an excuse that sounded likely, and then just settled for the truth. It was always easier to go with the truth. No lies to have to remember.

  “He thinks ’twill make ye like me more if I’m more ladylike and agreeable,” she admitted, and wasn’t terribly surprised when he stiffened, his eyes widening and then narrowing suspiciously.

  “Why would he want that?”

  “Because he’s worried about the message ye want to send to yer family,” she admitted. “He’s hoping if ye like us ye’ll be less likely to complain to yer brothers about being kidnapped and will no’ have them lay siege to Maclean to claim recompense,” she said dryly.

  The shout of laughter that burst from him startled her slightly, but Evina smiled faintly as she watched him. He had a nice laugh, and his face was positively gorgeous lit up with humor as it presently was.

  “But I was no’ kidnapped,” he said once his laughter faded, and then reminded her of her own words when he added, “Ye merely took me because ye felt it unsafe to leave a handsome bastard like meself naked and
unconscious in the clearing on me own.”

  “I ne’er said handsome,” she protested at once, flushing.

  “So ye do no’ find me handsome?” he asked with a wounded expression.

  “Well, aye, but—” Evina began with confusion, then cut herself off and scowled at him for tricking her into admitting as much when a grin replaced his feigned upset.

  “But?” the Buchanan queried with a crooked smile.

  “But ye’re bossy and cranky as old boots too,” she ended, her eyes narrowed.

  “Are old boots cranky?” he asked with obvious amusement.

  Evina scowled at him and reached for a cherry, but he grabbed the hollowed-out bread loaf Cook had set them in and pulled them out of her reach. Grinning at her consternation, he plucked one up by the stem and held it out toward her.

  “Nah-ah,” he said when she reached for it. “Open yer mouth.”

  Evina narrowed her eyes on him, but then her gaze slid to the cherry. It looked ever so succulent and sweet dangling there, the color a red so dark it was almost black. After a hesitation, she leaned forward and opened her mouth. When he lowered the cherry between her lips, she closed them and tugged, leaving him with the stem.

  The Buchanan watched her with a smile and then popped a cherry into his own mouth and said quietly, “The message I want to send home is no’ to complain about the manner in which I came to be here.”

  “Nay?” Evina asked, her suspicion plain.

  “Nay,” he assured her. “While that was unfortunate, once here at Maclean I am the one who agreed to stay. No one made me, and I’m no’ a prisoner, so I’ve naught to complain about,” he assured her. “I wish only to let them ken where I am and that I’m well.”

  “Oh,” Evina murmured, frowning as she considered how worried they must be. He’d just disappeared as far as they knew.

  “So ye need no’ be especially nice or try to make me like ye,” he said with amusement.

  “Good,” Evina said with relief, relaxing back on the fur.

  “Would it have been such a trial to try to be nice to me?” he asked with curiosity.

  “Aye,” Evina assured him, and then realizing how that sounded explained, “I’m no’ very good at that sort of thing. If I’m told to be nice to someone, I tend to do the opposite by accident.”