The Wrong Highlander Read online

  “So, he died on the ride home after they were married . . . when she was ten?” Conran asked with a frown.

  “Aye,” the Maclean murmured.

  “But . . . did Evina’s mother no’ die when she was ten too?” he asked, and then answered himself. “Aye, I was told Evina was ten when Gavin came here just weeks after her mother died.”

  “Aye, me dear wife died trying to save the MacPherson lad,” the Maclean said solemnly, and then explained, “We left MacPherson the day after the ceremony and celebrations. All was well the first day and night of travel, but on the second night we made camp by a fast-moving river. ’Twas known to be dangerous, but no one intended to bathe there so we felt ’twould be safe enough. Unfortunately, the boy slipped and fell in while trying to gather water. The current caught him and dragged him under. Mairi, me wife, rushed in to try to save him before we could stop her, and Lachlan, me first at the time, went in after them both, and they all went under. We found their bodies upriver the next day. ’Twas a terrible tragedy.”

  Conran shook his head and breathed out a sigh. It had been a tragedy. The Maclean had lost his wife, and Evina had lost both her mother and husband at the same time. Although he suspected the loss of the husband would not have been as crushing. She probably hadn’t even met him ere the wedding and had only known him a day or two.

  “I’m surprised the marriage was no’ dissolved,” he commented after a moment of silence had passed. “’Twas no’ consummated after all.”

  Fearghas grimaced and nodded. “Aye. The MacPhersons were understandably upset at the loss o’ their son, and blamed us for it. They petitioned to have the marriage annulled and the coin they’d given as a wedding gift returned, but the king refused. He said both sides lost a loved one in the incident, and while the marriage had no’ been consummated ’twas no’ from lack of intent, but through tragedy. The marriage would stand, and the gifts remain with the widow.”

  “So, Evina is a widow who was ne’er truly married,” Conran murmured quietly, and shook his head. He’d never imagined that scenario when he’d been told she was a widow. All he’d been thinking was . . . Well, his thoughts had mostly been about what it freed him to do. And he’d done what he wanted the first chance he’d got, seducing her in a field, and taking her innocence with a complete lack of finesse and not a degree of tenderness. God’s teeth, he’d kissed his way under her skirts, caressed her just until she’d found her first taste of pleasure, and then had thrust into her like a bull goring the first idiot stupid enough to get into his paddock.

  Conran now suspected Evina hadn’t even realized what was happening until it was done. He could still hear her scream of pain and shock, and recall the stunned look on her face when he’d pulled back to peer at her.

  “Is something amiss, lad?” Fearghas asked suddenly. “Ye’re looking a little green around the gills.”

  “I . . . Nay,” Conran muttered, and stood abruptly. “I need to think. I mean sleep,” he corrected himself quickly as he headed for the door. “Call me if she wakes, or needs me.”

  He didn’t wait for the old man’s response, but slid from the room and then just stopped and stood there in the hall, unsure where to go. He didn’t have a room here. Evina was going to arrange one when they got back, but . . . There was nowhere he could go and think.

  “Ye’ll be wanting a room.”

  Conran glanced around at that comment to see Tildy bustling toward him.

  “Aye. Please,” he murmured.

  “The laird asked me to prepare one fer ye while ye were out collecting weeds,” the maid said, moving past him. “Follow me.”

  Turning, he fell into step behind her as she led him past the chamber next to Evina’s room. As they passed the closed door, she murmured, “That’s Gavin’s room if ye’re wanting to check on him later.”

  Conran glanced at it, but didn’t slow. He would check the lad later, but just to see that his wound had been properly cleaned and he couldn’t see any sign of infection. Although he wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell until infection set in. Rory might have, but he didn’t have enough experience.

  “This will be yer room.”

  Conran turned his attention forward again to see Tildy pausing at the next door. He followed her inside and glanced around with curiosity. There was a large bed, a small table by the window with a pitcher and ewer on it and a presently empty fireplace.

  “Donnan brought yer sword and saddlebag in here while ye were tending to Lady Evina, and the laird ordered some shirts and plaids to be provided for ye. He said to apologize fer no’ thinking o’ it ere this,” Tildy said solemnly. “I’ve already ordered food to be brought up fer ye and a bath. Betsy will help ye in the bath, if ye like?”

  “Nay,” Conran said at once. “I can manage the bath on me own. Thank ye.”

  The woman beamed at him, obviously pleased at his refusal of Betsy’s help. In fact, if he were the suspicious sort, he would have said it had been a test to see if he’d dally with the castle lightskirt.

  “Oh, that must be yer bath,” Tildy said as a tap sounded at the door behind her. Turning, she opened it and stepped aside to allow servants to carry in a large tub and pail after pail of water. The last servant to enter was Betsy, and Tildy stepped in front of her. “He said he’d no’ be needing yer help.”

  “Oh, nay,” Betsy protested, trying to skirt around the woman, her gaze locking on Conran when Tildy blocked her again. “Please, m’laird, I’d be happy to bathe a handsome, strapping man like yerself, and I’m ever so good at it. I’d clean ye real well, especially those parts others neglect.”

  Conran merely shook his head and turned his back to watch the servants pouring water into the tub. He didn’t like to be rude, but he’d already had to refuse Betsy once and knew she could be hard to put off. She was the persistent sort.

  “Come on now, Bets,” Tildy said firmly. “Out with ye. He’s no’ wanting yer help.”

  “But he’s so handsome,” Betsy complained as Tildy ushered her out of the room. “And he’s young too. He’s the kind o’ man ’tis a pleasure to . . .”

  Tildy closed the door on the rest of the woman’s words and moved back to stand beside him to oversee the filling of the bath. She then ushered everyone out, assuring him, “I’ll have Cook wait a bit on sending up yer meal, so it does no’ cool while ye bathe.”

  “Thank ye,” Conran said, and unpinned his plaid the moment the door closed. He was shrugging out of his shirt even as the heavy cloth slid to the floor. A glance down then made him pause. If there had been any question of Evina’s innocence, the dried blood on his cock answered that question. He had definitely breached her maiden’s veil.

  “Damn,” he muttered, and stepped over the side of the tub to sink into the water and wash away the proof.

  It seemed things weren’t as simple as he’d thought they were when he’d discovered Evina was a widow. Not simple at all.

  Pain was the first thing Evina was aware of, a bone-deep throbbing in her upper chest that she knew at once would not pass quickly. Biting back a groan, she opened her eyes to see what was causing it and blinked in surprise as she found herself staring at the light blue drapes around her bed. She was in her room, Evina realized, and was surprised by that for some reason. The last thing she recalled . . . Oh, yes, the Buchanan telling her to hang on, they’d be there soon. Here, she presumed, and glanced down at her chest. The arrow was no longer there. At least, the furs covering her were lying flat on top of her chest.

  “Evi!”

  She glanced to the side at that startled gasp, and blinked when she saw the Buchanan sitting up from a slumped position in a chair next to the bed. His expression was relieved, she noted as he shifted to the edge of his chair and leaned forward.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry,” he said with a sincerity and regret that made her eyebrows raise.

  “For what?” she asked with confusion, her voice raspy and dry. Her throat hurt too with the effort, but she added, “
Ye did no’ shoot the arrow.”

  “Nay, no’ for that,” he said on a sigh. “For what happened ere that.”

  “Oh,” Evina said weakly, flushing as she recalled what he was referring to. The very brief experience that had started as all passion and pleasure and very quickly ended in pain and regret.

  “I thought ye an experienced widow who would enjoy a dalliance,” he explained apologetically. “I had no idea ye yet retained yer innocence.”

  She stared at him blankly. He’d thought she’d enjoy a dalliance? What did that mean? The answer seemed obvious enough. His only interest had been in bedding her a time or two while here, and then he’d planned to ride off back to Buchanan, or somewhere else to dally with some other widow or such. She was just another Betsy to him . . . to be bedded and left behind.

  Evina supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. They hardly knew each other, and her behavior had hardly demanded respectful treatment. She never should have let him even kiss her, let alone touch and suckle her breast, and she should have slapped him silly the minute she felt his hand under her skirts. Instead, she’d moaned and pleaded and egged him on, eager to experience what he was offering.

  Well, Evina thought grimly, she’d had her experience, and a terrible disappointment it had been too. Not that she hadn’t found pleasure, but it had been so fleeting it was hardly worth the pain that had followed, or the self-disgust and regret she felt now.

  “Evi?”

  She peered down at his hand as he clasped hers and then tugged her hand free. She had no interest in listening to his false apologies. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done, so much as for the fact that she hadn’t been the experienced woman he’d thought her. He was just scared she would demand something of him, marriage perhaps, to satisfy her honor. But Evina had no interest in marrying him . . . or anyone else for that matter. She just wanted him to go away so she could forget this whole, awful experience.

  “Evina?” he said now with concern.

  “’Tis fine,” she murmured huskily, unable to even look at him. “’Twas a lesson learned. I am fine. Just tired. I’d like to sleep now.”

  A surprised silence followed, but Evina didn’t look at him. She just wanted him to go. Unfortunately, he didn’t appear to be of the same mind.

  “I’m afraid we have to talk about this,” he said quietly. “I took yer innocence.”

  Evina shifted impatiently. “I’m aware o’ that, m’lord. I was there. But ’tis fine. I was no’ planning to marry again anyway, and I certainly would no’ now that I ken how unpleasant the marriage bed would be.”

  The abrupt way he jerked upright drew her gaze around and she noted his expression. He couldn’t have looked more pained had she actually slapped him. Her words had obviously hurt his pride. Apparently, he’d thought the experience would be pleasurable for her. She couldn’t imagine why. Everyone knew only the man found pleasure in the bedding.

  “Evina,” he began with a frown, and then paused and glanced toward the door as it opened.

  “Oh, Lord Buchanan, ye are in here,” Tildy said with surprise. “The laird said ye probably would be, but I felt sure ye’d be in yer room. When I didn’t find ye there though, I—”

  “Is there something ye wanted, Tildy?” Evina interrupted quietly, hoping the maid would take the Buchanan away and save her from any more of this humiliating conversation. She just wanted to forget the whole thing. Why wouldn’t he just go away and let her? she wondered, and then became aware of the stunned silence in the room, and focused on the maid to see her gaping at her, a combination of joy and surprise on her face. The moment their gazes met though, the woman rushed forward.

  “Oh, m’lady! Ye’re awake! Thank the saints!”

  “Aye, she is,” the Buchanan said on a sigh as the old servant reached the bed, and bent to hug Evina. “She just woke up, in fact. And could probably use something to drink. Do ye think ye could fetch her some mead?”

  “Aye,” Tildy said, straightening and whirling back toward the door, only to stop after a couple of steps and spin back. “Oh! The laird sent me to fetch ye, Lord Buchanan. He wishes to see ye.”

  “Fine,” he said grimly.

  When the maid remained where she was, waiting, he glanced back and scowled. “Ye’ve passed along the message. Ye can go and fetch that mead now.”

  Tildy hesitated and then asked, “But what should I tell the laird? He wanted me to bring ye back.”

  “Tell him I’m speaking to his daughter and will join him in a moment.”

  “Very well,” Tildy said on a sigh. Turning to the door, she added, “But I would no’ take long if I were you. Yer brothers do no’ seem the patient sorts.”

  “Me brothers?” Conran said sharply, standing up.

  Tildy stopped in the door and swung back. “Aye. They arrived just ere dawn, and have been arguing with the laird ever since. Now they’ve asked to see ye.” Turning back to the door, she added, “But I’ll tell them—”

  “I’m coming!” Conran interrupted, quickly moving around the bed.

  “That ye’re coming,” Tildy finished with satisfaction as she held the door open for him to leave the room. Once he’d disappeared down the hall, she turned back to smile at Evina. “I’ll be right back with that mead.”

  “Nay, wait!” Evina called as the maid started to close the door. When the old woman paused and swung back, one eyebrow raised, she waved her over. Tildy hesitated, and then stepped back inside and closed the door.

  “What is it, m’lady?” Tildy asked kindly as she approached the bed. “Are ye hungry too? O’ course ye are. I’ll fetch ye some food too. Or mayhap broth. Would ye like me to find some pillows to prop behind ye so ye can sit up?”

  “Nay. Thank ye though.” Evina managed a grateful smile, and then said, “Ye mentioned the Buchanans are here and have been arguing with Da since arriving?”

  “Aye,” Tildy said dryly. “And they’re a loud bunch. Woke me from a sound sleep before the sun was even up. I’ve been running ever since.”

  “What are they arguing about?” Evina asked the moment the maid fell silent.

  Tildy made a face. “I could no’ hear. I tried, but yer father posted Gavin in the hall to keep anyone from getting too close.”

  “Gavin?” Evina said softly as she recalled thinking she’d seen him in the clearing.

  “Aye, the poor lad. And him still healing from that wound he took to the arm while fighting off those bandits with the Buchanan. I told him he should really go rest and let his arm heal. I said I’d stand guard in the hall in his stead, but he was having none of that,” she said with disgruntlement.

  “He was there in the clearing,” Evina murmured with a frown.

  “Aye. ’Tis lucky he came across the two o’ ye when he did and could help the Buchanan fight off those bandits.”

  “Why was he out there?” Evina asked, recalling her father saying he had a task for him. As she recalled, that task was why Gavin couldn’t go in her stead to show the Buchanan where to find the weeds he needed.

  “Oh. Well, I do no’ ken,” she admitted. “Young Gavin was hurrying out o’ yer da’s room as I arrived to sit with him that day.”

  Evina lowered her head unhappily, her mind awash with confusion.

  “I did hear yer da say, ‘Do no’ lose them and report what ye see back to me,’ as Gavin came out the door though,” Tildy admitted. “And then the lad rushed below and out of the keep.”

  Evina jerked her head back up at this news. “Do no’ lose who?”

  “I do no’ ken,” Tildy admitted with a shrug.

  Evina frowned, suspecting she did know and that it was she and Rory he’d sent Gavin to watch. What was her father up to? He was the one who had sent her out with the man. Why then send Gavin to watch them? Shaking her head, she muttered, “And now the Buchanans are here?”

  “Aye, and are they no’ a strapping bunch o’ lads,” Tildy said with awe. “’Tis like standing in a forest o’ tall trees to be in
the same room with ’em.”

  “Hmm, I did no’ think Rory had sent his letter yet,” Evina muttered. “Apparently, he had though, and he did complain after all to his brothers about how he came to be here.”

  “Oh, nay, Lord Buchanan has no’ sent a letter yet. I ken yer father assured him he’d send a courier with it, but the poor lad ne’er got the chance to write it. He’s been sitting watch over ye since the attack. He ne’er got around to writing a message to be sent.”

  Evina’s eyes widened at this news. “Then why are the Buchanans here?”

  “I think yer da sent fer them,” Tildy admitted.

  “What?” she asked with amazement. “Why?”

  “I do no’ ken, but after I finished tending Gavin’s wound, yer father sent me away so he could talk to him. He spent an hour in his room, and then came out and sent for his seal. A courier left ere the sup with the message he wrote, and now the Buchanans are here, so I’m assuming he sent fer them.”

  “He sent for them last night and they are here already?” she asked with surprise, thinking the messenger should not even have arrived at Buchanan yet. Mayhap they’d somehow got wind that Rory was here, and had already been on the way when they encountered the messenger. Or mayhap they came and missed the messenger entirely.

  “Nay. He sent a messenger out four nights ago,” Tildy corrected her gently. “Ye’ve slept through four nights and three days, lass.”

  “I did?” she asked with dismay.

  “Aye,” the maid said solemnly. “I was beginning to fear ye’d ne’er wake, so was most pleased to see yer eyes open when I came in.”

  Evina smiled at her faintly, but the expression was quickly replaced with a frown as she considered what her father could be up to. If he’d sent her and Rory out to pick weeds and sent Gavin to watch them . . . Had he been hoping to catch them at something they shouldn’t have been doing? If so, then Gavin had no doubt had an earful to tell him, she thought with alarm. And then her father had sent for the Buchanans to . . .

  “Oh, dear God,” Evina breathed, and pushed aside the furs covering her.