“What?” She blinked at him in confusion, her mind still picturing a massive army under half a dozen flags, marching on Maclean.
“I presume Buchanan had a sword with him when ye found him?” her father said grimly.
“Oh, aye. I think so.” Evina added that last bit because she wasn’t at all sure. “If so, Donnan probably has it.”
He nodded. “Then have Donnan fetch it and ye return it to the Buchanan ere ye leave the bailey.”
Evina nodded, but then shifted restlessly and asked, “What if he rides off for home the minute he has his horse and sword back?”
“He will no’,” her father said with certainty, which just rather confused her. He was suggesting the man thought himself a prisoner and would call up the Buchanans—all of the Buchanans under each family name—against them in retaliation. Why wouldn’t the man then flee at the first opportunity to do just that?
“But if he thinks he’s a prisoner here—” she began to argue the point.
“Ye’re going to assure him he’s no’ a prisoner,” her father interrupted firmly. “Say something soothing when ye give him the sword. Tell him that ye just forgot to give it to him ere this.”
Evina smiled wryly at the suggestion. That was the truth after all.
“And then thank him prettily for taking such good care o’ me. Tell him ye appreciate it dearly.”
Also the truth, she thought.
“And try to give him a compliment or two. And smile,” he added, looking her over with a testy frown. “And let yer hair down, lass. Go on, take it out o’ that bun thing ye’re always putting it up in.”
“Why do I have to take it down?” Evina asked with bewilderment as she reached up to unpin her hair.
“Because ye’re much prettier with it down. More womanly.”
Evina paused with half the pins out to gape at him. “What does that matter?”
“Ye catch more flies with honey than vinegar, lass. We want the lad to like ye.”
“What? Why?” she asked with disbelief.
“So he does no’ call up the Buchanans and the Carmichaels, and the Drummonds and—”
“Yes, yes,” she interrupted impatiently, going back to removing pins. If Rory was going to complain about being brought here and demand his family seek vengeance, her wearing her hair down rather than up wouldn’t make a lick of difference, Evina was sure. But she also didn’t think it was good to upset her father just now. He was still recovering from being deathly ill, and she was actually beginning to worry about his faculties. Rory had said did they not get the fever down his brains would boil . . . or had he said something about them turning to pudding? She wasn’t sure; she’d heard it secondhand from Gavin after they came below that first night and she had been exhausted at the time. Perhaps he’d said both, but, whatever the case, she was beginning to think some damage had been done by the high fevers.
Evina’s father never troubled himself with the goings-on at Maclean. He generally left that to her while he rode off to hunt or fish or visit with friends. But now he was involving himself. It was something she had been hoping for, for some time now. Unfortunately, he wasn’t making any sense. He said Rory felt like a prisoner and might seek vengeance, but didn’t worry about his leaving once he had his horse and sword. And he seemed to think that if she was just a little friendlier to the man, Rory would give up any idea of seeking vengeance on them. But her father knew she was no good at toadying to others. Just telling her to be nice to him guaranteed she’d inadvertently insult him the next time they met.
Truly, she was growing very concerned about her father.
“Much better.”
Evina grimaced at that compliment as she finished loosening her hair and quickly finger-brushed it away from her face.
“Ye’re as lovely as yer mother was when I met her.”
Evina frowned at the sadness in his voice, and then glanced toward the door as a knock sounded. As before, the person didn’t wait for a welcome, but opened the door and they both watched Gavin enter, a sack in one hand and a rolled-up fur in the other.
“Cook put together a nice repast, and I grabbed a fur from by the fire below for them to eat their meal on,” the lad announced, moving toward the bed.