“Aye. There is,” she responded at once, and pointed out, “I have to prepare the room fer Laird and Lady Drummond to use this night.”
“Oh, aye,” Evina murmured, and moved to the bed to help when the maid started to strip linens from the bed.
“Ger off with ye,” Tildy said at once. “Ye’ll wrinkle yer gown or muss yer hair. Just go settle yerself at the table and wait.”
Evina frowned, but did as she was told and moved to sit cautiously at the table by the fire. But she felt less than useless just sitting there watching the maid work.
“They’re a nice lot o’ women,” Tildy commented solemnly, carrying the dirty linens to the door and dropping them in a heap next to it.
“Aye,” Evina agreed as she watched her collect clean linens from one of the chests and start to remake the bed.
“And they’ve already accepted ye as one o’ their own,” Tildy added as she worked. “‘Twill be nice fer ye to have female family again.”
Evina’s eyes widened slightly at the comment and then she frowned as she tried to sort out the tone in Tildy’s voice. It wasn’t resentful, so much as regretful, which she didn’t understand. The old woman was obviously upset somehow, but since she didn’t know why or what about, she wasn’t sure how to comfort her. Evina stood, and moved toward the bed, trying to get a better look at the woman’s face, but suspected Tildy was deliberately keeping it turned away from her. In the end, she simply went with her last words and said, “Ye’re female and family, Tildy.”
“Nay, lass,” Tildy said, that quiet regret deepening in her voice, and then she straightened and met her gaze as she admitted, “I’ve always thought o’ meself as family to ye, and I’ve been with ye yer whole life, it’s true, but as I watched them all embrace ye just now, I realized I ne’er once offered ye that kind o’ comfort meself. No even the day yer mother died, and ye were just a wee lass, sobbing fit to burst.”
Evina turned slowly as she watched her move about the room straightening this and dusting down that. She was remembering the day in question, and what Tildy said was true. And it wasn’t. Clearing her throat, she pointed out, “That’s as may be, Tildy, but as I recall, ye mopped up me tears when I finished weeping, set me in the wagon and sat beside me fer the rest o’ the journey home, offering me silent comfort.”
When Tildy merely frowned slightly at the words and continued puttering around gathering the yellow gown she’d originally planned to wear, and her dirty tunic, Evina added, “And ye were always there to tend me injuries and wounds when I fell or hurt meself too . . . and to nag at me to eat before I ran off to order the men about, or give me the stink-eye when I was misbehaving. Ye are family, Tildy,” she assured her gently. “Hugging is just no’ yer way.”
“Aye, well . . .” Tildy shifted, looking uncomfortable, and then shook her head. “But I should ha’e made it me way. Ye were just a child, lass, and I let ye down as badly as yer father did. He left ye to fend fer yerself tending to Gavin and running the keep, and I did no’ give ye the affection every child needs. Between the two o’ us, ’tis no wonder ye did no’ want to marry and depend on someone else who might let ye down, and I’m sorry fer that,” she said with agitation.
Evina shook her head at once. “That is no’ why I didn’t want to marry. I didn’t wish to risk a husband like the MacPherson brat, or one who might beat me like Uncle Garrick did Aunt Glenna.”
“Oh, lass,” Tildy said, straightening to eye her with exasperation. “Ye can tell yer da that to spare his feelings do ye wish it, and ye can even tell yerself that so ye needn’t think on it, but ye can no’ fool me. Were a man foolish enough to hit ye, ye’d hit him right back, and no doubt knock him on his sorry arse. I’ve seen ye do it often enough to the soldiers when they were in their cups and got lippy,” she pointed out. “I suspect that’s half the reason ye trained so hard in battle with