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.
Nay. She didn’t want to go anywhere near Rory Buchanan again. Unfortunately, her father had just ordered her to. She watched Donnan approach the man and knew that he was doing so only because the Buchanan was all alone. He was taking up her hostess duties in her absence, she acknowledged with shame, and started down the stairs.
“How’s he doing?”
Conran glanced to the large man who had just settled on the bench beside him.
Donnan. The Maclean’s first. A huge bull of a man who he was coming to realize was as wise as he was big. A rare combination. Men of this soldier’s size generally didn’t have smarts to go along with their brawn. But this man had said and done a couple things while they’d worked at cooling down Fearghas last night that had made Conran think he might be an exception to that rule.
“Better,” he said finally, realizing the soldier was still awaiting an answer. “He is no’ out o’ the woods yet, but his fever has gone down quite a bit.”
“Good,” Donnan said, relaxing slightly and glancing around before gesturing at a passing servant. The woman smiled and nodded as she flew by and Donnan returned his gaze to Conran. “How’s yer head?”
“Oh.” Conran raised a hand to feel the knot on the side of his forehead where Evina had slammed her sword hilt into him, and then to the one on the back of his head where he’d apparently hit it on falling off his horse. They both felt a little smaller than they’d been when he’d woken up here last evening. The aching, thankfully, had ended shortly after waking.
“Fine,” Conran said finally. “I’m a fast healer.”
Donnan nodded, and then suddenly said, “Lady Evina would no’ have hit ye but she was worried about ye drowning Gavin.”
“He’s important to her, is he?” Conran asked, trying to sound uncaring, but aware that he was suffering a touch of a jealousy he really had no right to. He barely knew the woman.
“Everyone here at Maclean is important to Lady Evina,” Donnan said solemnly.
“O’ course,” Conran murmured, relaxing, until the man continued.
“Although Gavin is mayhap a little more important than most. At least, she tends to favor him.”
“Does she?” he asked grimly.
“Aye. But then there’s good reason.”
“I’m sure there is,” Conran said dryly.
“He is her first cousin and she did raise him after his parents died,” Donnan added.
Conran glanced at him with a start. “How could she have raised him? He’s older than her, is he no’? He looks older.”
Donnan grinned and shook his head. “Gavin’s a big boy for his age, carries himself well, and his facial hair came in early, but the lad’s only sixteen.”
“Good God!” Conran said with true amazement. He would have guessed the boy was at least twenty-five. “How old was he when his parents died?”
“Two,” Donnan answered.
“And Lady Evina was . . . ?”
“Ten.”
The answer came from over Conran’s left shoulder and in a woman’s voice. He turned his head slowly, unsurprised to find Evina standing behind him.
Nodding a silent greeting, he let his gaze rove over her. There was still a hint of hectic color in her cheeks. From their tumble on the bed? He wanted to think so. Certainly, that was why her hair was mussed and her gown wrinkled. She looked like she’d just tumbled from bed, or been tumbled on one, Conran thought with an inner smile, and only wished they hadn’t been interrupted. Although he supposed he should be grateful they had. Evina was a lady, the daughter of the laird here. She wasn’t to be trifled with.
“I was ten when Gavin came to us,” Evina added quietly now.
Realizing he’d been sitting there ogling her, Conran forced a polite smile to