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