elsewhere, and MacMurray would except ye at once.”
Evina frowned and lowered her head, her thoughts whirling as she considered everything. Her father was right. Conran had been rather good about her kidnapping him. He’d told her at their picnic that he had no intention of complaining about it to his brothers. And he hadn’t. Her father had. Besides, she could hardly fault him for thinking her an experienced widow. She was the one who had told him she’d been married.
And then, if she considered his perspective, he’d been set up. Really, they both had. Her father had arranged an excuse to send them off on their own, and then sent Gavin to bear witness to force the man to marry her. By all rights, Conran should be stomping about, shouting and screaming about being set up so. Instead, he was willing to marry her.
“I’d rather ye marry the Buchanan, lass,” her father said now. “I think ye could be happy with him, but if it does no’ work as I think ‘twill and ye’re no’ happy . . .”
“We could always kill him,” she suggested.
Her father bent a dry look on her, and shook his head. “’Tis a good thing I ken ye well, and ken that was a joke.”
Evina merely grimaced. It had been a joke . . . mostly.
“Nay, if it does no’ work, ye may no’ have to live with him.”
Evina jerked her head back with surprise. “What?”
“Well, if he proves unkind or unbearable, we can always send him out to live in the hunting lodge on the edge o’ Maclean land.”
“But he thinks he would be yer heir and run Maclean when ye die,” she pointed out.
“I made that offer to Rory Buchanan, no’ Conran, and we have no’ written up the contracts yet. Changes can be made,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll put off writing up the marriage contract for a couple weeks while ye get to ken him.”
“A couple weeks?” Evina asked dubiously, wondering how he would put off the Buchanans for that long.
“Aulay Buchanan said ‘twould probably take that long for his sister and brothers and their mates to get here,” he explained. “They want to hold the wedding until they can all attend.”
“Oh,” Evina said, relaxing a bit. She didn’t have to decide anything right away. She had two weeks to sort out her future. That was something at least.
“I’ll go fetch Donnan to carry ye back to yer room,” he murmured, moving toward the door.
Evina almost told him not to bother and assured him she could manage on her own, but then thought better of it. Getting here with Tildy’s help had been a struggle. Her father was still recovering and couldn’t help her himself, and as much as she hated to admit it, she wouldn’t make it back on her own.
“Oh! Buchanan.”
Evina glanced around at her father’s startled words to see Conran Buchanan framed in the doorway.
Conran nodded solemnly and said, “It occurred to me that Evina might need help getting back to her room when ye’re done talking, so I thought I’d wait out here.”
“Oh, aye.” Her father glanced back at her in question, and Evina sighed, but then nodded. She was supposed to get to know him and she only had two weeks to do it. She may as well start now.
Turning back to the door, her father opened it wider. “Come on in, then. We are done talking and she is no doubt tired.”
Conran nodded, entered the room and crossed to where she sat.
Evina started to get up, but paused and gasped as pain assailed her again. She then released another gasp as Conran scooped her up in his arms, plaid and all.
“Ye should no’ be walking, lass,” he said quietly, cradling her against his chest and turning toward the door. “Ye’ve been sore wounded and need to heal. Ye could be pulling yer stitches out running about like this.”
“I did no’ exactly run here,” Evina pointed out, keeping herself as stiff in his arms as she could.
“Nay, ye did no’,” Conran conceded, nodding to her father as he walked past him.
Evina didn’t respond and they fell silent as he carried her down the hall to her room. But once there, she stiffened even further in his arms and glanced around with a frown. “Me door is open.”
“Aye, I opened it ere I came to stand outside yer father’s room. I thought ‘twould be easier than trying to open it with me arms full, or making