Page 15 of The Wrong Highlander (Highland Brides 7)

Conran nodded and set the empty bag on the table, then began to rub the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he pondered what to do about having lost all of Rory’s weeds. Obviously, he needed to replace them, and quickly. The Maclean was on the mend and would survive without them, but Rory would need them. His brother was probably fretting up a storm over his disappearing without delivering them to Buchanan as he promised he would. That would have been the first telltale sign that all was not well and he had not left willingly.

“No’ to worry though,” the Maclean said now. “I’ve arranged to fix the problem.”

Conran let his hand drop from his face and turned in question to the man. “How?”

Fearghas opened his mouth, and then paused and smiled as a tap sounded at the door. “I’ll wager there’s the answer now.”

Curious, Conran turned toward the door as it opened, his eyebrows rising when Evina entered with a tray in hand and Gavin on her heels.

“Thank ye,” Evina murmured to Gavin as he opened the door and held it for her. She took several steps into the room and then slowed when she noted that Conran was still with her father. Usually he was out and below at table by now, leaving the way clear for her to take her noon meal with her father. It was what he’d done the last four days since their encounter in this room. She’d just assumed he’d continue the practice, and when she’d noticed he wasn’t at table yet as she’d carried the tray across the great hall, she had assumed he was simply in the garderobe or something. She’d been wrong.

Raising her chin, Evina continued forward and forced a smile to her lips. Keeping her tone light, she said, “They’re serving the noon repast below, so I brought up lunch for Father.” Focusing her gaze on her father only, she added, “We can eat together while Lord Buchanan goes below to take a break and enjoy his meal. As usual.”

Evina winced as the last words slipped out. Even to her they sounded a bit snippy, almost accusatory, as if she were commenting on the fact that he was still there and she didn’t like it.

“That’s sweet, me dear, but there’s going to be a change in routine today,” Laird Maclean announced, sounding suspiciously cheerful, she thought, and wished she could see his expression. That was the one thing most annoying about his constantly lying on his stomach to avoid pressure on his bottom. She could never see his expressions when they talked, and they’d talked a lot the last few days. Mostly about the Buchanan. Her father was constantly asking her questions about the man, or telling her things about him. She had begun to suspect the man was up to something. She still did.

“What change in routine are we having?” Evina asked warily, stopping next to the bed with the tray.

“Our healer needs more weeds,” her father announced. “Ye need to show him where to get them.”

“What?” she asked with alarm. “But he had a whole saddlebag full of weeds. He—”

“I fear they were lost this morn when one of the lassies knocked it over while changing me bed linens,” her father said, raising himself up so he could turn to look at her. “Unfortunately, they got mixed in with the rushes and had to be disposed of.”

“But . . .” Evina turned a blank expression to him. “I was here when they changed the linens. I do no’ recall—”

“I only noticed after ye left the room,” he said easily. “I had the maid clean it up when she returned with me emptied and clean bedpan. Ye’d left by then,” he added with a shrug, letting his head drop again. “Regardless, he ca no’ heal without his medicinals, so ye’ll have to take him out and help him hunt up more.”

Evina frowned, and shifted on her feet. Avoiding looking at the Buchanan, she finally said, “Fine. I’m sure Gavin can take him out to—”

“Nonsense,” her father interrupted at once. “The lad does no’ ken the first thing about weeds and where to find them. Besides, I have another job for him.”

“But . . .” She cast around desperately for an excuse, and then held up the tray. “What about the nooning meal? I was going to eat with ye and ye should no’ be left alone—”

“Tildy can sit with me,” he interrupted again.

“Tildy?” Evina said with amazement. Her father generally avoided any situation where he might have to be alone with the woman for more than a couple minutes. The maid had been mooning after him for years and her father acted like her affection might be infectious, avoiding her like she was a leper, and yet this was the second time he’d willingly arranged for her company.

“Aye. Tildy,” the Maclean said firmly. “That way, ye can go without worrying.” Apparently, thinking the situation was decided then, he lifted his head and turned to look at her cousin. “Gavin, go down and ask Cook to pack a lunch for yer cousin and the Buchanan. They can take it with them and eat as they hunt for medicinals.”

“Aye, Uncle.” Gavin headed out of the room at once, casting Evina an apologetic look as he went. He seemed to know she was not pleased with this turn of events.

“Rory, lad, why do ye no’ go ask Donnan to speak to the stable master to arrange for yer and Evina’s horses to be saddled,” her father suggested now. “I’d have a word with me daughter.”

“O’ course.” The Buchanan grabbed his empty saddlebag and turned to leave the room.

Evina frowned after him. The man had been smiling. She hadn’t seen him smile in . . . well, she didn’t think she’d actually seen him smile once since encountering him in the clearing five days ago. At least, his expression whenever he’d seen her the last four days had been hard and closed . . . ever since that kiss here in this room when she’d acted such a tart, she thought on a sigh.

“Evina.”

Blinking her thoughts away, she glanced to her father uncertainly.

“Come. Set the tray down on the bedside table,” he instructed solemnly.

Mouth tightening, Evina did as he ordered. She eased the tray onto the table, carefully pushing the few items on it across its surface with the tray itself until they all fit on it.

“Now, sit for a minute,” he said when she’d finished the task.

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