Page 21 of The Wrong Highlander (Highland Brides 7)

Evina forced herself to relax, and settled more comfortably in the saddle as he led the horse. It was a much longer distance than she’d initially thought, and she was grateful for his kindness by the time they reached the desired spot.

“Here we are,” he said cheerfully, lifting her off the horse moments later.

“Thank ye,” Evina murmured, turning to unhitch the sack of food from the saddle as he grabbed the fur and quickly unrolled it on the ground. She swung back just in time to see him remove his sword from his waist and lay it on the fur. They then both dropped to sit on it, and Evina glanced around as she set the bag down in front of her. Seated as they were, she couldn’t see over the tall grasses unless she craned her head, she noted, and smiled faintly as it stirred old memories.

“What’s brought on that smile?” the Buchanan asked with interest.

Evina shrugged, and turned her attention to opening the sack of food. “This spot reminds me o’ me brother, Daniel. He used to like to play in places like this—high grass we could creep through and hide from each other in, then leap out and scare each other. ’Twas usually war games,” she explained.

“Ye have a brother?” the Buchanan asked with surprise. “Yer father’s ne’er mentioned him.”

“He would no’. Daniel died when I was eight,” she said softly. “I do no’ think Father ever truly got over it.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and then asked, “How did he die?”

Evina shrugged and began pulling out the food Cook had packed: a roasted pork leg, bread, cheese, boiled eggs, cold boiled potatoes, custard, cherries, a skin of wine and two mugs. Closing the bag once it was empty, she set it aside and finally said, “I’m no’ sure. I was little. He got sick. Healers were brought in. Mother prayed until her knees were bleeding from kneeling, but . . .” She shrugged again. “We lost him.”

“So yer brother died when ye were eight, yer mother when ye were ten . . .” He hesitated and then said, “And ye raised Gavin from two on.”

“Aye.” Evina smiled faintly at the thought of her cousin. He’d been such an adorable little boy. All rosy cheeks and childish laughter. He’d brought sunshine and happiness back to Maclean after weeks of dark misery and mourning. If nothing else, she would always love him for that. Sighing, she watched the Buchanan use a sgian-dubh to carve hunks of meat off the pork leg, and asked, “What about you? Father mentioned ye have brothers?”

“Aye. Six of them now,” he announced, and passed her a hunk of meat on the end of his knife.

“Now?” she asked quietly as she tugged the bit of meat off the sgian-dubh.

“There used to be eight of us boys,” he explained quietly. “But Ewan, the younger twin of our eldest brother, Aulay, died some years back. In battle.”

“I’m sorry,” Evina murmured.

The Buchanan nodded, but said, “We have a sister too. Saidh.”

He stopped talking to take a bite of meat, and they both fell silent for a bit to concentrate on eating. While Evina hadn’t been much interested in food when he’d first suggested stopping, she found herself starved now that they were sitting and the food was laid out. They made a good effort at putting away everything Cook had packed for them, and had turned their attention to the custard and cherries when the Buchanan asked, “So why did yer father no’ wish ye to wear braies and ride astride today?”

Evina took a moment to readjust her mind from the food to conversation. She spent another minute trying to think of an excuse that sounded likely, and then just settled for the truth. It was always easier to go with the truth. No lies to have to remember.

“He thinks ’twill make ye like me more if I’m more ladylike and agreeable,” she admitted, and wasn’t terribly surprised when he stiffened, his eyes widening and then narrowing suspiciously.

“Why would he want that?”

“Because he’s worried about the message ye want to send to yer family,” she admitted. “He’s hoping if ye like us ye’ll be less likely to complain to yer brothers about being kidnapped and will no’ have them lay siege to Maclean to claim recompense,” she said dryly.

The shout of laughter that burst from him startled her slightly, but Evina smiled faintly as she watched him. He had a nice laugh, and his face was positively gorgeous lit up with humor as it presently was.

“But I was no’ kidnapped,” he said once his laughter faded, and then reminded her of her own words when he added, “Ye merely took me because ye felt it unsafe to leave a handsome bastard like meself naked and unconscious in the clearing on me own.”

“I ne’er said handsome,” she protested at once, flushing.

“So ye do no’ find me handsome?” he asked with a wounded expression.

“Well, aye, but—” Evina began with confusion, then cut herself off and scowled at him for tricking her into admitting as much when a grin replaced his feigned upset.

“But?” the Buchanan queried with a crooked smile.

“But ye’re bossy and cranky as old boots too,” she ended, her eyes narrowed.

“Are old boots cranky?” he asked with obvious amusement.

Evina scowled at him and reached for a cherry, but he grabbed the hollowed-out bread loaf Cook had set them in and pulled them out of her reach. Grinning at her consternation, he plucked one up by the stem and held it out toward her.

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