“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 his face and commented, “That’s young to take up mothering the lad.”
Evina relaxed a little and shrugged. “Me own mother had died just weeks before. There was no one else to do it.”
Conran felt his eyebrows raise at this news, but did the math. She was ten when Gavin came at the age of two. He was sixteen now, so Evina was twenty-four . . . and still unmarried. Why?
“Ah, here we are.”
Conran glanced around at Donnan’s words to see that the servant the man had gestured to earlier was pausing before them with a large platter in hand. It held pastries, cheese and fruit, he noted as a second woman appeared with two mugs and a pitcher of what appeared to be cider.
“Thank ye, lassies, but ye’d best fetch another mug for Lady Evina,” Donnan said with a smile as the two women finished setting down their burdens and straightened.
“No mug,” Evina said, moving to settle on the bench next to Conran. “I’ll have mead instead, please, Sally.”
“Aye, m’lady.” The woman who had brought the cider bobbed a curtsy and the two women rushed off.
“Tell me, Lady Maclean, why are ye no’ married?” Conran asked once the servants had moved away.
Evina had raised up off the bench to reach for a pastry on the tray when he’d asked that. She froze briefly at the question, he noted with interest, and then took a pastry and settled back in her seat before answering, “I have. I’m actually Lady MacPherson.”
Conran blinked at the simple words, shock rolling through him. She was married. Dear God and he’d kissed her. She’d kissed him back too.
“The Buchanan says yer father is improved,” Donnan commented into the silence that had fallen.
“Aye. His fever is down,” Evina said easily as if she hadn’t just sent Conran’s world into chaos. Then she added, “And he’s awake. In fact, I was to ask if he could have something to eat?”
Conran stared at her silently, his mind in an uproar. Not one of his thoughts was about her father though. His mind was full of her scent, and the feel and taste of her. Her excited gasps and mewls of sound were still ringing in his ears. He could still taste her on his tongue . . . and she was married .
“Broth perhaps, m’lord?” she asked, curiosity on her face now as she watched him.
Forcing his mind to her question, Conran sucked in a deep breath and turned toward the platter to grab a couple of pastries.
“Broth would be fine,” he growled, standing up with the pastries he’d taken. “I’d appreciate yer asking yer cook to send it up. I need to go check on him now he’s awake.”
Conran didn’t wait for a response, but headed for the stairs at a quick clip, his mind roaring. She is married!
He shouldn’t care, Conran told himself firmly. He hardly knew her. She’d knocked him senseless, kidnapped him, dragged him here trussed up and naked . . . and she kissed like an angel. Or a whore, he supposed. There had been no holding back, no tentativeness to her. She’d opened for him like a flower, spreading her legs and writhing in his arms like a well-trained lightskirt . . . because she was well-skilled, he realized. She was married after all, and apparently free with her favors.
Christ! Where was her husband? Was she as free and easy with every man who visited Maclean? Perhaps he shouldn’t complain. Perhaps he should just take her up on what she offered and bed the woman, scratch the itch that had been raised in him.
It wasn’t the first time a married woman had offered herself to him. Conran had never accepted before. He believed in the sanctity of marriage. But he was tempted this time. Evina was a tasty little bundle and full of passion. He wanted to drink up that passion and bury himself in her eager body.
Just thinking about it had him hard as he mounted the stairs to her father’s room. Conran wanted to strip her gown away and see those full soft breasts he’d touched through the cloth. He wanted to caress and suckle them, and he wanted to bury his face between her thighs and sip of her essence. He wanted her strong legs wrapped around his hips as he thrust into her, and then he wanted to flip her over and take her from behind, pulling her hair as he drove into her. Christ! He wanted her every way it was possible to take a woman.
An image came to mind of her on her knees taking him into her mouth, and Conran stopped at the top of the stairs, battling the urge to turn around, rush down, grab Evina by the hand and lead her someplace where they could do all those things. But then he gave his head a shake and forced himself to continue forward. She was a married woman, with a husband who wouldn’t take kindly to his wife indulging in such things with another man. At least Conran wouldn’t take kindly to her sleeping with someone else if she were his wife. Where the hell was her husband?