Evina nodded, but then shifted restlessly and asked, “What if he rides off for home the minute he has his horse and sword back?”
“He will no’,” her father said with certainty, which just rather confused her. He was suggesting the man thought himself a prisoner and would call up the Buchanans—all of the Buchanans under each family name—against them in retaliation. Why wouldn’t the man then flee at the first opportunity to do just that?
“But if he thinks he’s a prisoner here—” she began to argue the point.
“Ye’re going to assure him he’s no’ a prisoner,” her father interrupted firmly. “Say something soothing when ye give him the sword. Tell him that ye just forgot to give it to him ere this.”
Evina smiled wryly at the suggestion. That was the truth after all.
“And then thank him prettily for taking such good care o’ me. Tell him ye appreciate it dearly.”
Also the truth, she thought.
“And try to give him a compliment or two. And smile,” he added, looking her over with a testy frown. “And let yer hair down, lass. Go on, take it out o’ that bun thing ye’re always putting it up in.”
“Why do I have to take it down?” Evina asked with bewilderment as she reached up to unpin her hair.
“Because ye’re much prettier with it down. More womanly.”
Evina paused with half the pins out to gape at him. “What does that matter?”
“Ye catch more flies with honey than vinegar, lass. We want the lad to like ye.”
“What? Why?” she asked with disbelief.
“So he does no’ call up the Buchanans and the Carmichaels, and the Drummonds and—”
“Yes, yes,” she interrupted impatiently, going back to removing pins. If Rory was going to complain about being brought here and demand his family seek vengeance, her wearing her hair down rather than up wouldn’t make a lick of difference, Evina was sure. But she also didn’t think it was good to upset her father just now. He was still recovering from being deathly ill, and she was actually beginning to worry about his faculties. Rory had said did they not get the fever down his brains would boil . . . or had he said something about them turning to pudding? She wasn’t sure; she’d heard it secondhand from Gavin after they came below that first night and she had been exhausted at the time. Perhaps he’d said both, but, whatever the case, she was beginning to think some damage had been done by the high fevers.
Evina’s father never troubled himself with the goings-on at Maclean. He generally left that to her while he rode off to hunt or fish or visit with friends. But now he was involving himself. It was something she had been hoping for, for some time now. Unfortunately, he wasn’t making any sense. He said Rory felt like a prisoner and might seek vengeance, but didn’t worry about his leaving once he had his horse and sword. And he seemed to think that if she was just a little friendlier to the man, Rory would give up any idea of seeking vengeance on them. But her father knew she was no good at toadying to others. Just telling her to be nice to him guaranteed she’d inadvertently insult him the next time they met.
Truly, she was growing very concerned about her father.
“Much better.”
Evina grimaced at that compliment as she finished loosening her hair and quickly finger-brushed it away from her face.
“Ye’re as lovely as yer mother was when I met her.”
Evina frowned at the sadness in his voice, and then glanced toward the door as a knock sounded. As before, the person didn’t wait for a welcome, but opened the door and they both watched Gavin enter, a sack in one hand and a rolled-up fur in the other.
“Cook put together a nice repast, and I grabbed a fur from by the fire below for them to eat their meal on,” the lad announced, moving toward the bed.
“Good thinking, lad. Give them to Evina so she can go. The horses are probably saddled by now, and the Buchanan waiting.”
Evina accepted the sack and rolled-up fur, and then frowned and glanced to her father.
“Go on,” he said encouragingly, and when she turned to leave the room, he added, “And remember what I said, make him like ye.”
“Make him like me,” Evina muttered as she closed the door.
“Make who like ye, m’lady?”
Evina glanced around sharply at the question, and grimaced when she saw Tildy approaching up the hall.
“The Buchanan,” she said wearily, heading for the stairs. “Father’s sending me out to look for medicinals with Rory and wants me to be nice and make him like me so he will no’ call up his brothers’ armies to punish us for bringing him here.”
“Oh, he would no’ do that, I’m sure,” Tildy said at once, falling into step beside her. “As fer making him like ye, that should no’ be hard. I think he likes ye well enough already.”
“The Buchanan?” she asked with amazement, and when Tildy nodded, Evina shook her head. “He’s always cold and stern around me.”
“Well, that’s a man for ye, hiding their feelings and such. But he’s always looking at ye when he thinks ye are no’ looking back,” she informed her lightly. “And that’s a sure sign o’ liking.”
“Really?” Evina asked with interest as they reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the great hall doors.
“Aye, but then ye do the same when ye think he is no’ looking too,” Tildy announced.
Evina flushed with embarrassment, but didn’t comment. What could she say? She did look at the Buchanan when he was looking elsewhere. She couldn’t help it. He was very handsome, and she kept remembering his kissing and touching her and . . . well, then she’d peer at him. Probably with a stupid longing-type look as she wished he’d kiss her again. There was no way she could explain that. It was beyond Evina how she could lust after a man she didn’t even know, let alone like.
“If ye’re going to be out hunting up weeds with the Buchanan, who’s sitting with yer da?”
“Ye are,” Evina said wryly.
“Really?” Tildy practically squealed, and Evina smiled with amusement. The woman was obviously pleased at the thought that he’d actually requested her presence again. Although Evina suspected her father hadn’t really intended for the woman to sit with him. She didn’t think he would have sent for Tildy once she was gone. But now he didn’t have to. She’d done it for him.
“Aye, that’s what he said,” Evina assured her. “I took a meal up for the two of us and he said nay, he’d have it with you, as I was to go look for medicinals with the Buchanan.”
“Oh, goodness,” she said breathlessly, her cheeks flushing. “I’d best get up there, then.”
“Aye,” Evina agreed easily.
“Have a nice time looking for weeds,” Tildy said excitedly, and turned to rush away.
Evina smiled with amusement at the thought of her father’s consternation when Tildy showed up ready to eat with him. Her smile faded though when she reached the keep doors and she stared from it to her full hands. She was just shifting the fur and sack to free one hand when the door open and Donnan started in.
“Oh, m’lady.” He stopped just in time to avoid trampling her, and then glanced down to the items in her hands and reached to take them. “Let me get those fer ye, m’lady.”