“Aye, me dear wife died trying to save the MacPherson lad,” the Maclean said solemnly, and then explained, “We left MacPherson the day after the ceremony and celebrations. All was well the first day and night of travel, but on the second night we made camp by a fast-moving river.
’Twas known to be dangerous, but no one intended to bathe there so we felt ‘twould be safe enough. Unfortunately, the boy slipped and fell in while trying to gather water. The current caught him and dragged him under. Mairi, me wife, rushed in to try to save him before we could stop her, and Lachlan, me first at the time, went in after them both, and they all went under. We found their bodies upriver the next day. ’Twas a terrible tragedy.”
Conran shook his head and breathed out a sigh. It had been a tragedy. The Maclean had lost his wife, and Evina had lost both her mother and husband at the same time. Although he suspected the loss of the husband would not have been as crushing. She probably hadn’t even met him ere the wedding and had only known him a day or two.
“I’m surprised the marriage was no’ dissolved,” he commented after a moment of silence had passed. “’Twas no’ consummated after all.”
Fearghas grimaced and nodded. “Aye. The MacPhersons were understandably upset at the loss o’ their son, and blamed us for it. They petitioned to have the marriage annulled and the coin they’d given as a wedding gift returned, but the king refused. He said both sides lost a loved one in the incident, and while the marriage had no’ been consummated ’twas no’ from lack of intent, but through tragedy. The marriage would stand, and the gifts remain with the widow.”
“So, Evina is a widow who was ne’er truly married,” Conran murmured quietly, and shook his head. He’d never imagined that scenario when he’d been told she was a widow. All he’d been thinking was . . . Well, his thoughts had mostly been about what it freed him to do. And he’d done what he wanted the first chance he’d got, seducing her in a field, and taking her innocence with a complete lack of finesse and not a degree of tenderness. Cripes, he’d kissed his way under her skirts, caressed her just until she’d found her first taste of pleasure, and then had thrust into her like a bull goring the first idiot stupid enough to get into his paddock.
Conran now suspected Evina hadn’t even realized what was happening until it was done. He could still hear her scream of pain and shock, and recall the stunned look on her face when he’d pulled back to peer at her.
“Is something amiss, lad?” Fearghas asked suddenly. “Ye’re looking a little green around the gills.”
“I . . . Nay,” Conran muttered, and stood abruptly. “I need to think. I mean sleep,” he corrected himself quickly as he headed for the door. “Call me if she wakes, or needs me.”
He didn’t wait for the old man’s response, but slid from the room and then just stopped and stood there in the hall, unsure where to go. He didn’t have a room here. Evina was going to arrange one when they got back, but . . . There was nowhere he could go and think.
“Ye’ll be wanting a room.”
Conran glanced around at that comment to see Tildy bustling toward him.
“Aye. Please,” he murmured.
“The laird asked me to prepare one fer ye while ye were out collecting weeds,” the maid said, moving past him. “Follow me.”
Turning, he fell into step behind her as she led him past the chamber next to Evina’s room. As they passed the closed door, she murmured, “That’s Gavin’s room if ye’re wanting to check on him later.”
Conran glanced at it, but didn’t slow. He would check the lad later, but just to see that his wound had been properly cleaned and he couldn’t see any sign of infection. Although he wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell until infection set in. Rory might have, but he didn’t have enough experience.
“This will be yer room.”
Conran turned his attention forward again to see Tildy pausing at the next door. He followed her inside and glanced around with curiosity. There was a large bed, a small table by the window with a pitcher and ewer on it and a presently empty fireplace.
“Donnan brought yer sword and saddlebag in here while ye were tending to Lady Evina, and the laird ordered some shirts and plaids to be provided for ye. He said to apologize fer no’ thinking o’ it ere this,” Tildy said solemnly. “I’ve already ordered food to be brought up fer ye and a bath. Betsy will help ye in the bath, if ye like?”
“Nay,” Conran said at once. “I can manage the bath on me own. Thank ye.”
The woman beamed at him, obviously pleased at his refusal of Betsy’s help. In fact, if he were the suspicious sort, he would have said it had been a test to see if he’d dally with the castle lightskirt.
“Oh, that must be yer bath,” Tildy said as a tap sounded at the door behind her. Turning, she opened it and stepped aside to allow servants to carry in a large tub and pail after pail of water. The last servant to enter was Betsy, and Tildy stepped in front of her. “He said he’d no’ be needing yer help.”
“Oh, nay,” Betsy protested, trying to skirt around the woman, her gaze locking on Conran when Tildy blocked her again. “Please, m’laird, I’d be happy to bathe a handsome, strapping man like yerself, and I’m ever so good at it. I’d clean ye real well, especially those parts others neglect.”
Conran merely shook his head and turned his back to watch the servants pouring water into the tub. He didn’t like to be rude, but he’d already had to refuse Betsy once and knew she could be hard to put off. She was the persistent sort.
“Come on now, Bets,” Tildy said firmly. “Out with ye. He’s no’ wanting yer help.”
“But he’s so handsome,” Betsy complained as Tildy ushered her out of the room. “And he’s young too. He’s the kind o’ man ’tis a pleasure to . . .”
Tildy closed the door on the rest of the woman’s words and moved back to stand beside him to oversee the filling of the bath. She then ushered everyone out, assuring him, “I’ll have Cook wait a bit on sending up yer meal, so it does no’ cool while ye bathe.”
“Thank ye,” Conran said, and unpinned his plaid the moment the door closed. He was shrugging out of his shirt even as the heavy cloth slid to the floor. A glance down then made him pause. If there had been any question of Evina’s innocence, the dried blood on his cock answered that question. He had definitely breached her maiden’s veil.
“Damn,” he muttered, and stepped over the side of the tub to sink into the water and wash away the proof.
It seemed things weren’t as simple as he’d thought they were when he’d discovered Evina was a widow. Not simple at all.
Pain was the first thing Evina was aware of, a bone-deep throbbing in her upper chest that she knew at once would not pass quickly. Biting back a groan, she opened her eyes to see what was causing it and blinked in surprise as she found herself staring at the light blue drapes around her bed. She was in her room, Evina realized, and was surprised by that for some reason. The last thing she recalled . . . Oh, yes, the Buchanan telling her to hang on, they’d be there soon. Here, she presumed, and glanced down at her chest. The arrow was no longer there. At least, the furs covering her were lying flat on top of her chest.