“’Tis fine. I like her,” Evina said honestly.
“I suspected ye would,” he said wryly, moving to the table by the fire where the maids had set the trays. Conran stopped at the tray with the pitcher and mugs on it and poured the golden liquid into both mugs. Setting the pitcher back, he then turned to carry the mugs toward the bed, but Evi shook her head and pushed her furs aside. “Why do we no’ sit at the table tonight?”
Conran paused, uncertainty crossing his face. “Are ye certain?”
“Aye,” she assured him as she wrapped the plaid Tildy had set on her bedside table around herself. “I am growing heartily sick o’ being stuck in this bed. I think I’d like to sit at table, if only up here.”
“Wait. Let me help ye, then,” he said, hurrying to return the mugs to the tray and then moving back to the bed just in time to take Evina’s arm as she got to her feet. “Take it slow,” Conran cautioned. “And tell me if ye need to stop to rest.”
Evina snorted. “The table is across the room, m’lord, no’ across the bailey. I think I can manage it.”
“Ye’re recovering from a nasty wound, Evi,” he said solemnly. “Ye’re no’ as strong as ye like to think ye are just now.”
Evina didn’t respond. Mostly because after the few steps they’d covered, she already didn’t have the air to speak, and her legs were beginning to tremble, she realized. Good Lord, she was weak as a kitten, Evina thought with dismay.
“Are ye all right?” Conran asked with concern.
Pressing her lips firmly together, Evina nodded. She would make it to the table, or kill herself trying. Obviously, lying about for so long had weakened her. It was her chest that had been hurt, not her legs.
Much to Evina’s relief, she did make it to the table, though she was leaning heavily on Conran’s supporting arm by the time they got there. Still, she’d made it. That was something anyway, she told herself as he pulled out a chair and settled her in it.
“Hungry?” Conran asked as he took the second chair.
Evina nodded, still too shaky and breathless to speak yet. Much to her relief, Conran didn’t fuss about her weakened state, but simply went about shifting one of the trenchers on the tray in front of her, and the other in front of himself, and started to eat. It took a couple of minutes for Evina to feel recovered enough that she attempted to eat. Her hand was still trembling a bit, but she managed to get a bite of cheese to her mouth without dropping it, so considered that a victory. After chewing and swallowing, she asked, “What was it like growing up with so many brothers and a sister?”
Conran seemed surprised by the question, and paused to think before answering. “Noisy.”
“Noisy?” she asked with amusement.
“Aye. Noisy, chaotic, fun . . . sometimes annoying as hell, but mostly wonderful,” he admitted with a smile, and explained, “None of us ever lacked for someone to play with, and we always had each other to depend on.”
Evina felt a touch of envy at his words. She and her brother had been little more than a year apart in age. She’d loved him dearly, and they’d been very close. Both of them had trailed their father around on his daily tasks when he was home, and Daniel had never let the fact that she was a girl interfere with play. Much to their mother’s distress, they’d run about the bailey playing at war, fighting with wooden swords and wrestling in the dirt and grass like a pair of “savages” as she’d described it. But then he’d died, and she’d been alone. Evina supposed her mother could have tried to rein her in then, but Lady Maclean hadn’t had the heart to, at least not for the first year after his death. Her mother had known how much Daniel’s death was paining Evina. She’d let her continue to trail her father around during the day. But when the negotiations began regarding bringing Evina’s betrothed to Maclean for his training, and the subject of holding the wedding early came up, her mother had been almost in a panic.
It had taken a year for the men to hammer out an agreement and get permission from the king and the church for the wedding. Her mother had spent that time trying to turn Evina into a proper lady. Mairi Maclean had been kind and understanding, but firm, and Evina had learned a new respect for her mother. Where before she’d seen her as the weaker of her parents, she’d learned how smart and hardworking she actually was. The two of them had become quite close over that year, and her mother had succeeded in her task of making her more ladylike, at least on the surface. But then she too had died and Evina had felt lost.
She wondered now if having more than just her brother as a sibling wouldn’t have helped with the death of both Daniel and her mother. She was sure it wouldn’t have made those losses any less painful, but it might have made it easier for her to carry on. She would have had some support at least.
It mattered little, Evina supposed as she took a sip of honey mead. She hadn’t had siblings to cushion the loss. Swallowing the sweet beverage, she set the drink back on the table, and said, “Tell me about yer brothers and sister.”
Conran considered the request briefly, and then said, “Well, Aulay is the eldest. He runs Buchanan and our people.”
Evina nodded, and asked, “His scar? Was he injured as a child?”
“Nay. As an adult. In battle some years back,” he said quietly, and then added, “We lost our brother Ewan in the same battle. He was Aulay’s twin, born just minutes after him.”
“That must have been hard for him,” Evina murmured.
“Aye,” Conran agreed solemnly, and then cleared his throat and continued, “And then there is the second oldest of us, Dougall. He’s much like Aulay in temperament, stern and no’ much o’ a talker. But he has a way with horses, and bred and raised them ere meeting his wife, Murine. He still does despite being laird of Carmichael now.”
“I’ve heard of his horses. They are supposed to be the best in Scotland.”
“Aye, they’re fine beasts,” Conran assured her, and then continued. “Niels is the next oldest. His interest was in sheep and wool ere he met and married Edith Drummond.”
“And does he still raise sheep and make wool despite marriage to Edith?” Evina asked before sliding a bit of chicken into her mouth.
“Only for the people of Drummond,” Conran said with a smile. “He moved his sheep there and has fresh plaids made for every member of Drummond twice a year.”
Swallowing the food in her mouth, Evina said with approval, “That’s kind of him.”
“Aye. Especially considering the coin he could get selling the wool elsewhere,” Conran said seriously.
Smiling faintly, Evina asked, “And who is the next oldest?”
“Me,” Conran admitted wryly. “And before ye ask, I’ve no special skills. I do no’ have a way with horses or sheep or any other beastie.”
“But ye’re a fine hand at healing,” Evina pointed out. He was the one who had healed her father and tended her own wound, and had done a fine job at both.
“Nay. Rory is the healer. I just picked up a thing or two from helping him. Just as I learned a bit about horses from helping Dougall, and about sheep from helping Niels.” He shrugged. “I ken a bit about many subjects.”