“Nay, lass,” Tildy said, that quiet regret deepening in her voice, and then she straightened and met her gaze as she admitted, “I’ve always thought o’ meself as family to ye, and I’ve been with ye yer whole life, it’s true, but as I watched them all embrace ye just now, I realized I ne’er once offered ye that kind o’ comfort meself. No even the day yer mother died, and ye were just a wee lass, sobbing fit to burst.”
Evina turned slowly as she watched her move about the room straightening this and dusting down that. She was remembering the day in question, and what Tildy said was true. And it wasn’t. Clearing her throat, she pointed out, “That’s as may be, Tildy, but as I recall, ye mopped up me tears when I finished weeping, set me in the wagon and sat beside me fer the rest o’ the journey home, offering me silent comfort.”
When Tildy merely frowned slightly at the words and continued puttering around gathering the yellow gown she’d originally planned to wear, and her dirty tunic, Evina added, “And ye were always there to tend me injuries and wounds when I fell or hurt meself too . . . and to nag at me to eat before I ran off to order the men about, or give me the stink-eye when I was misbehaving. Ye are family, Tildy,” she assured her gently. “Hugging is just no’ yer way.”
“Aye, well . . .” Tildy shifted, looking uncomfortable, and then shook her head. “But I should ha’e made it me way. Ye were just a child, lass, and I let ye down as badly as yer father did. He left ye to fend fer yerself tending to Gavin and running the keep, and I did no’ give ye the affection every child needs. Between the two o’ us, ’tis no wonder ye did no’ want to marry and depend on someone else who might let ye down, and I’m sorry fer that,” she said with agitation.
Evina shook her head at once. “That is no’ why I didn’t want to marry. I didn’t wish to risk a husband like the MacPherson brat, or one who might beat me like Uncle Garrick did Aunt Glenna.”
“Oh, lass,” Tildy said, straightening to eye her with exasperation. “Ye can tell yer da that to spare his feelings do ye wish it, and ye can even tell yerself that so ye needn’t think on it, but ye can no’ fool me. Were a man foolish enough to hit ye, ye’d hit him right back, and no doubt knock him on his sorry arse. I’ve seen ye do it often enough to the soldiers when they were in their cups and got lippy,” she pointed out. “I suspect that’s half the reason ye trained so hard in battle with Donnan.”
“I—” Evina shook her head weakly.
“And if any man who married ye was stupid enough to try to beat ye, it’d be the last beating he gave anyone. Once ye healed, ye’d no doubt sew him up in his bed linens, beat him to within an inch o’ his life and dump him in the woods to live or die as God saw fit to have it, and then ye’d lock up the gates and refuse to let him back in if he did survive. Nay,” she added firmly. “Ye’re no’ afraid o’ a man hurting ye physically. I’d wager me life on it. ’Tis their letting ye down that ye’re afraid o’. Ye can build yer muscle and skill all ye like, but it’ll no’ stop yer heart being broken when a man abandons ye to fend fer yerself like yer da did when yer mother died.”
Sighing, she peered at her solemnly for a moment, and then added, “Thank God the Buchanan came and rescued ye from us, is all I can say. He’ll ne’er let ye down like we did. From what I’ve overheard, he’s all about family and responsibility. Forever helping one or the other of them brothers and brother-by-marriage with something. Rory with his healing, Dougall with his horses, Niels with his sheep.” Nodding firmly, she added, “And if he gets injured, or—Lord help us—dies, his brothers and sister will step in to help and there’s no doubt in me mind on that,” she said firmly. “They’re all about family, those Buchanans. They’ll no’ just show up fer any battle Maclean might face, they’ll show up fer everything. Births. Deaths. Weddings. Holidays. Celebrations, and hell, just to visit. Which reminds me,” Tildy said suddenly with a frown. “We need to add more bedchambers to accommodate them all.”
She didn’t wait for a response, but headed for the door, muttering, “I’m done here. Why do ye no’ rest a bit while ye wait? I’ll go see how long ‘twill be ere yer father comes to fetch ye.”
Tildy dropped the dirty clothes she’d collected onto the pile of dirty linens, opened the bedchamber door and then gathered up the whole heap to carry them out of the room.
Geordie was again the one to pull the door closed. He reached in to grab the handle, and then stilled, his eyes widening slightly when he spotted her standing there in the center of the room. He stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, and then smiled and told her, “The day ye mistook Conran fer Rory was the luckiest day o’ his life, m’lady. Ye’re absolutely stunning.”
“What?” Alick asked from the hall, and then the younger brother appeared beside Geordie and looked into the room. She saw his eyes widen and heard his awed, “Gor!” as Geordie pulled the door closed.
Evina stayed right where she was even after the door closed. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. Tildy’s little speech had left her shocked and frozen as the words replayed in her head.
“Ye’re no’ afraid o’ a man hurting ye physically. I’d wager me life on it. ’Tis their letting ye down that ye’re afraid o’. Ye can build yer muscle and skill all ye like, but it’ll no’ stop yer heart being broken when a man abandons ye to fend fer yerself like yer da did when yer mother died.”
Evina sank weakly to sit on the side of the bed.
Was that really why she’d avoided marriage? Evina wanted to deny it, but everything Tildy had said was true. She would punch any man foolish enough to hit her. And were he enough of an idiot to perform the supremely stupid act of beating her, he’d best hope he beat her to death the first time, because he’d not get a second opportunity to do it.
“Dear God,” Evina breathed, rubbing her hands over her face. She’d been lying to herself for years. Why the devil would she lie to herself?
The answer was easy. As Tildy had said, so she wouldn’t have to think on it. She wouldn’t have to face the fact that her father hadn’t cared enough about her to be there for her. To continue to live. To run Maclean and be the father she’d needed. In a way, he’d died that day at the river as surely as her mother, her husband and Lachlan had. Evina had been as good as an orphan, left to raise herself. Her father was the man she’d most depended on, and he’d let her down. After her mother’s death, he had not been there for her. He’d not been there for anyone. Maclean would have gone to rot and ruin if she hadn’t stepped up and done her best to keep it running. As for Gavin, despite Aunt Glenna’s hopes, her father hadn’t been there for him either. and Evina had been left the chore of raising her cousin as well.
Evina knew she’d done a terrible job of both tasks at first. Fortunately, Donnan, Tildy and the other soldiers and servants had done their best to aid her where they could. They’d left the final decisions up to her, but had tried to steer her in the right direction. Evina had grown up quickly, taking care of her cousin and all of Maclean in her father’s stead. She’d even taken care of her father, insisting he eat when he wanted to skip his meals, taking away the liquor when he began to depend on it too heavily. And even when the first mourning and depression passed after her mother’s death, he didn’t bounce back and take up the reins of his responsibilities again. He’d decided she was doing a fine job, named Donnan as his first, replacing the man who had died trying to save her mother and husband, and announced that she’d inherit the title of clan chief when he died. He’d then gone hunting, and fishing, and visiting old friends.