The Wrong Highlander (Highland Brides #7) - Lynsay Sands Page 0,1

his horse here as a main base and returns occasionally with his finds.”

Evina eyed the bulging saddlebag hanging from the side of the handsome beast across the clearing, and nodded. It seemed a good possibility. Although it did look to her as if he must be nearly finished with his weed-gathering expedition. In fact, unless he had a second bag that he was carrying with him, he should be done. There didn’t look to her to be room for even one more leaf, stem or root in the bag.

“Or no’,” Gavin murmured quietly.

Raising her eyebrows, Evina glanced to her cousin and then followed his direction to the water when he nodded that way.

At first, she didn’t see anything to explain his comment. There was nothing in the river itself. It wasn’t until Evina turned her gaze to the waterfall again that she saw what he’d spotted. The cliff the water fell from was a good twenty feet up. The water rained down in a white, frothy torrent that hid the rocks and anything else behind the sheet of water, and that was what she’d seen the first time. Now there appeared to be an elbow poking out of the water and someone moving around under the spray.

“Looks like we’ve found him,” Donnan said with amusement. “Do we wait for him to come out?”

Evina considered the matter briefly, but that didn’t really seem an option to her. Rory Buchanan might rush through his cleaning and be out quickly, but he could also piddle about in the falls for a good long time, but either way, every moment they wasted was one more during which her father lay dying.

“Nay. We fetch him out,” she said finally. “And we’ll no’ take nay for an answer.”

“Right,” Donnan said quietly, and then glanced past her to Gavin.

Following his gaze, Evina saw that the younger man was already dismounting. Once on the ground, her cousin quickly removed his sword and boots. When he reached for the pin of his plaid, Evina turned her head away and stared at the waterfalls instead to give him privacy. She used to change Gavin’s nappies and give him baths as a boy, but he wasn’t a child anymore. Besides, while she’d often been accused of being less than a lady, even she wouldn’t look on a bare-arsed man.

At least, not on purpose, Evina qualified when her gaze landed not on an elbow protruding from the falls now, but on a bare arse. That was all. The Buchanan had obviously turned under the water and bent over, presumably to wash his lower legs or feet, because while she could now see the outline of his legs through a very thin layer of foamy water, his behind was the only thing out of the spray and on display.

And a fine rounded rump it was too, Evina noted before movement drew her attention to Gavin as he headed determinedly toward the water. She looked away, but not before catching a glimpse of his back, legs and behind. Evina had always thought her cousin a well-built young man, and he did have a nice muscular chest and shoulders. He also had fine legs. Despite that though, he couldn’t compare with the Buchanan when it came to rumps. Gavin fell short when compared to the only part of the man she could really see. Her cousin’s behind was flat in comparison to the one sticking out of the waterfall.

“When ye said we’re no’ taking nay fer an answer,” Donnan said slowly. “Did ye mean . . . ?”

“I meant exactly what it sounds like,” Evina assured him. “We’ll kidnap the bastard if we have to, but Rory Buchanan has to return with us. I’ll no’ let father die for lack o’ the right healer.”

Donnan nodded, but then pointed out, “It could mean war with the Buchanans.”

“Then we’ll battle the Buchanans,” she said grimly, and turned to peer at him. “Is that a problem?”

Donnan shook his head. “Nay, m’lady. I pledged me fealty to yer father. I’d give me life fer him. I just wanted to be sure ye kenned the consequences o’ this action.”

“I ken the consequences,” Evina assured him solemnly. “And I would give me life for me father too. If it takes a war to save him, then war it shall be.”

Donnan was silent for a moment, and then said gently, “Rory Buchanan may no’ be able to heal him either. Yer father may be beyond help.”

“Mayhap,” she agreed. “But I’d also give