The massive castle had been in near ruins when Cole had taken over and established the area as the focal point of his lairdship and the McTiernays of Torridon. Being located on a rocky headland, the inside spanned nearly four acres and was much larger than most castles. It allowed for several buildings, and instead of a garden, it had room for small crops and a few farm animals, enabling Fàire Creachann to be more self-sufficient and protected against sieges.
The large tower house included the great hall and a private chamber for Cole and his family. Next to the tower, a series of ranges had been constructed along the northeastern cliffs, creating large and comfortable living quarters with sea views. On the other side of the tower was the chapel, which had finally been restored, along with a storehouse, a blacksmith’s forge, and the kitchens. The stable block ran along the southern edge of the headland.
Before they entered the tower and went into the great hall, the doors opened and Conor stepped outside. Upon seeing Conan, he walked over and waved for Dugan and Cole to continue inside. His face held a pensive expression, and Conan knew what his brother was about to ask. “How’s Laurel? It was so unlike her to refuse to come north with me and visit Ellenor, Brighid, and their rambunctious brood.”
Conor had practically growled out the description, and Conan suspected that his brother had missed Laurel’s presence in more ways than he had anticipated. She usually ran interference with Cole and Donald’s children, who were all under the age of five.
Conor considered his words carefully. “She was in high spirits when I left,” he offered.
Conan grunted. “I expect you mean angry spirits.” Conan shrugged, trying to decide what he could say that would not shift his brother’s concern to ire that was directed at him.
Conor ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what is wrong with her. Nothing seems to make her happy, and she avoids things that she always before enjoyed. You have no idea the fights we had when I refused to let her travel with me to Fàire Creachann in the past. For her to refuse . . . it is just more than strange. Something is wrong.”
Conan wanted to interrupt and explain that he, along with everyone else who lived at McTiernay Castle, was well aware of the fights between him and Laurel. No McTiernay was good at stifling his emotions, and the angry outbursts between Conor and Laurel were the stuff of legends. If it was not abundantly clear to anyone who ever saw them together how much they loved one another, people might have feared that their explosive interchanges would end in someone’s death. But now, for the most part, the couple’s fights were ignored and treated by family, castle staff, and clansmen as normal occurrences.
“Have you asked what’s wrong?”
Conor issued him a disdainful look. “She only replies that she is fine, even though it is clear that she is not. I had fully expected her to be eager to come with me to see her youngest nephew.” Conan had to agree that it was odd that Laurel had elected not to come and see Cole and Ellenor’s new son. “She loves babies. Loves to hold them, be around them. Hell, she even likes how they smell,” Conor continued. “I would have thought she would be eager for the chance to be around one now that our children are getting older and more independent.”
“Maybe that is what is bothering her.”
“How so?”
Conan took in a deep breath and looked upward. In a few minutes, the last bits of sunlight would disappear and it would be a night sky. “I don’t know, Conor. What do I know about women and their feelings?”
Conor grabbed Conan’s shoulder with a hand and gave it a small shake. “You know nothing about them, but that doesn’t mean you don’t see what is happening around you. What did you mean?”
Conan twisted his shoulder out of his brother’s grasp, annoyed how quickly Conor agreed that he was clueless when it came to women. It was true, but he did not like hearing it. “Only what you were saying. Your children are getting older. They want and need less mothering time. They are—”
The large doors to the great hall unexpectedly opened, cutting Conan off midsentence. A second later, Cole’s wife, Ellenor, poked her head out and gave both men a withering stare. “We are all waiting for you,” she hissed.
Glad for the reprieve, Conan grinned at her and immediately headed for the very full hall. He walked up to the main table, where Cole, his commanders, and their wives were sitting . . . and waiting. He and Conor took a seat, and immediately everyone started to dig into the platters of food before them. The hall was filled with soldiers, and Conan felt a little uncomfortable having made them all wait. He had not expected such a welcome and said as much.
Ellenor rolled her eyes as she started to fill her plate with food. “Only you, Conan, would assume tonight is about you. We gather like this every couple of weeks so that all the men get a chance to dine with their laird and enjoy a good meal and the comforts of the castle. You just so happened to arrive on such a night.”
Conan grinned. “I don’t recall such gatherings during my previous visits. Are you sure this isn’t all for me? I assure you I appreciate the welcome, but it really isn’t necessary.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” Conor said contemplatively.
Conan blinked and it took him a second to realize that his eldest brother was continuing the conversation that they had been having outside. Conan sighed. “Then what do you think it could be?”
“I have no idea. We don’t even really fight anymore. It is as if someone sapped the energy out of Laurel and all she wants to be is alone.”
Laurel had spent a lot of time in the Star Tower since Conor had been away. So much so that Conan had noticed and now he felt a little ashamed of feeling glad about her absence when he should have been concerned by it. He considered Laurel an older sister who infuriated him much of the time, but that didn’t mean he did not love her. While he hated her meddling in his life, he was not averse to what she had done in his brothers’ lives. Laurel had been instrumental in the happiness found by all five of his elder brothers and their wives. If something really was wrong with her, this was not good.
“She has been acting differently, but she seemed healthy when I left. Whatever is bothering her will soon pass, Conor, and she will be back to disagreeing with you, and you will be looking at these days as a brief respite you should have enjoyed.”
Conor chewed on a piece of meat. His brows were furrowed, giving the impression that he was not remotely comforted by Conan’s words. Conan was not surprised. He was the last person one should go to for encouragement or hope. One came to him for clear absolutes, and on this topic, Conan had only one to give his brother. “Go home and demand she tell you what is going on. Speculating here, with me, is not going to calm your thoughts.”
Conor grunted in agreement. “Cole and I have discussed all that we can at this point. He, Dugan, and Donald are going to wait and watch for now. I am not sending any additional troops until we have a better understanding of what is happening between the MacCoinnich clan and their neighbors. So you, I, and Father Lanaghly can leave as soon as we are ready.”
Conan pulled off a small piece of bread. “Father Lanaghly is here? I had not seen him and thought he was at the priory or what’s left of it.”
Conor shook his head. “He arrived about a week ago and, while waiting for you, decided to use the time to prepare the chapel for winter as it is unlikely he will be back until spring.”
Conan pushed back the sudden wave of guilt coming over him. If he had left when asked and taken the normal route, he would have arrived about the same time Father Lanaghly had. Instead, his stubbornness had forced the old priest to wait these past several days. “I’ll go and let him know that I am here.”
“No need. As soon as you were spotted, I let him know that you had arrived. He said he would be ready to leave in the morning.”
They finished dinner and Conan rose to his feet. “Should I stay in my old rooms?” he asked Ellenor.
For the past few years, he had come north to stay with Co
le and Ellenor for several months at a time. He enjoyed spending time with his elder brother and the soldiers who had elected to leave Conor’s guard in an effort to support Cole and what he was trying to build. However, that had never been the main purpose behind his visits. Ellenor had been.
When they had first met, he had been shocked to learn how many languages she not only could speak, but read. With her help, he had been able to decipher several mysterious phrases he had been unable to translate. After a somewhat contentious beginning to their relationship, it had taken a substantial amount of pleading to get Ellenor to agree to teach him what she knew, but eventually she had and was now one of the few women with whom he enjoyed spending time.
They had both been happily surprised to find out how well they worked together. Conan had known Ellenor was intelligent, but he had grown to appreciate her rapier wit and direct approach to things. She also never did anything without reason. So, when she motioned for him to follow her outside, he did so without question.
They left the hall and Conan prepared himself for more questions about Laurel, but instead she pointed to the large, four-wheeled covered cart sitting in front of the stable. “I thought you should be aware that Father Lanaghly convinced Cole to let him take that with you to the priory.”
“Murt!” Conan muttered. “I thought the church came and got most of the stuff it wanted for the priory.”
Ellenor crossed her arms and tilted her head. “They did. Father Lanaghly said they left almost a month ago. But they left someone behind. That,” she said, pointing at the large cart, “is for her and her items, much of which I understand are mostly documents, books, and scrolls.”
“Her!” Conan barked. His brain had stopped working right after he’d heard Ellenor tell him that they were not simply retrieving a handful of documents, but rescuing some old nun.
“Aye,” Ellenor said. “All I know is she lived at the priory. The church either did not want or could not take her books and things, and she would not leave without them. We would have offered her temporary sanctuary here, but Father Lanaghly thought it might be best for her to be where he was going to be present throughout the winter. Laurel of course agreed, but the herald she sent with the news told us that you were to be told the full aspects of exactly what you were retrieving only after you arrived.”
Conan was fuming. “My brother knows about this?”
The cold fury in his tone took Ellenor aback. She had known Conan would be mad, which was why she was telling him all that she knew so that he would have time to calm before they left in the morning, but she’d had no idea he would be this mad. Every man hated to be manipulated and Conan was no different, but for some reason Laurel’s deceit was cutting him far deeper than Ellenor had anticipated.
“Conor knows, but I don’t think he was aware that Laurel kept the full circumstances behind Father Lanaghly’s request. Your brother’s mind . . . has been a little preoccupied when it comes to his wife, and Cole has tried to minimize anything that might make him more worried about her than he already is.”
Conan had been worried about Laurel too, but after this last stunt, any sympathy, concern, or compassion he had been feeling vanished. She had sent him north to get a nun! Not only would he be getting things like the writings of Conrad of Saxony and his sermons on the Speculum Beatæ Mariæ Virginis—The Mirror of the Blessed Virgin Mhàiri, but a droch-airidh nun! Conan was more than half-tempted to refuse. He did not care how many Hail Marys he would have to say. Father Lanaghly would just have to find someone else.
“That’s why I’m glad you came. Conor really is worried about Laurel, and Father Lanaghly needs someone who isn’t distracted.”
Conan gave Ellenor a sideways glance. “You cannot guilt me into agreeing to go.”
Ellenor grinned. “I don’t need to. You and I both know you won’t abandon Father Lanaghly or your brother regardless of how mad you are at Laurel.”
Conan pursed his lips together and then pointed at the cart and then toward the gatehouse. “I am not driving that thing. Father Lanaghly is. I don’t care how old he is.”
Ellenor gave his arm a squeeze. “Fine. I’ll tell Cole to get one of the stable masters to drive it out to the headland. Now, come see your newest nephew, for it might be some time before you see him again.”
Conan turned to follow her toward the keep when he suddenly realized that he had been manipulated yet again, just by a different McTiernay wife. “Cole sent you out here to warn me, didn’t he?”
Ellenor gave him a wink. “We both knew that surprising you with this in the morning would not be the best way to start the trip.”
Conan was not so sure what difference knowing a few hours earlier was going to make. It did not change the facts.
Three men for one nun.
Chapter Two
Mhàiri squeezed the knife she held in her hand behind her back as she watched the lone rider slowly come closer. He was not yet close enough for her to see identifying features, but even at a distance, she could see that he was not Father Lanaghly.
Unlike her older sister—who would shock all her fellow nuns if they knew how much Shinae enjoyed wielding a blade—Mhàiri hated to use weapons. Her father had known of her dislike and had not cared. Their nomadic lifestyle had involved a constant, though usually minimal, level of danger; therefore, he had insisted both his daughters learn how to protect themselves. As a result, they had become exceptionally good at being able to handle a dirk. A skill Mhàiri had re-sharpened over the last two weeks while hunting for food. So, if the stranger approaching meant her harm, she could do enough damage to make him regret it.
He was close enough now to make out some details, and Mhàiri was certain she had never before seen the rider. Whoever he was, the man was huge, even for a Highlander—that much Mhàiri could tell. The black beast he rode was similarly massive and would have dwarfed practically every man she had met since she had come to this region, but not him.
He had dark hair and rode with not just confidence but an air of authority. It cloaked him like a second skin. Mhàiri had seen such men when she had lived with her father. They used their stature to intimidate those they encountered, and any show of nervousness signaled either vulnerability or that one had something of value. In her case, both were true. She was very vulnerable, and she possessed something of enormous value. While many may not recognize the worth of the items inside her small home, it was incalculable to her.
Hoping to give the impression that she neither desired company nor was frightened by his unwanted arrival, Mhàiri took a deep breath and slowly crossed her arms, careful to keep the dirk hidden. The change in stance did nothing to change the stranger’s expression, which she could now see was not menacing, or any of the other myriad things she expected to see with such an imposing figure. He looked . . . oddly bored.
The large Highlander tightened the reins and pulled his horse to a stop. Smoke-gray eyes stared down at her for several seconds. The man was much older than her, at least twenty years her senior. Small wrinkles formed across his forehead and under his eyes, and gray hair was slightly visible at his temples, but neither took away from his masculine appeal. Compared to most of the rough-hewn farmers she had encountered in the past couple of years, this man was exceptionally good looking. And refreshingly, he looked to be completely uninterested in her. Too often, her unusual combination of dark hair and pale green eyes pulled to the dark, lustful side of men—especially in this rural part of Scotland. Even married men had a hard time concealing their lust. The large Highlander, however, was definitely not one of them.
“You Mhàiri?” he inquired.
Mhàiri blinked and was about to return his question with one of her own when she saw another rider coming into view. He was approaching more quickly and possibly related to the large Highlander. A much younger, and—if possible—better-looking relation. They were of similar height and build, and both possessed the same shade of dark brown hair as well as chiseled features
.
The younger man pulled his horse next to the first man and stared down at her . . . and smiled. Instead of gray eyes, his were a brilliant shade of blue and his smile accentuated deep dimples that should have been appeared feminine, but instead, made him even better looking.
Mentally Mhàiri checked herself and was relieved to know that her jaw had not inadvertently fallen open. Unlike his older friend, the younger Highlander was far from disinterested and was blatantly ogling her as if she were a piece of prized meat.
Mhàiri almost gave him her most withering scowl, but she decided that would be too expected—though she doubted many women had ever spurned this man’s advances. She instead opted to assume the look of his older relative and pasted on the most bored look she could muster, coupled with a sigh that only hinted her disgust.
His blue eyes widened with shock. Maybe she had been the first to be unappreciative of his admiration. Mhàiri started to smile triumphantly at the idea, which would have totally ruined the point she had made. Thankfully, at that very moment, she spied the white-haired priest for whom she had been waiting for nearly a week as he rolled into view driving a large cart. She let the grin take over her face and rushed out to greet the one person who had understood her need and vowed to bring back help.
Mhàiri had known Father Lanaghly was a good man the first time she had met him, but when the church had given her no option to continue living with her sister without taking vows, he had become her savior.
No one else had understood or appreciated her predicament. Worse, the leaders of the church had been apathetic that her whole life and plans for the future had been unexpectedly uprooted when the fire burned the small priory to the ground. Her sister, Shinae, had understood but had been powerless to help as she was being ordered to an abbey down south. Mhàiri, who was just shy of twenty years, could have joined them but only if she agreed to take the same vows Shinae was taking. The structured, stifling life of a Catholic nun might have been acceptable for her sister, but not her. Even the offensive idea of marriage would be preferable to a life dictated by the church. Wife and nun were two titles Mhàiri never intended to have.
The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland Page 3