“Papa,” she whispered, “you cannot get here soon enough.”
* * *
Conan laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Once again, sleep was evading him, but not for the usual reasons. He had always been attracted to pretty women. The few truly smart females he had encountered had been either married to the church or to one of his brothers. But even the prettiest of women had never created a physical need in him that kept him lying awake at night. But then never could he remember a woman defending him. And that was what Mhàiri had done.
Maybe everyone else just is not comfortable with Conan, she had said.
Did Mhàiri really believe that? He had a feeling she did, for in the last few days he had come to know that she was almost as forthright as he was. Mhàiri was not one to mince words to spare someone’s feelings, and she was uncommonly open and honest about her own. She held nothing back and found it insulting when others did. That was probably why she had interpreted Conor and Laurel’s fight as romantic.
Very few saw their squabbles as a declaration of love. He always had though, and when Mhàiri had told Maegan that a similar passion-filled relationship was the kind she desired as well, it had shaken him to his core. He could not stop thinking about it long enough to fall asleep.
Simply put, the combination of characteristics and opinions that made up Mhàiri Mayboill was so unusual, so unique, he had not believed someone like her existed.
It would have helped if she had been painful to look at, but Conan could stare at her for hours and then willingly stare at her some more. But it was more than her physical beauty. Her voice soothed something in his soul. Its low pitch drew him in versus the high-pitched sounds many females had, which grated on his nerves. And her scent! God, the woman smelled phenomenal. Every time he got even a whiff of her, his body became aroused. His only explanation was that it had been far too long since he had been with a woman. And yet he had no desire to entice someone in his bed. Just the thought of being with another female that way churned his stomach.
The only tresses he wanted to touch were Mhàiri’s long dark locks. He wanted to stare into her pale green eyes and see the hazy look of desire come over them from his kiss. He wanted to press her body into his, knowing it would feel like none before her.
Maybe, if he only physically desired her, he could have found another way to relieve his frustrations, but it was not only her body he craved. He yearned to talk with her, argue with her, ask her questions, and answer hers.
He loved how Mhàiri spoke her mind and offered opinions forthrightly and without hesitation. She understood his desire to leave the home he had always known and explore the world. And though she still did not fully agree with him that all art should have value and have an impact on the world, she did understand and appreciate that what he wanted to do was of great importance and encouraged him to seek his dreams. No woman had ever done that. Not even Laurel. And few men had ever appreciated why he wanted to explore for the rest of his life. But Mhàiri had. She also longed for adventure . . . though of a different type. It enabled her to truly grasp why he was leaving in the spring and how he was not going to let anyone stand in the way of his dreams, for she felt the same about hers.
And that was why he had no choice.
He was going to cut Mhàiri out of his life. She was a distraction. So, much as he could, he would avoid seeing and talking to her until she left.
Thank God her stay would not be long.
Chapter Four
“Mhàiri, it looks like you will be with us for more than a few weeks,” Conor announced at dinner three weeks later. “I received word today from my brother Colin who lives in the Lowlands. He asked those nearby about your father and it seems many know him and he is well liked. Unfortunately, Colin also learned that your father has already left for Spain and is not expected back in Scotland until early spring. Even if somehow your message did reach him and he immediately returned, winter would have set in, making it impossible for him to travel north except by foot or horse.”
Mhàiri shook her head. “Papa would never leave his wagon behind. It’s his life. It holds everything he owns.”
“And nor should he,” Laurel added and reached over to give Mhàiri’s hand a squeeze. “We love having you here with us. Our children adore you, and you and Maegan are becoming good friends. Please say this is not completely unwelcome news.”
“I am sorry that Papa could not come sooner, but I would be dishonest if I said that I was not enjoying being here.” In truth, Mhàiri had initially worried about staying in a castle where she knew no one, but after just a few short weeks, she doubted there was a better place in the world to spend a winter. “Thank you very much for the invitation. I know my presence was unexpected, and I promise to leave as soon as Papa arrives in the spring.”
“Everyone is leaving in the spring.” Brenna pouted. “No one will be left. Why can’t we go too?”
Maegan leaned over and tickled her until she squealed. “I will still be here, as will Seamus, Aileen, Gideon, and all your friends. Besides, spring is a long way off. Before then, there will be Christmastide and all the holiday festivities.”
“I didn’t think of that!” Brenna exclaimed. “Wait until you experience Twelfth Night at our castle, Mhàiri. It is the best!”
Mhàiri returned the little girl’s infectious smile. “Sounds exciting. We moved around so much when I was young, I never really got to participate in big feasts and celebrations. This will be a first for me.”
“You’ve never experienced Christmastide and all the feasts that come after?” Laurel asked in astonishment. “Why, I will have to ensure this is the best Epiphany celebration ever had at McTiernay Castle. Tomorrow, I’ll send word to Raelynd and Meriel that we will be hosting this year and a shìorraidh! It’s almost December. We might have to start planning tonight, Aileen,” she said to her friend, who bobbed her head in agreement.
“You are not going to start planning anything tonight, or tomorrow, or even this week,” Conor grumbled. “Christmastide is more than a month from now, and Fallon has other things to think about in prepping for winter.”
“Fine, fine,” Laurel said in mock agreement. “For the next couple of weeks, whatever planning we do will not affect you or our busy steward. Nor will I subject you to listening to me ramble about it. But I will begin preparations, so it would be best to accept that now.”
Conor brushed his hand over his face, knowing that arguing would be pointless. “Are you settled in enough for an extended stay?” he asked, turning his attention back to Mhàiri.
Mhàiri loved her chambers and knew that staying in the large space until her father was able to come and get her was not going to be an issue. The room was open and had plenty of light, nothing like the dark, confining cottage she had been living in for years.
The only issue regarding a long-term stay was her books. Despite what Conan thought, she did read them and was actively studying some of the journals her sister had somehow gotten her hands on the past year. Mhàiri wanted them accessible, not locked away in heavy trunks. Mentioning her need, however, was not an option, for she knew what the answer would be—put them in Conan’s room, which was littered with shelves specifically made for such items. Or even worse, Conor would ask Conan to build shelves for her room. Neither solution was acceptable. Anything involving Conan was completely and in all ways intolerable.
The last couple of weeks, the man had made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with her, and Mhàiri was not going to do anything that forced him even to look in her direction.
He had been ignoring her since the morning after they arrived. At first, she had thought she was imagining things, but then Brenna had let it escape that she had overheard him talking with Seamus. She had been right. Conan had been intentionally avoiding situations, places, even meals, just to keep from being in her company.
It hurt to learn she had been so wrong about him. She had thought that their budding relationship specia
l and that she was one of the few women who had been able to break through his brusque demeanor to see the man beneath. She had been a fool. Thankfully, she had never shared her mistaken beliefs with anyone and had been able to convincingly act as if Conan’s disregard were not at all troubling. Instead, Mhàiri had decided that indifference was an excellent idea and pointedly began to ignore him as well.
Most mealtimes, Conan was elsewhere, but on nights when they ate in the lower hall with the soldiers on castle duty, or on nights like this one when Laurel invited her close friends, Conan was forced to join. And each time, Mhàiri acted as if he were not there. She carried on conversations, laughed, and smiled with those who sat on either side of him, but to Conan himself? She never glanced his way. Not once. Which is probably why it had been so noticeable.
But rather than being upset by their silent feud, Laurel had verbally applauded Mhàiri’s strength of character. She had said that only a few women could see beyond Conan’s charm and dimples to the self-serving man underneath without getting hurt first. Mhàiri had felt like a fraud. She was no different from those other women. Worse, she was jealous of them. At least they had gotten to experience what it was like to kiss Conan before mutual disregard took place.
“I think Mhàiri needs shelves, Papa, for her books.”
Mhàiri’s brows shot up, and she stared at Bonny, who was sitting across from her.
Laurel looked at her daughter and then Mhàiri. “I never thought about that. You are right, Bonny. Mhàiri must have a place to put her things if she is going to be here for several months.”
“And,” Bonny added, this time with a sly, knowing smile, “Uncle Conan is the best one to make them since he was the one who made the shelves in his room.”
Conor waved his fork at his daughter. “Great idea, BonBon. What do you think, Mhàiri? Do you need shelves?”
Mhàiri gave Bonny a strong look, but the little girl refused to feel shame. Instead, Bonny winked back, leaving no doubt that she had intentionally created a situation that would force Mhàiri and Conan to interact.
Bonny’s older twin siblings could be very amusing, and Brenna was indeed a consummate eavesdropper, but more and more Mhàiri was seeing that Bonny was the most astute of the two, despite being the youngest. Her ability to perceive the truth behind a look or an action was astounding, a skill that would only grow more accurate with age. And she watched anything or anyone associated with Conan.
Mhàiri had little doubt that her and Conan’s obvious efforts to ignore each other had led Bonny to believe that there was something far more than disinterest fueling their odd behavior. It certainly did not help that Bonny had overheard Mhàiri admit to wanting to kiss her uncle, and despite her best efforts, Mhàiri had not convinced Brenna or Bonny that she had only been teasing.
Mhàiri turned to Conan and was surprised to find him not just looking directly at her, but smiling. Not his normal, charming smile that he used to woo women, but a smug one. His blue eyes twinkled as if he knew that Mhàiri would never accept.
A slow smile curved Mhàiri’s soft mouth. Conan’s twinkle faded and was replaced with discomfort. She raised a single brow and debated about accepting his challenge. Conan held her gaze until she turned to Conor and said, “Thank you for the offer, and I think I will accept. For you are right, Bonny,” she said, glancing back to the grinning seven-year-old, “there is no one better to build my shelves than your uncle. Especially as I will be very particular about their strength, size, and placement.”
Bonny elbowed Brenna, whispering loudly enough for the whole table to hear, “See? I told you it would work.”
Brenna then leaned over and cupped her hand over Bonny’s ear. “Not yet, but it will.”
* * *
“Which one are you looking at now?” Mhàiri asked Brenna, who was lying across her bed flipping through one of her bound books.
“A really interesting one,” the ten-year-old replied. “Bonny never said these things had pictures. I always thought they were just full of boring words.”
That captured Mhàiri’s attention, and she put down the newest gown Maegan had left for her so that she could see exactly what Brenna had picked up. Medical texts had been around for more than a thousand years. Most described plants and their healing qualities, but she had a couple books that went far beyond herbs.
Mhàiri plucked the book out of Brenna’s grasp, ignoring her squeal of protest. It was what she had feared. The Compendium Medicinae by Gilbertus Anglicus. It had been written by an English physician who had documented a great deal on the practice of medicine, including surgery, with some eye-catching illustrations. She knew because it had caught her eye as a thirteen-year-old. If her father had known exactly what she had convinced him to get for her, he would have exploded. Just as Conor would do if he discovered Mhàiri had allowed his daughter to stare at drawings of naked men—even if most were just of their bones or muscles. “I think not.”
“Mama says books expand your mind,” Brenna said as she blinked her eyes innocently, but not convincingly.
“Aye, they do, but yours does not need to be expanded in that direction.” Mhàiri pointed to some of her favorite manuscripts that contained poems. “Try those.”
Brenna shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “Those have no pictures.”
“If you want pictures, you should draw some.”
Brenna scoffed and flipped over to her back. “Mine wouldn’t be nearly so interesting.”
Before Mhàiri could respond, there was a knock on her bedroom door. She called out for the person to enter, and Maegan peeked in wearing a large smile. She came in, closed the door, and leaned against it. “Oh, good, you are looking at the dress. It is too long for me, and gold is not my color, but it is so pretty and when Laurel said she prefers her other gold gowns to this one, I just couldn’t let it sit in a dusty trunk never being appreciated. With your dark hair and green eyes, it would look ravishing on you. More importantly, I happen to know a certain soldier who would definitely appreciate it.”
Brenna abruptly sat up. “Who?”
Maegan blinked and scanned the room. “Where is Bonny?”
Brenna shrugged. “Where else? With Uncle Conan.”
“And why aren’t you spying on them?” Maegan asked suspiciously as she went over and poured some water in a mug.
Brenna fell back onto the bed with a bounce. “Bonny will tell me anything interesting later. And Mhàiri needs me.”
Mhàiri swiveled her head and narrowed her gaze. Brenna’s tone was too playful to be ignored. When Conan had warned Mhàiri about Laurel and her meddlesome matchmaking habits, he had forgotten to mention that her daughters were not only like her—but worse. “And how is it that I need you?”
“I’ve known Uncle Conan longer than you so I can help you figure out what you can do to thank him for the shelves.”
Maegan sputtered and she began to cough. Mhàiri came over to thump her back. When Maegan caught her breath again, she muttered, “Sorry about that. I thought for a moment Brenna said something about thanking Conan.”
Brenna looked over and nodded, her expression an earnest one. Maegan turned to Mhàiri. “You aren’t, are you? I mean that is just begging for . . . well, I don’t know what. But it’s begging for it all the same.”
Mhàiri bit her bottom lip. “I . . . I probably should thank him.” Then, upon seeing Brenna sit up with an enthusiastic gleam in her eye, she hastily added, “But to do something to show my appreciation? I mean, I have no idea what that could be.”
Maegan threw up her hands. “Don’t look at me! I’ve never heard of anyone thanking Conan for anything before. That’s probably because I’ve never heard of him doing anything for anyone before that was not because of some family obligation. Even then, he complains.”
“That’s why you will need to thank him,” Brenna said with a large smile. “And Bonny and I can help you figure out how.”
Maegan arched her brows and collapsed into one of t
he hearth chairs. “Beware, you are about to be manipulated.”
Mhàiri pursed her lips and then let go a large sigh. “Without a doubt, and yet Brenna does have a point. Maybe I can give him something to show my appreciation.”
Brenna nodded, bouncing on her knees. “Your paper! Uncle Conan needs a bunch for his maps when he leaves this spring. And you have plenty!”
“I do not have plenty,” Mhàiri refuted. Although to some it might look like it. She did have several books of blank hemp pages, but there was a reason she had them after so many years. She rationed their use. “It might look like a lot, Brenna, but my father bought that paper for me some time ago. The only reason I have any left now is that I have been very careful to make it last.”
“Oh,” Brenna said, disappointed, for she knew how much her uncle would have really liked having some hemp. She had heard him telling Seamus about it. “How long have you had those books?”
“Two years,” Mhàiri quickly answered, glad the young girl seemed to understand how hard it had been to make them last this long. But suddenly Brenna jumped to her feet, excited once anew.
“I thought you said your father was going to be here in the spring.”
“He is,” Mhàiri confirmed apprehensively.
Brenna began to pace. “And he is coming from Spain and that is where Uncle Conan said the hemp paper was made. So if all this,” she said with great exaggeration, waving her hand at the three large chests, all of which were open, “lasted two years, then you must have enough to share some. Especially if you are going to get more in a few months.”
Maegan stood up and went over to grab the dizzying Brenna by the shoulders. Using her most authoritarian tone, she asked, “Did Conan tell you to ask for Mhàiri’s paper? Or even hint?”
Brenna looked disgusted and pulled free. “If Uncle Conan told me to do that, then how would it be a surprise when Mhàiri gives him the paper?”
The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland Page 10