“But I would. Besides, it is no longer necessary. Maegan has introduced me to several of Seamus’s friends, and so I am certain my ignorance in that area will not last for much longer.”
Conan had the sudden urge to find Seamus and punch him in the jaw. It had never occurred to him before, but Conor allowed an inordinate amount of single men around the castle. No wonder Seamus was constantly fussing about Maegan and all the men around her.
Conan wanted to go to each and every McTiernay clansman and warn him that Mhàiri was his. His alone. That no one was ever to learn what it would be like to touch her soft, warm lips but him. But Conan knew if he did anything like that—even hinted to anyone that those were his feelings—he would be opening Pandora’s box, just like the Greek myth from Hesiod’s Works and Days, which was on one of the shelves in this very room.
Also, there was Laurel’s reaction to think about. There was no telling what his sister-in-law would do if he showed signs of possessiveness toward Mhàiri. Laurel might do everything in her power to foster a connection, making him the sixth McTiernay brother subject to her matchmaking schemes. Or—more likely—she would make good on her promise and do everything she could to interfere, ensuring Mhàiri was swept off her feet by someone else.
Unaware of the warring thoughts Conan was having, Mhàiri wandered closer to where he sat on a stool. Nearby was a chair that looked as if it had been stolen from the great hall. She pointed to it. “That is the most surprising thing in this whole room. The great hall hearth chairs are very comfortable and by having one here, you are practically inviting guests to come in and sit and stay for a good . . . long . . . while.”
Conan returned her playful smile. “Which is why I discourage visitors. That”—he gestured toward the chair with his thumb—“is a result of my sister-in-law Ellenor, who stayed here at the castle before she married my brother Cole. She is impertinent and stubborn, but also gifted in languages I did not know. She helped me translate some maps and insisted on having a comfortable place to sit while we worked. If I got rid of it now, Bonny would think I didn’t love her anymore.”
Conan was in the workplace portion of his study, sitting in the middle of an L-shaped table. Multiple papers were all over one half, and on the other, he had one of his more favorite maps uncurled and blocked out. Next to it was the drawing Mhàiri had been working on during their journey from the priory.
“Using Bonny as an excuse is . . .” Her breath caught as she recognized her handiwork. “What is that?”
Conan looked to where her eyes were locked and saw her partially completed landscape. “That is your drawing,” he answered, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “You knew I had it.”
Actually, she had forgotten about it. “Because you wouldn’t give it back to me,” she countered. Her eyes darted to his, and their pale green depths were no longer warm and soft, but cold and aloof. “What are you doing with it?”
Conan was not really sure why Mhàiri was suddenly so angry. In his mind, his keeping the drawing was actually the highest form of flattery. “I was trying to figure out how you did it. How you made things look so real, but so far all I’ve done is wasted a sheet of vellum trying.” He handed the picture back to her. “You have a gift I have no hope of ever being able to replicate.”
Mhàiri snatched the paper from his hand. “You told me that it was wrong. That this was of no value. That I was wasting my time. That I had no appreciation of what I could do. And yet, you want to replicate it.”
Mhàiri turned and walked to the door. She needed to leave. All the memories from that night were crashing back on her. She had felt so angry, so guilty, so lost. For a fleeting moment, she had even considered giving him some of her precious hemp paper. Mhàiri’s hand was on the door when she remembered. Hemp paper. Murt! That was the reason she was here. To offer Conan some for helping her with the shelves.
Slowly she opened the door and then turned around. Conan was staring at her, clearly searching for something to say but fearing it might make things worse.
“In exchange for the shelves,” she said stonily, “I will teach you how to draw like I do.”
Mhàiri turned around to exit. Just before she closed the door, she said, “Lessons begin tomorrow after the noon meal on the hill near the large tree.”
* * *
“I told you that you should have given the drawing back to Mhàiri,” Bonny chided as she emerged from her hiding place.
Conan was at the window staring down into the bailey. “Not now, Bonny.”
“Girls don’t like it when you take their things without their permission.”
Conan watched as Mhàiri entered the courtyard and marched toward the Warden’s Tower. “I said not now, Bonny.” His words were a lot more clipped, and he hoped his niece would take the hint.
“Well, she can’t have been all that mad at you. She did offer to teach you how to draw,” he heard another voice say.
Conan turned around and narrowed his gaze on Bonny, who just shrugged. He had suspected Bonny was nearby hiding, for she had been visiting him when he had heard someone come up the stairs. They had both thought it had been Seamus, and he had sent Bonny into the secret passageway for her to exit the room and the tower. He was not surprised to learn that she had lingered once she had heard Mhàiri’s voice. Brenna, however, was a complete surprise.
Bonny walked over to his desk and pulled out the vellum that he had used to try and recreate Mhàiri’s landscape. “I don’t think drawing is something you learn how to do by looking at it.”
Brenna clasped her hands behind her back and swayed up on her toes and then back down. “That’s why Mhàiri is going to give him lessons,” she said with a smile. “Can we come with you?”
Conan took in a deep breath and strode to his door. He swung it open and pointed to the outside corridor that led to the stairwell. “Out!”
Bonny grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her toward the exit. Just as they went through, she said, “When you go tomorrow, remember you’re the one who doesn’t know anything about drawing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he barked.
Bonny looked up and stared him directly in the eye. “It’s just that you like telling people what to do, even when you don’t know what you are talking about.” Then she turned and left to find her sister, who had gone down without her, leaving Conan’s mouth agape.
Bonny did not have to go far. A couple of flights down, Brenna sat on one of the narrow winding steps, waiting for her. “Can you believe it?” Brenna giggled and shook with pure joy. “Things are working out perfectly. Just you wait, Bonny. With a little bit of help, Mhàiri and Conan will fall in love and get married. Then, Uncle Conan won’t leave and Mhàiri will stay here forever!”
Bonny stared down at her feet. She liked Mhàiri—a lot. She was smart and funny. She was also honest and direct, everything Bonny liked in a person. And she did think that Mhàiri was good for her uncle Conan and that they could fall in love. However, she was not sure that Brenna was correct about any of the rest.
While she wanted Uncle Conan to stay and never leave their home, she did not think it was going to happen. Since she could remember, he had been planning to leave and see the world. He wanted it more than anything, and Bonny feared that if he did not get to leave, her uncle would end up very unhappy . . . and being in love was not going to change that. She did not know Mhàiri as well, but from what she had learned, Mhàiri also did not want to stay, even if she did like it here.
The only way for Brenna’s plan to truly work was if they somehow convinced Conan and Mhàiri they needed to leave together.
That, however, seemed way beyond the ability of a ten-year-old, even a smart one, to mastermind.
At some point, they were going to need their mother.
Chapter Five
The next day, Conan trudged up the hill toward the large tree where Mhàiri sat. He had known exactly which one she had been referring to when she had told him wher
e to meet her. There were several trees in the area, but one was an enormous oak that stood out amongst the rest. It had been huge when he was a lad, and his father had told him that it had been just as big when he was a small boy. Conan had no idea how old the tree was, but it had to be the oldest tree in the area. And everyone knew of it. If someone said, “Meet me by the tree,” one knew exactly what and where they were talking about.
Conan gritted his teeth. Mhàiri’s back was to him. She was sitting on a blanket drawing, completely unaware of his approach and completely unaware that he was deeply conflicted about meeting her.
He had been in a foul mood all morning. It had begun during the first meal, when Mhàiri had barely acknowledged him. It had not been anger that greeted him but indifference. It had been as if she had forgotten yesterday and had reverted back to ignoring him.
Then, an hour before they were to meet, his mood had gone from sour to irate when Conor had requested his presence in the lower hall. He had barely taken a step in the room when he saw the scrawny piece of redheaded filth that had held a sword on him just over a month ago.
Upon seeing him, Conan had charged in, immediately demanding to know what the maggot was doing on McTiernay lands, and why Conor had not yet removed his head. The answer had startled him to his core. Anger had flooded through every fiber of his being so fiercely that it had taken everything not to pummel the man to unconsciousness. Even now if he closed his eyes, he could see every movement, hear every word.
“What did you say?” Conan asked slowly, his icy tone enough to send shivers through not only the weakling, but his brother.
The redhead narrowed his dark, beady eyes and arrogantly leaned forward. “You McTiernays,” he spat, and Conan could see the man’s rotten teeth despite his young age. “You got my sister pregnant this summer. My father demands you marry her and pledge yourself and the McTiernay armies to him and our family.”
Conor did not say a word, but it was not necessary. Conan knew that it never happened. Even if he had done what the sùibhealtan claimed, his brother would never pledge even a dull blade to a man such as the one before him. “Your sister lies,” Conan snarled.
Fury filled the redhead’s gaze, causing him to start to quiver and sputter. “Do you know who I am?” he finally got out. “My father is the laird of—”
Conan cut him off. “I don’t care! ” he roared, slamming his fist on the table, making the thin man jump in fear. “Go home and tell your sister that she should not have named a man who would never allow himself to be a pawn.”
“Honor demands that—”
“You know nothing about honor, or you wouldn’t be trying to blackmail me into accepting your sister’s bastard bairn. Hard to believe I’m her lover as the first time I journeyed north of the River Carron was around the time I saw you running away from a fight like a bleidire.”
“And why should I believe a McTiernay?” the irksome man snorted, his deep-seated hatred showing.
Conan did not know this man nor did he have even the remotest clue why the man hated McTiernays, but he was beyond caring.
Conor tapped his finger on the table, getting the attention of both Conan and the unwanted visitor. “Perhaps you would trust the word of our priest, Father Lanaghly?” His question sounded calm, but the man was a fool not to understand what that meant. He had no idea how close he was to meeting his death. For that last insult had been lobbed not just at Conan, but at Conor and every McTiernay clansman.
Conan, however, was done. He slammed his fists down on the table and leaned over it, his heated glare enough to make the man hold his breath. “Nay,” he said, removing the option. “We don’t need to bother the priest. This conversation is over, and the only reason you are leaving here alive is to deliver a message. Go tell your father, the laird, that nothing in this world or in the heavens above could persuade, let alone force, me into marriage with anyone—pregnant or not. My future does not include a wife, and your sister’s future is one of her own making. She should have kept her legs closed.”
Refusing to endure any more lies or insults, Conan had stomped out of the hall and gone directly to his rooms. There, he had found Bonny and shooed her out, making it clear that Brenna best not come near him either. Unable to sit or think, he had paced back and forth, waiting until Conor stopped by. Finally, after what felt like an interminable amount of time, his brother had arrived.
“Did you find out who he was?”
Conor shook his head. “I did not want him to have the satisfaction of telling me. Plus, like you, I didn’t care. I only told him that if he takes a step onto any McTiernay lands, it will mean his painful death.” He glanced out the window. “Finn’s escorting him to our borders with instructions to muzzle him if he utters a single word.”
“That man is full of rage and is a fool. He’ll be back.”
“And if he does, he will die, but I doubt he will return. His sister probably named you because you are the only unwed McTiernay left still in the Highlands.”
“I meant what I said. I don’t care what anyone says or believes. I’ll never take a wife.”
“And I think of all the things that he heard, that is the one he believed. You are not a man who could be coerced into marriage. Hopefully, he can convince his father.” Conor clapped him on the back. “Gather your wits. BonBon told me to remind you that you have a drawing lesson with Mhàiri.”
“Your daughter—”
“Is delightful and, for some reason, adores you!” Conor laughed and paused just as he exited the room to growl, “Don’t cancel or I’ll tell Laurel.”
It was lucky Conor had been across the room when he had made the threat, or Conan might have decked him. But the warning had been enough to get him to leave the tower. Now that he was here, he began to care less and less what Laurel knew or thought.
The oak loomed ahead. Conan took a deep breath and then let it escape slowly. But before he could decide whether or not he was too angry to be fit company, Mhàiri turned and saw him. Her mouth broke out into a large smile as she waved him over. How he wanted to kiss that mouth. He knew with one touch she could make all that had happened today disappear, if only for a while. If only she wanted a kiss too.
He approached cautiously. Mhàiri had not changed since lunch and was still wearing a forest green gown that highlighted and hugged every morsel of her perfect body. The woman was exceptionally pretty. So much so that even if he weren’t in a bad mood, the outing was destined to be a waste of time. He was going to be incapable of learning anything. Each time he saw her, she only looked more desirable and his thoughts grew more lascivious. Even now, a part of his mind was still wondering how Mhàiri would taste if he were to kiss her.
“You are here,” Conan said as he squatted down beside her, hoping to deflect any of his own misgivings onto her. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and savored her scent. It both calmed him and excited him. Surprisingly, the dual effect was exactly what he needed to let go of the previous hour completely and just concentrate on her.
Conan looked over her shoulder. Mhàiri had obviously been there for a little while, for she had already sketched out the basics of the view all the way down to the loch and the mountains beyond.
Mhàiri tilted her head and gave him a questioning look. “Of course I am here,” she said, somewhat offended. “Just as I said I would be. Oh, this morning,” she whispered, suddenly realizing why he might have thought she would not have come. Mhàiri closed her eyes for a brief moment and then looked at him, wincing. “I did not want anyone to know or suspect we were meeting, so I thought it would be best to continue acting the way we have been.”
Conan gave her a crooked smile and shook his head. “Good idea, but it won’t work. Bonny and Brenna overheard our whole conversation yesterday afternoon. It was a chore just to keep them from tagging along today.”
Mhàiri’s jaw dropped open. The whole conversation, she mouthed.
He nodded. “Don’t worry. Brenna loves to kno
w all that is going on, but for someone so young, she is surprisingly circumspect about revealing what she knows. Neither she nor Bonny lean toward gossip.”
Mhàiri pressed her lips together and prayed Conan was correct. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed. “I don’t know why I care. They learned I want to kiss you weeks ago and the one person I wouldn’t want to know that is you, and you, of course, are the one person she went directly to and told.”
Conan bit back the large smile that was invading his soul. Want to kiss you, she had said. Not wanted to kiss you. Mhàiri still desired him.
For that tidbit alone, he was definitely glad he had come. Her claim that she desired him no more had needled him and kept him awake most of the night. He wanted her, but even more, he wanted Mhàiri to want him back.
Conan reached over to pull a wax tablet out of the small bag he had brought with him. Mhàiri looked at what he was holding and cackled. The sound was not a feminine one, and it certainly was not a high-pitched giggle. Seeing his frustrated look, only made Mhàiri laugh harder. Gasping for breath, she clutched at her stomach with one hand and his shoulder for support with her other. He gave her a perturbed look, which did not help. Her laughter renewed and tears began to fall.
After several deep, calming breaths, she finally got out, “What is that?” while only letting go a few chuckles.
“A wax tablet,” he said impatiently, waving it in his hand for her to see.
“I know that, but what are you doing with it?”
“Well, I’m not going to waste more vellum. The stuff is hard and expensive to make, and I need every scrap of it for my journey. Not all of us have access to a private supply of hemp paper,” he said with a hint of a sneer, using his chin to point at the drawing in her hand.
Mhàiri wiped away her tears, then took the wax tablet out of his hand and put it on the ground. “If that is what you practice drawing on, then no wonder you are having difficulties.”
The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland Page 12