The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland

by Michele Sinclair

  A wax tablet was a reusable and portable writing surface. A piece of flat wood was coated with black or green wax that people could use and then erase by heating the wax through vigorous rubbing. But to make a mark, one had to push hard, and it was impossible to change the direction of a line without lifting the stylus and starting again.

  Mhàiri lifted her bag and pulled out a large, flat board. Stretched across was a rectangular piece of off-white linen cloth. “This was something my father made for me when I was young and wanted to draw on everything. I did not have access to a private supply of hemp paper then,” she said with a quick wink, “though even if I had, it would have been too expensive on which to practice. And as you made clear, vellum is costly and not easily come by. So, my father made me this to use over and over again,” Mhàiri said, proudly showing it to him.

  Conan just stared at it. “Cloth?” The only thing that would mark it was the ink he used on the vellum, which would stain the material. Linen seemed even less practical a medium than wax. “Maybe we should stick to sticks and dirt,” he grumbled.

  Undeterred, Mhàiri laid the cloth board in her lap. She pulled out a small leather bag and then opened it wide. Inside was a dark, wet substance. “I made this from the ash in my fireplace. You just add a little water until you get the right consistency. Now, you can take your stylus, dip it in, and look.” Mhàiri outlined the petals to a flower in the lower right-hand corner. “At night, you untie it, wash it, and let it dry. Then you can start all over again the next day.”

  Mhàiri beamed him a smile and handed the board to him. For a second, Conan thought he was going to drown in the crystal-clear pools of her green eyes. Then he forced himself to look down at the board. He studied it with renewed appreciation. Bonny had been right. He had already forgotten her reminder that he knew nothing about drawing.

  Conan picked up the stylus and looked at Mhàiri. Her excitement ran through him, and he told himself to focus on what she was about to show him. If Mhàiri really could teach him even some of the fundamentals of her style of drawing, it could revolutionize his approach to making maps. They would be more detailed, more readable, and most importantly, more usable than he had ever imagined.

  “So where do we begin?”

  “We begin with perspective. First, look and study our view. Do you see the tree right in front of us and the snow-topped mountain beyond the loch?” Conan nodded. “Now I want you to draw them on this corner. Just like you see them.”

  Conan did so, and when finished, he was both pleased and frustrated with his work. He thought all three well done considering he was not an artist, but they were nothing like Mhàiri’s.

  “Each is good, but I did not ask you to draw me a tree and a mountain. I asked you to draw me what you see. You made the mountain as big as the tree.”

  Seeing his mistake, Conan grunted and tried again.

  “Interesting,” Mhàiri hummed. “It must look different from where you sit because your mountain is bigger than the tree,” Mhàiri said.

  “But it is,” Conan argued.

  “A mountain may be larger than a tree in life, but I asked you to draw me what you see.” Mhàiri then showed him what she had drawn. “When I look out, the tree is really close. I see so much more of it than I do the mountain. It is actually bigger because of my perspective.”

  Conan studied her drawing and then looked back up. The tree was bigger than the mountain. It was even bigger than the loch and the forest beyond, and he said so.

  “That’s right! That is the first thing you need to understand about perspective. It is not about how things actually are, but how they are perceived. To truly provide an understanding of something through a drawing, one should consider the object’s size and position in relation to others from a particular point. You still can tell my mountain is larger in life than this tree, but because it is smaller, you also know how far it is from the tree.”

  Conan twisted his lips. “It seems so simple an idea. I don’t think I have ever felt more like an idiot.”

  Mhàiri jerked back her chin. “Why? Every picture I have ever seen is depicted like what you first drew. Visual depth is never depicted.” She pointed to the canvas. “Now it’s time for you to practice and really start to feel like an idiot. Because nothing is more frustrating to me than knowing what I want to do but not having the skills to do it.” Mhàiri reached into her bag and pulled out three more canvas boards. “For you. When you fill that one, go to these. Just note that you will have to disassemble them and get one of the chambermaids to wash the cloths tonight so that they will be dry tomorrow.”

  “You and I are coming back out tomorrow?”

  Mhàiri held his gaze. “You think by the end of the day you will be proficient at drawing?”

  He scoffed. “Hardly.”

  “Then, aye, we should plan to meet each afternoon we can until it turns too cold.”

  Afraid that his voice would show his happiness at the suggestion, Conan said nothing but instead picked up his stylus and began sketching the view. After what felt like only a handful of minutes, Mhàiri stretched her arms and then arched her back. She then pushed herself up to her feet and looked down where he stared up at her with a puzzled expression. “I think I’m done for the day, so I’m going to head back to the castle. But don’t let my absence stop you.”

  Conan blinked and looked around. The sun had sunk low and was nearing the horizon. The fourth canvas board was in his hands, half full of marginal sketches and the other three were next to him full of ashy markings. He could not believe it. They had been drawing for hours.

  When Conan had first sat down, he had thought it was going to be impossible to focus on anything with Mhàiri nearby. Every time the wind caught her hair, a piece would drift over his arm, teasing him. And her wildflower scent wreaked havoc with his ability to focus on anything but her. Knowing this, he had planned to convince her to put her own drawing aside and entertain his first notion of thanking him by means of a kiss.

  But that had not happened. What had was akin to a miracle—at least for him.

  Never had he been able to work with a pretty woman nearby. Usually, he found the sound of their constant jabbering annoying, but even the silent ones affected his ability to focus, for invariably his mind drifted to lustful thoughts. But, amazingly, he had spent an entire afternoon with Mhàiri and actually worked. And it was not that he did not desire Mhàiri. Just thinking of her created waves of lust inside him. He dreamed about how she would taste and how she would come alive in his arms. He longed to experience her hidden passion exploding in his embrace. And yet, somehow, he had become completely fixated on learning what she had shown him.

  A sense of eagerness engulfed him. It had been a long time since he had felt so impatient, but tomorrow afternoon could not arrive fast enough.

  * * *

  Four days later, Conan paced by the oak tree waiting for Mhàiri to arrive. He had come early in hopes of releasing some of his tension before they met.

  When he was around her, he felt incredibly alive, like anything was possible—even more so than he did when he was engrossed in a new map. Unfortunately, his mind was not the only thing that was more alive. Being around her every day was also making it very difficult to keep his desires under control and images of Mhàiri in his arms, passionate and wanting, was invading too many of his thoughts. He knew if his imagination could be put to rest and he could actually just kiss her, much of his angst would disappear. Aye, there would probably be an excellent chance he would want another kiss, but he would at least then know, thereby ending his torment.

  However, events like that of the previous night did not help.

  On their second outing, Bonny, Brenna, and Maegan had tagged along and the following day the weather had not cooperated. Yesterday had started similarly to their first. Mhàiri had shown him a couple of tricks about how to mentally measure each component before trying to capture it on the cloth. Conan had had every intention on practici
ng them per her instruction, but he had also intended to take a break at some point and pursue other, more physically pleasurable things. The one thing critical to his plan, however, was the one thing he did not have—Mhàiri’s presence.

  Right after she had given her advice, she had instructed him to continue practicing. Then she had risen to her feet, dusted off her gown, grabbed her bag, and begun to head back to the castle.

  Conan had jumped up and chased after her. “You are just leaving me here? Alone?”

  Amusement had filled Mhàiri’s green eyes as she reached out and squeezed his bicep. “You seem capable enough to handle anything scary that might come along.”

  Conan had swallowed. Mhàiri had only briefly touched him, and the lower part of his body had gone hard. Any movement to hide the fact would have only shifted her gaze downward. He should have said good-bye and let her leave, but he had already appeared desperate. And yet, when he had opened his mouth to tell her to be careful, what had actually come out was, “How will I know if I did it right and if I am ready for the next lesson?”

  “You can show me tomorrow.”

  “But I have to wash the cloths at night.”

  “So, you can draw something for me tomorrow.”

  “How about tonight?” Conan had pressed, acting completely unlike himself. And yet, part of him had not cared. It had been nearly a week since he had ended his ill-conceived plan to ignore her, and other than their first outing, he had yet to spend any quality time alone with her—and only her.

  Mhàiri had sighed and given him a long look. “How about after dinner?” she had suggested. “In the great hall?”

  Conan had nodded and waited for her to turn and leave before returning to the blanket and his sketches.

  All that afternoon, throughout the entire meal, and right up until the doors opened, he had looked forward to their meeting. He had planned not only to show her the drawings, but what they could have been doing if she had not left their lesson early. Then again, there were several benefits of meeting at night in the great hall—no wind, unexpected passersby, or setting sun forcing an inconvenient end to their time together.

  The night should have ended only after Mhàiri had thoroughly and repeatedly been kissed. But when it was finally time for them to meet in the great hall, nothing had gone according to plan.

  He had arrived first and his heart had started to pound hearing Mhàiri enter and seeing her wear a huge, welcoming smile. He returned her smile but only briefly for tailing right behind her had been Bonny and Brenna. Upon seeing him, both screeched and ran forward, jabbering about wanting to see what their uncle Conan was learning to do.

  Conan could not remember a time either of his nieces had been so chatty or critical. They had pointed out all the flaws in his sketches and what they thought he needed to practice more. Then they’d asked Mhàiri question after question about her drawings. Bonny, who had never been interested in art or maps before, had constantly poked him, telling him to pay attention, which he had pointedly refused to do. Instead, he had sat there, stretched out, moping as he downed several mugs of ale. He had not cared that he was being rude and immature. He had not cared about Bonny or Brenna either.

  It had not been until this morning, when he had awoken to a huge headache and the memories of his boorish behavior, that he’d had a few pangs of regret that resulted in an illuminating conclusion. He needed to end his pointless pursuit of kissing Mhàiri. If it happened, it happened, but the effort of trying to make it happen was—if possible—driving him even more insane.

  Conan had missed the morning meal and had persuaded Fiona to let him take some food to his room. He had remained there through the noon meal so he had yet to see anyone. He had no idea of just how mad Mhàiri was. Any other woman, Conan would not have had to wonder. He would already know. She would have reamed him out that night before retiring, and most likely he would have woken up to something just as bitter being shouted from the bailey. But that was not Mhàiri’s style. All he could remember was her whispering to the girls that the next time they all decided to meet with Uncle Conan, they should warn him first. That they were lucky he had stayed with them and had not left, especially when he was not having any fun.

  Had she meant it? Or had Mhàiri only offered the words to comfort his two nieces?

  Conan spotted Mhàiri approaching and stopped his pacing. He shielded his eyes from the bright overhead sun and tried to detect her mood from her expression, but he could not tell anything other than she was not smiling.

  He swallowed. “You angry about last night?”

  Mhàiri tilted her head slightly and looked at him quizzically. “I thought you were mad at me,” she said, fanning herself with her hand. “Laurel insisted Brenna and Bonny come with me, and I know you don’t like surprises.”

  She was right. He didn’t. And Laurel knew it as well.

  He had wondered what his sister-in-law’s reaction would be if she suspected his desire for Mhàiri. Now he had his answer. Unlike with his brothers, Laurel was not going to ease his path toward true love. Which was good, because he did not want true love or any of the burdens that came with it. He only wanted a kiss. Laurel must have realized it, and unfortunately, she saw kissing him as a woman’s first step to heartache.

  “I was still kind of a thòin last night.”

  “You were.” Mhàiri laughed at the memory. “That was why annoying you was so much fun. You only got grumpier. We took score at who could get you to growl the loudest.”

  Conan pursed his lips. Once again, Mhàiri was discombobulating him to the point where he lacked for words. “Who won?” he finally asked.

  Mhàiri bit her lower lip in an effort to hide her smile. “We promised each other not to tell.” She then fanned herself again. “It is strangely hot for this time of year. If it continues, we may need to meet after first meal before the sun is blazing overhead.”

  Conan shook his head. “I can’t then. I train in the mornings.”

  “Do you have to train then? Couldn’t you, um, take a break for a few weeks?”

  Conan flexed the muscle in his arm that she had touched the prior day. “If I didn’t, I would be a twig like Maegan. And wielding a sword is a skill that must be regularly practiced to be maintained.”

  “Then what are you going to do when you leave in the spring? The image of you waving a sword around in the air each morning is not very flattering.”

  Conan chortled at the idea. “There will be plenty of opportunities for me to keep up my skills. It’s not like I’m going to be sleeping outside under the stars all the time. I’m traveling and mapping the land at the request of King Robert. So, most nights, I will be staying as guest to a laird, much like you are to my brother. While I’m there, I’ll train with their men as I can. Once I’m done, I’ll move to the next clan and map their lands.”

  Mhàiri stared at him for several seconds in disbelief. She knew that Conan thought when they left in the spring and went their separate ways that his travels were going to be far more severe and uncomfortable. He had intimated as much several times. And she had believed him, thinking him hunting each night for his food, sleeping on the ground with only a blanket to shield him from the cold or the rain. Now she just wanted to laugh.

  Aye, Conan was going to have to forage for his food periodically. But from what he described, most nights he would be served a delicious meal that consisted of a wide variety of foods. Merchants rarely experienced such luxuries, even wealthy ones like her father. Unlike her, Conan was going to be nestled on a mattress in a cozy bed with a large hearth fire to warm him. Her blanket-cushioned bed was going to be inside their wagon and was going to be put together and dismantled each night.

  If their two futures were reversed, Conan would have a much harder time surviving hers. An opinion she decided was best kept to herself. Still, she could not help but say, “Based on last night and today, you have a lot of work to do on perspective. Yours is definitely skewed.”

 
; Conan looked down at the canvas in his hands and realized it was blank from being cleaned. He sighed heavily. He had thought he had been improving.

  “You can practice trees and mountains later,” Mhàiri said, gesturing for him to bring everything and follow her. “Today we are going to learn how to draw an object that is both near and far.”

  Mhàiri started walking, coming to a stop about half way down a sloping hill. She pointed to a thick rock wall that was about waist high. She sat down and said, “Try drawing the rock wall.”

  Conan sat next to her and attempted to sketch the wall. The result was a wall, but it looked nothing like the rock wall in front of them. It no longer bothered him that it was wrong. He actually liked Mhàiri’s style of instruction. Instead of teaching as she, herself, drew things, Mhàiri preferred to use his efforts as a starting point. “That’s good, but remember to draw what you see, not what you know. Aye, the wall is the same height and width its whole length, but it doesn’t look that way from here. It starts out very small and narrow and then gets wider and taller the closer it gets.”

  Conan stared at the scene she wanted him to capture and realized that the wall did look like it was “shrinking” as it stretched into the distance. He tried again to draw it and with a frustrated grunt, handed the stylus to Mhàiri. She scrunched her nose and he almost thought she was going to refuse his non-verbal request.

  “Fine,” Mhàiri playfully grumbled. “One time, but I have my own drawing to focus on.”

  Mhàiri quickly sketched it. Conan watched carefully how she started, using basic shapes to outline the primary features. “Next you add features in layers, beginning with the most distant thing and ending with the closest.”

  When Mhàiri leaned over to grab her bag, Conan panicked. “You leaving me again?”

  “Not today,” she answered with a brief shake of her head. “I love Brenna and Bonny, even Maegan, but I’m not used to having noise around me all the time. I like to have quiet when I read or draw. Normally, I would come out here by myself, but during your first lesson, I realized we had something else in common. When we get started on a project, our focus consumes us to the point an army could be marching by and we would never know.”