The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland

by Michele Sinclair

  Mhàiri was right, but the idea that she would come this far away from the castle by herself was disturbing. There were wild animals in the area, some of them vicious. In the colder months when prey was less easy to find, it was not unthinkable for a wildcat to attack a lone female. “Promise me you will never come out here without someone, preferably skilled in weaponry, accompanying you.”

  “Why?” Mhàiri asked, nudging his arm with her shoulder. “Worried about me?”

  With a serious look, he answered, “Aye. Promise me, Mhàiri.”

  “I’ll have you know that I can take care of myself and am not scared of wild animals. You need not worry about me. I did survive alone for nearly two weeks in my cottage before you arrived.”

  “Promise me, Mhàiri, or I’ll order the guards at the gate not to let you pass.”

  Mhàiri blinked. Conan was being deadly serious. She had been earnest about being capable of taking care of herself, but she was not sure how to convince Conan of that without killing and skinning a wildcat to prove it. “I already promised Laurel that I would not venture out alone, so you do not have to worry so.”

  Conan swallowed and nodded, relief relaxing his tense features. “Good. Make sure you keep that promise.”

  * * *

  For the next couple of weeks, they kept to their routine. They would meet for a few hours in the afternoon before Conan returned to help Conor with clan needs or work on things in preparation for his journey. Mhàiri was certain that Conan had either forgotten or was delaying building her shelves, but she found herself to be caring less and less each day. She was getting used to dealing with the cluttered mess in her room, and Mhàiri truly enjoyed spending time with Conan. Though she would never admit it; she preferred his company more than anyone else’s.

  That did not mean she did not enjoy being around others. Mhàiri liked Maegan enormously and felt fortunate to have found in her an unexpected friend. They could and did talk about almost anything. Even discussing clothes with Maegan could be entertaining. She had the most hilarious stories about Bonny and Brenna as well as Gideon and Braeden, but mostly they would chatter about the soldiers and the silly things men did for attention. Maegan teased her about Conan, and Mhàiri teased her back about Seamus, for Mhàiri was positive Maegan liked the large soldier despite her constant assurances that she was in love with the absent Clyde. And while they got along very well, there was still only so much time the two of them could spend together before they ran out of things to say. Luckily, both had become fairly good at recognizing the precursors to such awkward moments and would go their separate ways before only silence was between them.

  Mhàiri would have thought she would experience the same desire for space after several hours in Conan’s company, and yet she didn’t.

  Sometimes they congenially talked almost the entire time they were together. Other times, their conversation ended up in a heated debate with voices raised. But just as often, they found themselves laughing together at a story one remembered, a funny thought, or something random one of them saw. And then were the times that neither said anything at all. Never before had she been able to sit with someone quietly without her silence being questioned. Even her father had had trouble with that one.

  Spending time with Conan had felt so natural that Mhàiri had not realized just how unusual their relationship had become. At least not until Maegan had commented that some of the soldiers were betting on who was going to break first—her or Conan. That was when Mhàiri had learned that she held the record for the most days a woman had spent in Conan’s company without some kind of public eruption. Most did not even make it a week before they accosted him in the courtyard, calling him heartless, selfish, and other unflattering things at the top of their lungs.

  When Mhàiri had mentioned it to Conan, he had asked her what she had thought, and her answer had been the same as what she had told Maegan. “It’s not your fault they lost their hearts to you. You probably even warned them against doing so.”

  Conan had flashed her a grin. “You know, I actually did.”

  “Then again, those dimples are an unfair advantage. I told you that they are lethal to a woman’s good sense.”

  “Good thing they do not work on you,” he said with a chortle as he continued practicing the lesson of the day.

  That was when Mhàiri had known that it was not going to happen. Conan was never going to kiss her. He may have thought about it at one time, but that desire had been replaced with simple friendship.

  Deep down, Mhàiri knew it was a good thing. She most likely was going to be staying at McTiernay Castle for another four months and that time would be far more pleasant if she and Conan continued as they were. While she truly believed she could keep the emotional aspect of kissing away from her heart, it was a risk to test that belief.

  “How’s it going?” Mhàiri asked, leaning over to see how Conan was progressing. They had moved on to how to draw lochs, rivers, and they’d even figured out a way to make it small enough to be depicted on a map. It was clear Conan understood the concepts she was teaching him, but skilled execution of them would take time and a lot of practice.

  “I’m still trying to figure out how to capture the right amount of detail to show the features of an area but capture enough land mass to make the map of value. I don’t expect King Robert to piece together hundreds of these things on his hall wall just to see all of Scotland. It needs to be smaller. Something that could be bound in a book and transported.”

  Mhàiri sighed and put her own stylus down. She leaned back on her hands and closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of the sun. “We should enjoy these warm afternoons. Did you feel how cold it got last night?”

  “Aye,” he murmured, concentrating on his drawing. The temperature was not truly warm like it was in the summer, but the sun was bright and the wind was slight, making the day enjoyable when dressed in warm clothes. “I think I understand this enough for now. Let’s work on castles tomorrow. I know that there is not a large call for it on maps, but it might be useful and I want to learn all I can while I have the chance.”

  Mhàiri took in a deep breath and exhaled, completely relaxed. “I can show you castles next if you want, but not tomorrow. I promised to go on an afternoon picnic with Loman while the warm weather still permitted.”

  Conan froze, glad that Mhàiri’s eyes were still closed.

  He knew several of the soldiers liked Mhàiri. It was to be expected. She was beautiful and aggravatingly friendly. Of course, she had admirers. But he had not thought Mhàiri returned their regard. And Loman was the worst. Practically the day after Seamus had introduced them, he had taken every opportunity to say some overly sweet hello, trap her into talking with him, or compel her to laugh at some story that was, in essence, boring and trite. Conan had thought Mhàiri felt the same.

  They were so alike in their attitudes and opinions . . . about so many things, he had just assumed that she viewed Loman’s machinations the same way he did. Contrived and unwanted. But if she was going on an afternoon picnic with Loman, he had been wrong. Very wrong. And about a lot.

  A whole afternoon together. If Loman’s attraction to Mhàiri was anything similar to Conan’s, the honey-haired soldier was not going to return to the castle with only a full belly and some conversation to get him through the night.

  “You know Loman is going to try and kiss you,” he gritted out.

  “Probably,” Mhàiri answered, eyes still closed, unperturbed at the idea.

  “And are you going to let him?”

  Conan’s clipped tone caused Mhàiri to open her eyes. She held his gaze steady and answered, “Of course, I am. I told you that I wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man. All the farmers I met while at the priory wanted to marry me. To kiss them would have been like accepting a marriage proposal. Now I finally have the chance, and I am going to take it.”

  Conan could feel his jaw clench. The logic was there. Mhàiri did not sound as if she desired
Loman, and yet the idea of that man’s lips against hers was turning his stomach into knots. “And you don’t think that Loman wants to marry you?”

  Mhàiri thought for a moment and then, with a shrug, shook her head. She leaned back again, closed her eyes, and continued enjoying the sun. “He knows I plan to leave McTiernay Castle and travel with my father. And I don’t see Loman suddenly wanting to become a merchant. So no, I don’t think he has any thoughts toward marriage and a kiss certainly isn’t going to create them. We just enjoy each other’s company.”

  Conan stood up abruptly. Mhàiri reopened her eyes to see that he was packing his things. “We’re leaving?” she asked, rising to her feet as well.

  “Aye,” he said, clearly disgruntled.

  “I promise we will get together again in two days and I will show you how to draw buildings, castles, or whatever you want.”

  Conan dropped his things to the ground. “You think that’s what I care about right now?” He reached out and his hands gripped her arms, not painfully, but with enough force Mhàiri could feel the tension raging in his body. “If you wanted to know what a kiss was like so damn bad, you should have asked me.”

  The desire Conan had worked so hard to suppress suddenly erupted and was beyond his control. His mouth came down on hers before Mhàiri could even think of moving. He caught her face between his hands, pulled her close, and kissed her—hard and deliberately—letting her feel the frustration and temper she had aroused in him.

  Mhàiri was not sure what was happening until the moment she felt Conan’s mouth close roughly over hers, searing their lips together. Surprised, she at first clutched his forearms and resisted, but Conan did not lessen his hold. The pressure against her mouth was deep and persuasive and undeniable. And before she realized what she was doing, her mouth opened and welcomed him in.

  Her first real kiss. It was more than Mhàiri had ever dreamed it could be. She knew there were different types of kisses—those with closed lips and those with an open mouth. And when she had thought about what her first kiss should be, she had always envisioned something soft and sweet, where two pairs of lips met together. The exchange was supposed to be pleasurable—nothing like what she was feeling with Conan. Her body was on fire. She felt as if she were melting and hungry at the same time.

  Conan moaned. Mhàiri’s initial resistance was gone, and she was starting to respond. When she finally reached out and tasted him with her tongue, a shudder of need racked him. Something told him to let her go and maybe he would have found the will if Mhàiri’s slim fingers had not slid up his arms and clutched at his shoulders. Ending the kiss now was not a possibility.

  A sharp groan escaped his throat and Conan pulled her in closer. His whole body was tight with desire. The full force of his own hunger burned inside him, and he refused to suffer alone. He would fan her own growing desire to such levels that she would never consider kissing another man.

  Mhàiri whimpered as Conan invaded the vulnerable warmth behind her lips with an intimate aggression that seared her senses. She had been completely unprepared for the flood of sensations his tongue would create, boldly stroking the inside of her mouth. His arms and body were taut with muscle. He was broader and, excitingly, harder than she. Mhàiri knew she should do something to stop Conan’s passionate assault upon her senses, but she couldn’t muster the will to push him away. Not yet.

  If anything, she wanted to be closer to him and leaned into him, unable to rationalize why or what she was doing. His musky scent filled her nostrils and caused an unfamiliar stir in her belly. Her hands ran down over his chest of their own accord and then back up around his neck. He matched her need and pulled her tightly to him, causing her to groan.

  Conan reveled in the way her lips moved against his. Mhàiri tasted as good as he had known she would, but instead of quenching his desire for her, her taste only inflamed it. He wanted her more than he had ever thought it possible to want any woman.

  Conan’s hands became as undisciplined as his mouth, taming and exciting as he stroked a warm path from her shoulders to the base of her spine.

  Mhàiri trembled under his touch. It hardly seemed possible, but his fierce kiss had turned even more wild and ravenous. A shiver rolled through her and she suspected that what she was feeling could not be experienced in the arms of any other man. Conan was masterful, demanding, and all consuming. The hot, sensuous kiss went on and on, suffusing her body with an aching need for more. He was kissing her as though she were a drink of water and he were a man dying of thirst, and part of her hoped he would never be quenched. She moaned and felt her legs begin to quiver.

  Conan held her tight so that she did not fall, but he did break off the kiss, giving them a chance to suck in much-needed air.

  “Conan,” Mhàiri whispered just before she rocked against him and went up on her tiptoes to seek his mouth again.

  He cursed, “Murt,” and then bent his head to kiss her once more, his tongue penetrating, stroking, taking. His body hard and hot with wanting her.

  Over and over again, he slanted his mouth over Mhàiri’s. He curved his hand around the nape of her neck, keeping her in place, enjoying the silken feel of her skin while his body raged for something more.

  Mhàiri let go another moan, and Conan knew he was at the brink of insanity. He had never shared an embrace that had turned so hot, so consuming, as to be in danger of losing control. But that was where he was at with Mhàiri.

  With the last of his strength, he lifted his mouth from hers and looked down into her pale emerald eyes. She stared back at him with a mixture of confusion and vulnerability, but he steeled himself against it. Her chest heaved with the effort it took to breathe. He had never before experienced a need so deep, and it felt . . . threatening.

  Suddenly, he needed to protect himself, his heart, and his future. He needed to get away. Now, before it was too late.

  Conan held her face in his hands and looked down into the shining depths of her passion-filled eyes.

  “There. Now you have something to compare Loman’s kiss to.”

  Then he let her go and walked away, knowing those words, when they finally penetrated, would keep her from running after him.

  Chapter Six

  “Hold it there,” Conan said to Seamus as he shifted the heavy shelf into place.

  “So where’s Mhàiri?” Seamus grunted.

  “Out on a picnic with Loman.”

  Seamus leaned back to look at Conan. His eyebrows were arched high, and a slight smile formed on his lips. “Interesting.”

  Conan gave Seamus a quick glare and then went back to focus on securing the board in the panel’s groove. Neither would ever admit they considered each other friends. Both told others they stomached the other’s company, but in truth Conan respected the quiet soldier, and in the past year a surprising, but strong, bond of friendship had grown between them.

  And all because of a woman.

  Conan never had been attracted to Maegan, though he could see her appeal when he considered the idea objectively. But to him, Maegan would always be the skinny spitfire who had chased after his younger brother for years. He had seen the mutual attachment start to grow between them before Clyde had left. Clyde, in actions more than words, had claimed the girl as his own and probably this more than anything else kept Conan from truly seeing the soft beauty she had become. Her bony arms and body had filled out in the last few years, and her large eyes, the color of a clear winter sky, had begun to mesmerize many a soldier in Clyde’s absence. One of them was Seamus.

  With Hamish gone and living in the north, Seamus had taken the man’s place next to Finn as Conor’s second in command. As such, he had been around the castle a lot more than most and routinely crossed paths with Maegan. And each time they had spoken, the more Seamus had grown to like her. And soon he had begun to search for ways to be in her company whenever he was not on duty. Since Maegan was usually watching over Bonny and the little girl preferred to spend time with her u
ncle, Seamus had found himself in a situation he had never predicted to be in—seeking out Conan’s company.

  At first, Conan had thought of Seamus just as another nuisance who clearly was using him to spend time with a woman—something Conan might have respected more if Seamus liked someone other than Maegan. But when Bonny had mentioned how much the soldier had been helping him while he was there in prepping for his travels, Conan had realized she was right. After that, he no longer cared about Seamus’s ulterior motives. Not only did he respect the soldier, but he liked the man. Conan also hoped that Maegan would realize before it was too late that Clyde was never coming back and that she could do no better than a good man who was inexplicably in love with her.

  “What’s so interesting about it?” Conan grumbled as he fought with the board. He knew it fit; the frustrating piece of wood just did not know it yet.

  “Only that building all these shelves was a lot of work. One typically does not spend a lot of time on a project when there is no personal benefit. You certainly don’t.”

  “I was ordered to do it if you recall. I did not have much of a choice.” Finally, the board slid all the way into the groove. Conan put downward pressure on it, testing its strength. Pleased, he went to grab the next shelf. “Why do you care, anyway?”

  “I don’t necessarily, but there are several men I know who are very interested in your relationship with Mhàiri.”

  Conan felt his jaw tighten. He should have anticipated something like this. Fighting men, especially the unmarried ones, bet all the time and on anything. Mhàiri was something new to wager on. But their relationship? Making bets on that was senseless when he and Mhàiri did not have one. “What kind of wagers are you talking about?”

  Seamus grunted when Conan began to push against the panel he was holding in an effort to wedge the next shelf into place. “Just what you would expect. Everyone knows you two are friends and go out each afternoon, so there are wagers on whether you two are going to pair up. But most just bet on when you are going to infuriate Mhàiri to the point that she yells at you like all your other past women. I wonder who won today?”