Conan grabbed the book to see what Seamus was waving about. “It’s a medical book about surgery.” He handed it back. “There are drawings of the female body in there as well.”
Seamus pulled in his chin, furrowed his brow with increased curiosity, and skimmed through the book again. Stopping at a page, he turned it to view at different angles. “I’m starting to understand the appeal of being a scholar.”
Conan ignored him and opened the first large chest. He pulled out several books and manuscripts and put them on the shelves.
Seamus sighed and placed the medical book on the nearest bookcase. He then went to the smaller chest and lifted the lid. He stood up holding a blue gown with small seed pearls along the hem up to his chest. “What do you think?”
Conan glanced at him. “I think it just might be what you need to get Maegan to finally take notice of you.”
“Go n-ithe an cat thú is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat,” Seamus growled. He hastily rolled up the dress and put it back down to see what else was in the trunk. “Do you think that women like wearing all these things?”
Conan shrugged and shoved some scrolled manuscripts on the top shelf. “If they didn’t, then I suspect they wouldn’t wear them.” Then he realized what Seamus was doing. “Close that up. Mhàiri wouldn’t be dumb enough to pack gowns with her books.”
Seamus closed the lid with a thunk. “How was I to know? I’ve been around you brilliant people enough to see you do an awful lot of dumb things.”
Conan ignored his friend and pulled out one very large volume with a thin leather cover. The binding was not a permanent one. Instead, lace pulled the front and back slats of wood tightly together. When it was loosened, someone could take sheets out individually and then bind them again to keep them protected. He did not need to open it to see that it was not vellum within the leather bindings, but hemp paper.
Conan placed the book on the shelf and then went to see if there was another. There was. Exactly the same. Wondering how many more hemp books there were, Conan began opening the lids to the second and third chests. There were twelve large hemp books in total.
“What has you so enamored?” Seamus asked, looking over Conan’s shoulder, watching him stroke the cover.
Slowly Conan opened the book and was not surprised by what he saw. Mhàiri’s drawings. He flipped through the pages and saw lochs, flowers, buildings, people—the last few years of her life was staring back at him.
Conan put the book down and reached out for another. This time, only blank pages stared back at him.
Conan swallowed and began going through all the books, his breathing becoming more rapid as he began to realize exactly what he was seeing—and why Mhàiri had kept it hidden within the heavy chests. Nearly half of the books were blank. She had literally hundreds of sheets of blank hemp paper. And she had kept it a secret.
“I cannot believe it,” Conan whispered. “All this paper.”
Seamus looked at it. “What of it? It’s blank.”
“Touch it,” Conan ordered.
Seamus complied. “What is it?” he asked, realizing that it was different.
“This is hemp.” Conan pointed at all the large bound volumes. “All of this hemp. Probably the best thing to write on. And it’s here. Can you imagine the maps I could make using this?”
Seamus might have spent a good deal of time with Conan over the past year, but he did not know anything about making maps. Mostly because he did not want to know about them. What little he did know was that it required vellum, the making of which was tedious. He knew that because Conan had roped him to helping with the chore often enough.
“I expect Mhàiri looks at this and imagines all the pictures she could create.”
Conan lightly touched the smooth surface. “It’s so light. I bet I could carry a dozen sheets for every one of vellum. Using hemp would increase my output tenfold,” he said, more to himself than to Seamus. He knew it was impossible, but it was hard not to imagine, seeing so much blank hemp within reach.
“Too bad it’s not yours,” Seamus reiterated, taking the book from Conan’s hands. Seeing his friend’s crushed expression, he added, “But maybe it could be. I mean, her father is the one who got it for her and Mhàiri will be with him again this spring. She might give you them if you asked.”
Conan squeezed his eyes shut. “Maybe two days ago it would have been a possibility, but after yesterday, I do not see it happening.”
Seamus grimaced and wagged his finger at him before grabbing a set of rolls. “That’s right. The kiss,” he said with a shake of his head.
“We already agreed it wasn’t my best idea,” Conan muttered.
“Hey! You could buy them from her. Her father is a merchant, and she wants to live that life. Mhàiri might be willing to trade or accept coin for the paper.”
Conan sighed. It was clear Seamus did not understand the value of what he was looking at. And Mhàiri was using the hemp paper herself. She used it all the time. It was just as important and valuable to her as it would be to him. “I don’t think that is an option either.”
“Well, there has to be a way,” Seamus said under his breath, trying to think. “Is it stealing if you charm Mhàiri into giving them to you?”
Conan furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s like I was saying earlier. I haven’t seen a woman yet who could resist you when you aim to have her. And we already know that Mhàiri is susceptible to your kisses. . . .”
Conan stroked his chin. Seamus was right. It might be possible to gain Mhàiri’s affections. She might deny wanting him, but he could use that to his advantage. He would never consider fully seducing Mhàiri—that crossed a line. Just the idea of any man taking such advantage of her sent a surge of anger through him. If it ever actually happened, he would not be responsible for his actions. But wooing her enough so that she would be willing to share a hemp book or two? That he could do.
It wouldn’t be a lie either, for he actually liked Mhàiri. And it was not like he would be teasing her with the possibility of a future that was never going to happen, for she, too, was soundly against the idea of marriage.
Seamus tapped the bookcase’s panel, looking at all the filigree Conan had carved into the wood. That was what had taken him so long. “You and I know that you could have built bookshelves that would have been sufficient in a day or two, but instead you spent weeks making this furniture fancy.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Aye,” Seamus said dismissively. “But think about this. Most women, when they get gifts, they want to give something in return.”
Conan grinned, seeing where Seamus was heading. “And the nicer the gift, the more they want to reciprocate.”
“Aye,” Seamus said, nodding his head. “And these bookshelves? They are a very nice gift. Don’t you agree?”
Conan crossed his arms and assessed his work. He proudly bobbed his head. “I certainly do.” Hopefully Mhàiri thought they were nice enough for a book, maybe even two as well. “Help me put all these books back in the chests.”
“Back in the chests? We just got them out.”
“Aye. But I don’t want Mhàiri to realize I know about the hemp paper. She needs to tell me about them. That way, when she offers them to me, she’ll believe it is all her idea.”
* * *
Mhàiri stomped to the hearth in Maegan’s bedchambers, turned, and then headed to the window. Reaching it, she turned around and made the round again . . . and again. Pacing was the only thing that was keeping her from screaming the anger raging through her body.
To think that at one time she had considered giving Conan one of her prized hemp books as a surprise gift for his journey. She had known it would be too much of a burden on her father to bring all her manuscripts, scrolls, and things with them on their travels. She had already planned to offer what was to remain behind to Laurel or Father Lanaghly and the church. But her hemp paper? That had been coming with her.
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br /> “And he knew,” Mhàiri hissed. “Conan knew they were a gift from my father!”
Maegan bit her bottom lip and winced. “That does make it worse somehow.”
“What a buthaigir duine.”
Maegan’s eyes grew wide. She glanced at Brenna, who played with a loose thread on the bed’s blanket and then back at Mhàiri. The term was not a nice one, but Maegan could not disagree. What Conan was planning did make him a complete and total bastard. It also made Seamus one. “I guess it was a good thing I was wrong and that you weren’t falling for him.”
Mhàiri groaned. She may not have fallen in love with Conan, but she had liked him. A lot. And she had thought he had liked her as well, and more than just as some female who amused him, but as someone he respected. How could she have been so wrong?
“Conan is exactly what you first said he was. A menace to women.”
Maegan was not sure she had actually said those words, but she was not about to argue with Mhàiri right now. Especially as she was just as angry as her friend. Maegan could not believe Seamus—a man she had thought so honorable and genuinely nice—could devise such a plan. And it was his plan. Conan might have agreed to it, but it was Seamus’s diabolical idea.
“We should go tell Laurel,” Maegan put forth, tapping her foot. “If she knew . . . oh . . . no one is better at making men miserable when they deserve it. Let’s go.”
Mhàiri put up her hand, halting Maegan before she reached the door. “No. I’m going to handle this. Conan thought he could outsmart me. He has no idea what I am capable of, but he is going to learn. I’m not some simple village baoit he was trying to take advantage of. I am Iain Mayboill’s daughter, and Conan McTiernay is about to find out exactly what that means.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Brenna, who had been discreetly listening to every word spoken. Earlier, she had told Mhàiri that she knew the best way to learn what people were thinking, but she had forgotten to warn her that she might not like what she heard.
Mhàiri tapped her chin and then said, “First, I’m not going to let Conan know that I know about his little plan.”
“You’re going to let Conan charm you into giving away your books?” Maegan asked, shocked.
“That is never going to happen,” Mhàiri stated. “But he won’t know that. I’ll even pretend to resist his charms at first so that he has to work even harder to win me over.”
Maegan let go a sinister giggle. “I like it.”
“And then, when Conan thinks he has me so mesmerized that I would give him anything, I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what?”
Mhàiri waved her hand. “Oh, I don’t know, but I can decide that later.”
Maegan took in a deep breath. “That might work, but only if you don’t fall for Conan’s appeal, because if you do, you’ll end up giving him everything.”
* * *
Mhàiri woke up and stretched, studying the three large bookcases that lined the walls of her room. They were beautiful pieces of art, and if she was not so mad at Conan, they would have been enough for her to hand over one or two of her books. That was why it was so hurtful that he planned to cheat them from her. After all the time they had spent together, she had thought he knew her. And she had thought she knew him.
Mhàiri’s stomach growled. She rolled out of bed and began to dress. Last night, she and Maegan had decided to eat in her bedchambers and were grateful that Laurel had not pressed them too much for explanations. But if she missed this morning, there would be questions.
* * *
Conan sat across the table and returned Mhàiri’s glare. She knew she needed to put aside her anger because there was no way he was going to pursue her when she was shooting him full of daggers with her eyes, but she could not seem to make her eyes cooperate.
Finally, giving up, she put her fork down and made a quick excuse to leave the hall and put some space between her and Conan. It was obviously going to take more than a single night of sleep for her to calm down. Until then, she needed to stay away from him.
Mhàiri was halfway across the courtyard when strong fingers gripped her arm, startling her out of her mental dialogue. “What?” she snapped, not meaning it to sound as harsh as it came out. Then, discovering it was Conan, she no longer felt guilty.
“I asked if you liked the shelves,” Conan said through clenched teeth, clearly frustrated.
“Aye. They work well. I’m glad I was able to spend the afternoon with Loman so you could finally put them together.” Mhàiri knew the comment was unworthy of her, but she could not bring herself to apologize. Not when Conan was planning on using those very shelves as a “gift” to persuade her to give him one in return.
Conan’s eyes narrowed. “And how was your little outing?” His voice increased in volume as his anger grew in intensity.
“Quite pleasurable,” Mhàiri answered, matching his volume.
“What does that mean?”
“Only that I had a lovely time,” she shouted. “I like Loman, and he made it very clear that he likes me.”
Conan towered over her, his blue eyes shooting sparks. “Did Loman kiss you? Did you let him?” he jeered.
“You knew he would, and I must say, I was surprised to enjoy it as much as I did.” It was true. She had enjoyed the kiss more than she had expected, for she had not thought to like it at all. But that did not mean she wanted to kiss Loman again. However, that Conan did not need to know.
Conan clenched his fists as the sudden need to punch something—like Loman’s jaw—coursed through him. He had been a fool to think the passionate embrace they’d shared would deter Mhàiri from seeking attention from other men. Whatever it was he had felt had been an illusion. “So first me, then Loman. I guess we should warn all the other single men that you will be seeking out their attentions. I wonder who will be next? Buzz, Fergus, Gil? Too bad Jaime Ruadh is at Cole’s. He was quite the ladies’ man when he lived here.”
Mhàiri crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. “I was thinking about Callum Schellden. I understand that he is very good looking and will be here in a couple of weeks for the celebrations.”
Conan bent over her and stared down into her eyes. She just glared back. “Don’t you even think about kissing Callum,” he growled loudly. “If I find out that you even talked to that bladaire . . .”
“You’ll what? Yell at me?” Mhàiri bellowed back.
Conan took a step back and fought to lower his voice. “I don’t yell at women. I’m an intellect and don’t need to resort to such means to win a fight. My brothers’ dispositions are to holler, not mine.”
“Really?” Mhàiri countered, uncaring that her voice could still clearly be heard by anyone in the courtyard. “Because I think you are exactly like your brothers. You’ve just never met a woman who will yell back.” She took a finger and poked his chest. “Now you have.”
Conan grabbed the finger and squeezed it. Not enough to cause her pain, but enough so that she could not free it until he let go. “I already have one Laurel in my life. I don’t need two.”
“And I don’t need another arrogant man who thinks he’s always right. But at least my father is an honorable man.”
“Are you saying I’m not an honorable man?”
“How would I know? You could tell me anything and a silly little female like me would probably believe you.”
Conan let go of her finger. “Then believe this. I would never lie to you.”
Without another word, Conan turned and headed for the North Tower, leaving Mhàiri standing in the courtyard with her mouth open.
She wanted to believe him. But then she remembered what he had said when he had not known she was listening.
I would never lie to you.
A false promise made toward an end goal. How Mhàiri wished it were a real one.
Chapter Seven
Laurel stood outside the great hall along with Hagatha, and Aileen, staring at the arguing couple causing all the com
motion in the courtyard.
Ever since she had gotten so ill with her pregnancy, it had become a morning ritual for Hagatha and Aileen to pay her a visit. Now that she could eat food again, most mornings they convened in the great hall. Laurel had tried to encourage Hagatha to return to her home, knowing her crotchety friend did not enjoy the bustle of castle life and preferred her solitude, but the old midwife had put her foot down. She was staying until the babe was born, and nothing was going to convince her otherwise.
Laurel had even less luck with keeping her best friend, Aileen, away. Even her husband, Finn, who was the commander of Conor’s elite guard, would not help, stating that his wife knew her own mind and that he enjoyed having all his body parts where they were and in working order. And while Aileen had been a godsend during the worst of her morning sickness, Laurel knew it had to be hard on her.
For years, the two of them had so many things in common, but their inability to have another child had bonded them even more tightly together. While Laurel and Conor had tried repeatedly to get pregnant, Aileen had not had that difficulty. Hers had been far more painful as she never made it to full term. Soon after she realized she was with child, Aileen would lose the baby. And each time, her friend gained another heartbreak at the devastating loss of a child. It was something they rarely spoke of, but each understood the other’s desire for another baby and the aching sadness of its absence.
And then Laurel had discovered she was pregnant.
She knew it was hard on her friend, but Aileen refused to discuss it. She just pasted on a happy face that Laurel knew was sincere, but also masked the pain of jealousy. She knew because that was how she would have felt.
Hagatha took a step closer to Laurel and whispered, “What are those two going on about?”
Laurel pursed her lips together and shook her head. Normally she was a lot more aware of the activities and personal relationships around the castle, and that definitely included Conan. For when he was interested in a woman, it never ended well. Today was reminiscent of those times, but while before, all the emotions and outbursts had come solely from whomever Conan had injured, that had not been the case today.
The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland Page 16