The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland

by Michele Sinclair

  Two hours later, Mhàiri was surprised to realize she was enjoying herself. Each woman had regaled them with her own personal story of love, and when finished, they had wished for Conan to also find someone who would cherish him, like his brothers had. Some shared tales of their children, most of whom were grown but lived near.

  Once the bread was consumed, Mhàiri watched as the women brought out their sewing and was glad that Maegan had suggested she bring the drawing she had started sketching to give her something to do. Only two women were working on the same piece, combining two pieces of fabric together to make a thicker, warmer blanket. Most were doing mending, and another was fashioning a new leine for her son to wear during the upcoming festivities.

  “Conan, young man, could you help me thread this needle?” Almeda asked, handing him some thread. He took the needle and thread in hand and deftly pushed the fiber through the small hole. “Tapadh leat,” she said when Conan handed it back. “I was hoping you could help me with one last favor.”

  Mhàiri watched him arch a brow as he turned in Almeda’s direction. He looked as if he was agreeing, but Mhàiri noticed he had yet to actually commit himself. “Your brother Crevan found me the sweetest puppy when he lived here.”

  “He was such a sweet man,” Gavina sighed, then tapped Mhàiri’s hand with a soft finger. “Not as sweet as our Conan though.”

  “Piegi just passed,” Almeda continued, “and I was hoping you could find me another.”

  Finally, Conan glanced Mhàiri’s way, catching her staring at him. He gave her a triumphant wink and then said, “Of course. I would be delighted.”

  Mhàiri almost scoffed aloud, swallowing it just in time. Conan, delighted to find a puppy. Conan, eager to thread needles. Conan, feeding widows. The man sitting across from her might look like Conan. He might even have his name and his voice, but he certainly was not Conan.

  “You are so kind.” Almeda gave his hand a little squeeze.

  Conan coughed into his other hand, causing Mhàiri to look up. As soon as she did, he caught her gaze, and that was when she knew. Aye, some of his deeds proved he was charitable, but everything he had said and done that afternoon had been to prove her wrong. “Some may disagree with you, I think,” he said. “Why, just this week I was told that one of the very things I was not capable of was kindness.”

  This brought about chuckles from the group, as they assumed he was just teasing them. “What nonsense,” Leane said, plunging her needle through the thick material with more force than it seemed possible from her feeble form. “Why, it was just yesterday that a wee lad—you know, Rona’s boy—was pestering you about learning how to sword fight. I’ve heard him ask other soldiers, but they said they didn’t have time.”

  “Or that he was too small,” another remarked.

  “Aye, but our Conan stopped and showed him a few ways to stop the teases of another child who was bigger and stronger. Made that lad’s day.”

  “My granddaughter is your chambermaid and thinks you are the kindest man she knows,” Almeda commented, her plump cheeks turning pink.

  Conan’s head jerked back, and Mhàiri could tell even he was surprised at that one. She had seen his room, and it was in a state of disarray. And while she did not know for certain, her gut said that was its normal state. “I, uh, must say I’m surprised,” Conan finally got out.

  “Whenever you see her hauling a basket of clothes and linens, you always stop and carry it the rest of the way. You never yell for her to clean the stairwell, and you only ask her to help with your chambers a couple times a month. She considers it a blessing to work for you and will be sad to see you go.”

  Conan licked his lips, and a large grin came over his face. He leaned back, crossed his legs at the ankles, and sent Mhàiri a large “so there” grin.

  “And then there is little Bonny,” the woman who sat on Conan’s right said, finally joining the conversation. Minna’s perfect posture clashed with the chaos of her white hair, which fought its braided constraints. “Pretty little thing is as smart as they come, but I’ve noticed she doesn’t play with the other children much. Don’t think just because we don’t live in the castle that we don’t know you have befriended the little lass.”

  “Aye,” Leane piped in again. “Maegan says you are never impatient with her, teaching her things, making time for her even when you are busy preparing for your trip.”

  Mhàiri licked her lips. Our Conan. It was too much. To think that his most ardent admirers were old women. “I must say, ladies, your view of Conan is much different from the one a lot of women have.” Hearing Mhàiri’s voice, Conan’s gaze immediately shifted to lock with hers once again. “I understand that he is a regular insulter of our gender and incapable of apologizing, even when he is in the wrong.”

  Gavina clucked her tongue. “Of course we’ve heard how our Conan is quite fond of the ladies,” she began, “but do not be fooled by idle gossip.”

  “Aye,” Leane interjected. “Those women who caused a stir were just silly enough to believe they could turn his head. It is their fault they gave their heart away before our Conan was ready to ask for it.”

  A single brow formed a perfect arch on his forehead. How Mhàiri wanted to erase that smirk.

  “Maybe he can teach the rest of Conor’s soldiers to be like him, for I recently had a horrid experience,” Mhàiri stated.

  Gavina perked up. “Really? Please tell us, my dear. What happened? Did he say something unpleasant?”

  “Did he try to kiss you?” Almeda asked. She had laid her sewing in her lap and leaned forward, her blue eyes twinkling with interest.

  Mhàiri nodded. “He did, but I learned that he was doing it just so that he could trick me out of the paper I use to draw on.”

  “Well, that is strange,” Minna acknowledged. “Why would a man want your drawings?”

  “Maybe he wanted it to prove to you that he was interested in what you do,” Almeda chimed in. “Men have a hard time expressing themselves. Did you know that it took nearly three years before my man would even look at me? I thought he didn’t like me at all when all the while the reason he wouldn’t speak to me was because he didn’t think that I would ever like him back.”

  Gavina nodded. “Perhaps he likes you, Mhàiri. Conan, dear, maybe you can help Maegan’s friend Mhàiri find out just what this man is thinking and then explain it to her.”

  Mhàiri smiled and squeezed the old woman’s hand. “Why, I would appreciate that very much. And if you could find out why he refuses to apologize for his behavior even though he knows he was in the wrong, that, too, would be very helpful.”

  Conan sat up and placed his hands on his knees. “I can answer that last one for you now. Some men don’t mind saying and doing anything to make a woman happy. Men like me do.”

  Mhàiri gritted her teeth and then forced herself to smile. “I’ll be sure to mention that to Laird McTiernay next time we speak. I wonder what category he will think you put him in.”

  * * *

  Brenna twirled around in the bedchambers, encouraged by the feeling of success. “You know, Bonny, kindness was not nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be. And I don’t think we need to prove he’s honest. Everyone knows Uncle Conan never lies, even to save a person’s feelings.”

  Bonny toed off her slippers and began to yank on the ties on the left side of her gown. “You think today worked?”

  “Absolutely! They had to have called Uncle Conan kind at least a dozen times!”

  “But he and Mhàiri didn’t seem very happy in the end.”

  Brenna stopped spinning. She began to sway from being dizzy. “That’s because she doesn’t believe Uncle Conan’s being honorable. We just need to prove he is not going to hurt her.”

  Bonny attacked the other side of her bliaut. “Well, I thought of what to do for kindness. You have to do honorable,” she said and shimmied out of her bliaut before diving under the covers of her bed. It would be another hour before evening d
inner would be ready, but Bonny was freezing. Two days ago, the weather had turned and while it had not been raining, there had been no sun for warmth. It had been very cold outside listening to the old women talk, but it had been worth it. Brenna was right. Mhàiri might not love Uncle Conan yet, but she could no longer say he wasn’t kind. “I think we should wait for proving he’s heroic.”

  Brenna moved to stand close to the fire. “Maybe we can do something at Christmastide for that one.”

  Another shiver went through Bonny, and she wondered why her sister was not as cold as she was from their escapade. “That’s next week. So how are we going to show that he is honorable before then?”

  Brenna shook her head, thinking. “We need something to show that Uncle Conan is trustworthy and loyal.” She swayed back and forth on her toes with her back to the fire. Her hands were behind her, absorbing the warmth, when suddenly, she snapped her fingers. Her gray eyes, huge with excitement, locked onto Bonny’s smoky ones. “I know what to do,” she said giddily. “We need to learn how to draw.”

  “Draw?” Bonny asked dubiously.

  “It will be perfect. You will be out with Conan learning how to make maps . . .”

  “But I don’t want to know how to make maps.”

  “Shh! Listen. You will be out with him, and at the same time I will be with Mhàiri on an outing. Then, we will just happen to run into each other.”

  Bonny shuddered just thinking of going back outside again. “It’s cold outside. I don’t think Mhàiri is going to want to go if it is going to be outside. I know Uncle Conan won’t.”

  Brenna waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll wait for a sunny day, and then she will want to go. Everyone is preparing for Christmastide and getting all the rooms ready for guests to arrive. Uncle Conan will want a reason to escape, and Mhàiri is always happy to draw.”

  “That’s because she’s like you and doesn’t get cold,” Bonny groused. “And I’m not sure how this is going to prove Uncle Conan’s honorable.”

  Brenna’s eyes were sparkling. “Don’t worry. It will.”

  Bonny lifted the blanket and covered her head. “Let me guess. You have an idea.”

  Brenna’s laughter reached under the covers. “And it’s a good one, Bonny! You are going to love it!”

  * * *

  Conan knelt down beside Bonny and leaned back against the large boulder his niece had selected as the perfect place to practice drawing. He looked over Bonny’s shoulder to see what she was creating. It looked to be a hill with a sun shining over it.

  Next to her was Nairne, another little girl about Bonny’s age whom he had seen periodically while walking through the village. Her curly bright red hair made her hard to miss. She was the spitting image of her mother, who often helped Laurel design some of her more intricate tapestries. Nairne had inherited both her mother’s hair and her soft freckles, which were scattered all over her face, but her large dark brown eyes and unusual height she got from her father, who was one of the McTiernay clan’s more successful farmers.

  “How are you doing, Nairne?” he asked.

  “I’m well,” she said, concentrating.

  Conan could see why both girls got along so well. Neither was a great talker, and it was not in Nairne’s nature to accept another’s opinion as her own. She did not care if Bonny knew more or was considered very smart; she had her own thoughts and ideas and was going to keep them until she decided otherwise.

  Conan stared at what Nairne was sketching. It was surprisingly detailed for being created in dirt using a stick. “What are you drawing?” he asked.

  “Today,” she replied, and with that answer, the image started to make sense. The left side indicated daylight, but it quickly morphed into what was nighttime, which was the majority of the picture. It did indeed represent the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year.

  “Well, let me know if you get cold,” he said. The day was bright and sunny, which kept the cold wind from being unbearable.

  Nairne never looked up, but answered, “Bonny gets cold. Not me. You should ask her.”

  “I’m fine,” Bonny replied, half-heartedly stabbing at her sketch. Conan wondered what was going on, for it was clear his niece was not there to learn about maps as she had said.

  For days, Bonny had been hounding him to take her out and show her what he would be doing when he left. At first, the weather had not cooperated and he had been busy helping with gathering the necessary logs for the many bonfires that would be erected over the next several days. But Conan had made a promise to Bonny and would chop off his arm before he let her down. So today, when he had seen the sun was high in the sky without a cloud in sight, bringing much warmer temperatures, he had told his eldest brother that he was busy and would not be available. Thankfully, Conor had been too occupied to give more than just a hrmph, forgoing his lecture on familial responsibilities.

  Conan had been looking forward to spending time with his niece. It was the first time Bonny had shown interest in what he would be doing come this spring. He had only a few months left with her and he would cherish every memory they shared. So, when he had announced that today was the day of their outing and learned that they would be taking one of her new friends, Nairne, with them, he had been highly disappointed. Now, he was glad the little girl had come, for she was the only one actually interested in drawing anything.

  Bonny tossed her stick on the ground. She pulled up her knees with her arms and rested her chin upon them. “I really don’t like to draw,” she admitted.

  Nairne stopped working on her dirt picture and studied it, obviously not happy with how it had turned out. She picked up the stick to erase the evidence of her inability to execute what was in her mind but was stopped before she could.

  Conan took Nairne’s stick from her hand. “Why would you want to wipe all your hard work when it is so good?”

  Bonny leaned over and nodded. “You draw like Mhàiri.”

  Nairne took the stick back and used it to smudge part of her work and try again. “It’s just a silly drawing,” she answered.

  “She does draw like Mhàiri, doesn’t she?” Conan acknowledged. “And being able to draw like you do, Nairne, isn’t silly. You should never stop as long as you like to do it.”

  “My papa says I should be busy doing other things.”

  Conan nodded. “Those other things I’m sure are very important, and you should learn to do them and make your papa proud. But you should also know that there is something special about people who can draw what they see.”

  Bonny tossed her stick as far as she could. “You should draw maps so people know where clans are and how to get to places.”

  “Aye, she could, but it is also important to be able to just draw pictures that people enjoy and make them smile.”

  “Like our mamas’ tapestries,” Bonny offered.

  “Do you draw?” Nairne asked.

  “In a way,” Conan answered. “I draw the maps Bonny was talking about. Do you want to see?”

  The little girl bobbed her red head. Conan smoothed a section of dirt with his hand and then, taking Nairne’s stick, quickly drew a small map on the ground of McTiernay Castle, its village and the main features surrounding them—the loch, the forest and the mountains.

  Nairne looked up at him, her brown eyes large with awe. Then she looked at Bonny, who just shrugged. “I told you he was a good drawer.”

  Conan shook his head and gave the stick back to Nairne. “Not yet, but I try all the time to get better.”

  “How?” The question had come from Nairne, who was clearly curious at how one became better at being an artist.

  Conan pushed up from the ground to stand up. He leaned against the boulder and looked down. “By asking for help from someone.”

  “Like Mhàiri,” Bonny stated.

  “Like Mhàiri,” Conan agreed.

  Bonny tilted her head to look up at her uncle. She had been curious about something for a while. “
Mhàiri used to help you with your drawing all the time. She doesn’t anymore. Is that because of what you said when you and Seamus were building her those fancy bookshelves?”

  “Aye, she heard some things that she didn’t like, but,” Conan cautioned, “as you know she was eavesdropping at the time.”

  Nairne pushed the stick around his drawing, adding small details here and there. “Do you not want any more lessons?”

  Conan took a deep breath. Both girls were young and he could tell them anything to end this line of questioning, but he had never once treated Bonny that way. It was one of the reasons she loved him so much. And her direct, though often child-like, honesty was one of the reasons he enjoyed her company when he tolerated that of so few others.

  “Aye. I would like more lessons,” he answered honestly. “But that is very unlikely to happen.”

  Bonny looked up, squinting into the sun. “Why don’t you just tell her you’re sorry?” she asked innocently. “Brenna always forgives Braeden for coming into our room and making a mess, but not until he says sorry. I don’t know why he doesn’t just say it right away, but he never does. Why?” Conan could hear the inquisitive tone in her voice and knew that she was being sincere. “Why would Braeden rather be miserable dealing with Brenna being mad at him than just say he was sorry right away?”

  Conan sighed and crossed his arms. This seemed to be a reoccurring theme in his life these days. He had told Mhàiri and said as much again at the widows’ circle, and she had had mixed feelings about his response. So, if Bonny wanted to know, he was going to tell her what he had told everyone else. “Braeden probably refuses to apologize because Brenna is making him say it.”

  “But I thought you were supposed to say I’m sorry when you felt bad. I always do.”

  “That’s because you are a girl,” Nairne explained. “Boys don’t like it when you make them do anything. Whenever I try to make my little brothers do something, they hate it and cause a fit.” Nairne moved to stand up.

  Bonny joined her wiping the dirt off her hands using her gown. “Is that what happened with you and Mhàiri?”