Conan nodded.
“Then maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t apologize to Mhàiri. It would be like saying a lie if you said I’m sorry when you weren’t. Just like it would be a lie to let her think you weren’t sorry when you really were.”
Conan stood still, regarding his beloved niece, digesting the simple truth behind what she had just said. “You know what, Bonny? I’m going to miss you when I leave. More than you will ever know.”
Bonny leaned in and hugged him around his middle. “I’ll miss you too, Uncle Conan.”
* * *
Mhàiri and Maegan had sat frozen, eyes wide, barely breathing the entire time Conan, Bonny, and Nairne had been talking.
Brenna had coaxed them away from the warmth of the fire to the outdoors, professing it would be their last chance before the cold winter winds came. That alone had been enough to get Mhàiri to agree. Eventually, Maegan had capitulated, and the three had ventured outside.
Mhàiri had wanted to head to the loch, for she had started a sketch she had yet to finish there. Maegan had wanted to stay close to the castle in case the wind picked up and it became too cold, but it was Brenna who had finally decided where they were to go. Mostly because she would not take no for an answer.
Soon after they had settled down on a large blanket, Brenna had jumped up, saying that she had forgotten something, and then run off to fetch it. Mhàiri had already gotten out her paper and stylus, and Maegan, not wanting to walk all the way to the castle and back again, had decided to remain with Mhàiri.
Mhàiri had been teasing Maegan about Seamus and whether he was finally going to make his feelings known during the festivities when Bonny and Conan’s voices could be heard just on the other side of the large rock. The boulder was enormous and no one knew exactly how it got there. There were a few massive rocks randomly found in the area. The most prominent one was by the loch. The boulders, like the big oak, were common meeting points, so Mhàiri had thought nothing of it when Brenna had suggested they sit there that afternoon.
But the moment she had heard Conan’s deep baritone sounds she had known that Brenna had laid a trap. It was not until she had seen the shock in Maegan’s face that she had believed her friend had not been involved. But she, too, had come to the same conclusion.
Recovering from the jolt, Mhàiri had been about to plop her things down on the ground, stand up, and make her presence known when she heard Conan start to talk about Nairne’s ability to draw and how it was a special gift. When he mentioned that it was just as important to create something for people to enjoy as it was to produce a map, tears had formed in her eyes. But it had been the end, the discussion between him and Bonny about why men sometimes don’t like to apologize, that had made her finally understand what Conan had been trying to say to her. It wasn’t that he was not sorry. He was. But like any normal man, he did not want to be told what to feel or say.
Mhàiri quietly stood up and smoothed out her gown. “Perhaps you and I should stop eavesdropping.”
Maegan nodded, and both women stepped around the boulder into Conan’s line of sight. He was leaning against the large rock with both his ankles and arms crossed, looking more handsome than any man should. When he only cocked a brow, she took a deep breath and exhaled. “How long did you know we were there?”
“Not long,” he assured her. “I only knew when I heard you stand up. I thought you might be trying to sneak away.”
“I thought about it,” Mhàiri acknowledged.
Maegan appeared, grumbling. “I was not an accomplice to this”—she swirled her finger to include everyone—“supposedly impromptu get-together. Not only is it too cold, but its purpose eludes me.”
Conan glanced at Bonny, who quickly looked away, and said, “I think we all know who was behind today’s scheme.”
Mhàiri looked down to see what the redheaded girl was drawing. And, indeed, a representation of the winter solstice was staring up at her. She wondered what Nairne would be able to accomplish with an actual stylus and decided that she would have to seek her out to show her how to build a cloth board. “So is this what brought you out today?”
Nairne looked up, shaking her head. She pointed a finger at Conan. “He was telling us about maps.”
“Very interesting.” A bemused smile formed on Mhàiri’s lips as she glanced back at Conan. “Do you know in all the times we came out here, you never once told me about your maps or showed me what it is to be a mapmaker? It was always me showing you what I did. Never the reverse.”
“Are you asking now?”
“I suppose I am.”
Conan studied her for a moment, assessing whether or not she was serious. He must have decided she was, for he pushed himself erect. “First, most scholars do not call those who draw maps mapmakers, but map painters. That is because most have no interest in creating actual maps, but in creating art. Their fabricated symmetry holds little accuracy and certainly nothing that shows where bodies of land and water are. Instead, they illustrate concepts, and almost always religious ones.”
Mhàiri was already fascinated. She loved learning anything new and moved to get more comfortable by leaning on the boulder, in the very space he had just vacated.
“Those that aren’t religious still are not very useful, for no measurements are used to demonstrate scale. Almost every one I have ever seen does not make use of longitudes and latitudes but instead uses methods that predate Ptolemy and Anaximander.”
“Who’s Anaximander?”
“He was a Greek philosopher who lived more than two thousand years ago. He was the headmaster of a school and drew what many believe is the first accurate map of the known world. Unfortunately, one of his students, Anaximenes, thought his ideas wrong and put forth that the world was of a rectangular form, instead of round.”
Bonny, who had sat back down and was watching Nairne doodle in the dirt, had also been paying attention to what Conan was saying. “What does the world look like?”
“Round,” Conan answered. “Maybe like a potato, but it is definitely not flat.”
“But how do you know?” Bonny pressed, skepticism lining her voice.
“I’ve seen proof.” He knelt down and found a large, mostly round rock and handed it to Bonny. “Now hold it out from you. Do you see the edge of the rock and how it curves?” She nodded, “Well, the world does the same thing.”
“It does?” Mhàiri asked, holding out a rock for herself, mimicking what Conan was showing Bonny.
“Aye. If you ever get a chance to go to the sea, look out at the horizon, and right where the water’s edge meets the sky, you will see a line just like you do with the rock. If the world was flat, the line would be straight. But it’s not. It bends,” Conan explained. He stood back up and went to stand next to Mhàiri. “Now, some think that the bend means the world is just shaped like a flat disk, but Aristotle ended that argument not long after Anaximander.”
Mhàiri frowned. She took a few steps and threw her rock, silently impressed with how far it went. She then swiped her hands together to get the dirt off. “I’m not sure how math proves the world is round.”
“He didn’t just use math, but logic. The lunar eclipse, for example.”
“Aye, but that is the moon.”
“Then what about the stars?” Conan reached down and picked up the rock that Bonny had discarded and gave it to Mhàiri. He then picked up a small pebble and held it high above the rock. “Think about the stars when you travel. They are not in the same place.” He pointed to a place on the rock. “Let’s say this is the world and you were standing here. You look straight up and there are the stars.” He wiggled the pebble. “But if you go to a different spot, when you look up, they would be in a different place. And if you go far enough”—he moved his finger to the other side—“you would not be able to see them at all, but new ones.” Mhàiri’s mouth parted with understanding. “And that is why ships always seem to sink as they move away out of view.”
“
Amazing,” Mhàiri said with heartfelt wonder.
Conan chucked the pebble and then took the rock from her palm, sending it far past the one Mhàiri had thrown earlier. “And it is not only Aristotle who thinks the world is round. I haven’t read it, but a man named Elucidarius wrote a book that is supposed to have evidence that we live on a sphere. And Johannes de Sac-robosco’s work was based on Ptolemy.”
“Who’s Ptolemy?”
Conan began to walk to where he’d thrown the rocks. Mhàiri grabbed one of the tartans, threw it across her shoulders, and fell in beside him. “It’s his discoveries that are going to enable me to create the maps I want. Because the world is round and drawings are flat, it is intrinsically very difficult to capture land accurately.”
“That might be one of the reasons people stopped trying.”
“Aye,” Conan agreed, kicking one of the smaller stones farther away. “It is much easier to put Jerusalem in the middle of everything and place things randomly around it. But representing the world is possible.”
“Let me guess. Ptolemy.”
A grin lit up Conan’s face. “Aye. Ptolemy developed precise methods for identifying exactly where something is on the world. He came up with a coordinate system made up of latitudes and longitudes.” Using a stick, he drew a straight line. “If you knew the coordinates . . .” He paused to draw a second line intersecting the first. “You could go to a specific spot anywhere in the world, even if you had never before been there.”
Mhàiri stared at the spot where the two lines met and then back up at Conan, her eyes wide with astonishment. “Is that really true?”
Conan nodded. “Ptolemy assigned coordinates to more than eight thousand locations and put them into a book, Geographia.”
“And you plan to do the same thing, but for Scotland.”
Conan bobbed his head again. “That is my dream.”
“I now see what you meant about drawings needing to have real value. If you really could create such maps, they would be very powerful pieces of information.”
“I was wrong to say that. The world also needs more beauty in it. Not everything has to have a tangible benefit.”
Mhàiri gasped. She stopped short and grabbed his forearm. “Did I hear you right?”
It took a second for him to comprehend Mhàiri’s question. With a smirk, he answered, “You heard me say I was wrong, not that I was sorry.”
Mhàiri shrugged as a smile tipped the corners of her mouth and grew from there. “I know. And I think hearing you admit you were wrong sounds sweeter than an apology.”
Conan chuckled. “You’ll never know.”
He stared down into her eyes, and Mhàiri’s body responded to his seductive gaze. She could feel herself start to sway closer and forced herself to step back. “Um, uh, how did you become so interested in maps?”
Conan stared at her with mixed feelings. “Father Lanaghly, seeing that I’ve always been interested in books and learning, usually brought me with him when he went to visit other priests. About nine or ten years ago, we went to one abbey where there was a visiting scholar from Italy who was similarly fascinated with the idea of capturing the world on paper. He told me of the travels of Marco Polo and the faraway places to which he had been, and at that moment I knew what I wanted to do. So I stayed there and learned everything he had to teach me about maps, their origin, and history. Since then, I continued my studies, especially anything that was associated with Ptolemy and how to calculate coordinates.”
They continued walking and talking, and Conan answered all her questions about how he intended to capture the various topography he might encounter. They were still debating certain difficulties when a strong breeze came up and Mhàiri began to rub her arms. “I think the wind is getting colder.”
Conan nodded and went to tell Bonny and Nairne to pack things up, that they were returning to the castle, but no one was in sight. “When did they leave?”
Mhàiri smiled. “Some time ago. Maegan was not in the mood for an outing in the first place. They said good-bye, but you were telling me about how Aristotle proved the world was round.”
Now that Mhàiri mentioned it, Conan did faintly recall Bonny saying something to him. Another gust of wind swept across them. “We should head in.”
Mhàiri nodded and tried to tuck wisps of her hair back. “I hope this breeze doesn’t mean rain is coming. I’ve never been to a bonfire, and I don’t want it to be canceled.”
Conan looked up and sniffed. “I detect no moisture, just the cold.” Mhàiri shivered, emphasizing his point. “Come on, let’s get you back to the castle and indoors.”
Mhàiri fell in beside him, her own long strides easily keeping up with his. Her mind was spinning on all that Conan had said, going back to even their first conversations on their ride from the priory. “I was wondering something about your maps.”
Conan was rubbing his hands together and blowing into them for warmth. “And that was?” he prompted.
“You mentioned that you wanted to include enough detail so that someone could use them to know what the land looked like at that very spot.”
“Aye, that is why I asked you to give me lessons.”
“But the map I saw in your chambers was of a large area. It would be impossible to capture the overall shape of the land, and include that level of detail.”
Conan sighed. “I know. I’m still trying to figure out a way to address that issue. Symbols might work, but I might just have to accept that I won’t be able to capture as much as I would like on a single sheet of vellum.”
“Have you ever considered including a symbol where you want to show more detail? That symbol could be related to a specific drawing. Then, if someone wanted to see more of that area, they could flip to a particular drawing. Then, the main map would not be cluttered with information some may not be interested in.”
Conan began to rub his hands together vigorously. Excitement coursed through him, for it was the perfect solution. “You know what this means.” He gave her his most dazzling smile. “I need more lessons.”
Mhàiri lifted her lashes and found herself looking up into laughing eyes. The happy glint in the bright blue pools was enough to make her racing heart to skip a beat. “We’ll begin again after Christmastide,” she promised.
Chapter Ten
Bonny flopped onto her bed and groaned. “It’s never going to work.”
“Of course it will,” Brenna said dismissively as she pulled the thick tartan around her shoulders tightly and sat down in front of the fire. “I told you what happened. Today was a complete success.”
Bonny grabbed her pillow and started tossing it in the air and then catching it. “You said they didn’t kiss.”
“I said they almost kissed,” Brenna clarified, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.
Normally the cold did not bother her, but she had been outside a long time spying on everything that had happened after she had exited Maegan and Mhàiri’s company before they realized what she had done. And based on what she had witnessed, Mhàiri was not going to be mad at her either.
“Seeing them almost kiss proves that our plan is working, Bonny.”
“Well, Mama almost figured it out today. She came looking for you.”
Brenna jumped to her feet and went to stand over Bonny. “What did you say?”
Unfazed by her sister’s malevolent stare, Bonny said, “I told her the truth. That you were with Uncle Conan and Mhàiri.”
“Why did you do that? Now Mama will be suspicious and start asking questions! If she learns that Uncle Conan and Mhàiri are about to get together, she will do something to ruin things again!”
Bonny threw the pillow in her older sister’s face to get her to back away. “What should I have said?” Bonny yelped, seeing Brenna prepare for revenge. “She would have found out the truth if I said something else! This way, Mama knew you were safe and didn’t keep looking for you.”
Brenna considered that rationalizatio
n and then threw the pillow back down forcefully before returning to her blanket and the fire.
“Well, all we have to do now is make Uncle Conan heroic.”
“Everyone already knows he’s brave.”
Brenna shook her head. “He needs to do a heroic act to be a hero.”
Bonny grunted. “That’s going to be impossible.”
“Why?” Brenna challenged.
“How are we going to create a situation where Uncle Conan can be a hero? Do you know how hard it was to get him to go outside the castle today? And now that he knows I tricked him, he’s going to suspect everything I say.” Bonny turned on her side and propped her head up with her hand. “And both Mhàiri and Maegan are going to be worse.”
Brenna tapped her chin. “I’ve thought about that,” she said with a smile. “And you’re right. We”—she pointed to Bonny and then herself—“can’t do it.”
Bonny’s eyes grew wide. “Not Mama.”
Brenna shook her head in agreement. “I was thinking about someone Mhàiri and Conan would never suspect,” she said as her impish grin grew even larger.
* * *
“You want me to do what?” Maegan gasped. “You cannot be serious.”
Brenna gave what she hoped to be her newest ally her most infectious grin and bobbed her head. “Will you do it?”
Maegan’s head pulled back as if she were trying to avoid someone’s fist. “Of course I won’t do it.”
She had come up to the girls’ bedchambers to talk to them about their antics that afternoon, not get drawn into another one of their schemes. All their eavesdropping and plotting was stirring up trouble, and if it did not stop, someone was going to get hurt. Maegan had intended to give them one last warning with a promise that if they instigated any more surprises their father was going to be told. Maegan normally would have gone to Laurel about the situation, but Conor had made it very clear that no one, and he meant no one, was to unduly stress his wife. And Maegan had no idea whether Laurel would be angry, or secretly delighted that her daughters were following in her matchmaking footsteps.
She had barely taken two steps inside the room when Brenna had squealed with excitement upon seeing her. Unable to utter even a single word of her lecture, Maegan had been guided to one of the chairs and forced to listen to the craziest matchmaking plan ever concocted.
The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland Page 22