And somehow Maegan and Seamus were implying they had orchestrated all the events to bring about this result.
“What do you mean, you are sorry, that you never meant for this to happen?” Mhàiri asked in a stilted voice.
Maegan pulled back and tried to explain about Brenna and Bonny. “But there can be no doubt. Conan loves you. He does. He would not have reacted that way if he did not.”
“Whatever feelings he has for me, they are gone or they will be. I know him. He lost control, and he will make sure that never happens again.”
Maegan shook her head. “No, he loves you. He wants you.”
Mhàiri looked at her friend then, her voice cold and penetrating. “It does not matter. We have no future. Now more than ever.”
Maegan’s hand flew to her mouth.
Seamus, seeing Maegan begin to tremble because of the pain she thought she had caused Mhàiri, pulled her back against his chest for support. Then, to Mhàiri, he said, “Maegan’s right. I wasn’t sure until tonight, but I am now. You love Conan, and there can be no doubt that he loves you. He may not want to admit it. He has his whole life planned and never once considered including anyone in those dreams, especially not a wife. But if you love him, find a way to make it work. Find a way to be together and create new dreams that you can share. Find a way or you will both be miserable always knowing that you had met the one you were supposed to be with, but never had the courage to compromise to include them in your life. Because you will compromise eventually. We all do in some ways. I just don’t want you to look back with regret.”
Mhàiri told herself to breathe. She could feel her heart beating rapidly and did not know whether it was from anger or hope. Slowly, she looked at Seamus and then Maegan. “You may be right, but you were wrong to have interfered. Conan and I were in a good place before tonight. Spring is months away, and we had time. We may have figured it out on our own. Right now, things are not better, but far worse. Next time, meddle in your own love affairs and stay out of mine.”
* * *
Maegan watched as Mhàiri disappeared up the stairwell. Her heart was breaking for what had happened. She had known Conan might get upset, but not to that extent. He had looked as if he wanted to kill Callum, and Callum’s instincts had recognized that and had responded in kind.
“Seamus, what have we done?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s done, and now it is up to Mhàiri.”
Maegan spun around in his arms. “Why Mhàiri? Why not Conan?”
“Because he can’t. He has so many walls around his heart, he is unable to see the truth for himself. Hopefully, Mhàiri saw the truth tonight and will try to find a way to make it work. I know I saw it.”
Maegan looked up. “What do you mean?”
Seamus bent his head and took her mouth, answering her question in the way he had dreamed of for months. He kissed her long and hot, hoping to reach the very depths of her soul.
As soon as their lips made contact, the connection between them ran straight through their bodies. Every nerve was awakened by low, inviting passion that took Maegan’s breath away.
Seamus felt her shiver in his arms, but she did not pull away. Encouraged, he brushed his mouth persuasively across hers. Maegan was as sweet as honey. Slowly, he swept his tongue along the crest of her lips. He almost groaned aloud when she opened her mouth for his entrance.
Maegan could feel the urgency in Seamus, the tension in the arms, the rigidity of his shoulders, back, and neck beneath her hands. The power of his mouth on hers ran through her frame to her very fingertips. Unconsciously, she pressed herself against him and followed her instincts to slide her tongue into his mouth. Her fingers mimicked the movement in his hair.
When Maegan leaned into him and kissed him back with growing eagerness, a dam of need broke in Seamus. The kiss quickly changed from a gentle caress to one of wild passion. Soon, their tongues were mating again and again. He was almost mindless with wanting more.
Maegan’s heart pounded and her legs trembled. Her stomach was in knots. When Seamus deepened the kiss, the heat of it melted away the last rational thought she had. The feel of his tongue invading her mouth, touching every corner, tasting her, overwhelmed her completely. It felt so incredibly right. Like it was a missing piece in her life that she had been denying for way too long. All she could do was cling to him helplessly, letting the sensations take over her mind and soul.
Seamus had meant only to give Maegan a gentle kiss, but what they were sharing was so much more. It was the most incredible kiss he had ever experienced, and he would not have stopped if she had not started trembling.
When he released her, Maegan stood dumbfounded, staring at him with misty eyes filled with passion, and her lips, red and swollen, beckoned him to taste her again. Somehow, he resisted.
“Just like Mhàiri and Conan, you have this set idea for your future, but is it going to make you happy? Or is it time to change those plans and make room for someone who would love you as deeply as any other man ever did or could.”
He kissed her forehead, brushing his lips softly against her skin before placing one last soft, tender kiss on her lips. “I love you, Maegan. You’ve known that, and I’ve given you time. Now, you need to decide whether that means anything to you.”
Seamus left, his heart pounding. He knew that Mhàiri and Conan were both confused and hurting, but if he had to do tonight all over again, he would not change a thing.
* * *
Mhàiri stood looking down at the revelry taking place in the courtyard. It would go on for several more hours. Last night, she had been among them. Tonight, the last thing she felt like doing was dancing and making merry. She did not want to be with people, forced to talk and make conversation, but neither did she want to be alone. She felt like a rudderless ship, moving about with no direction or purpose.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Mhàiri sighed. She knew Maegan’s heart and that her friend had never intended for tonight to go the way it had, but that did not mean she was ready to talk to her just yet. The knock persisted, and Mhàiri turned from the window to go answer the door, assure Maegan she would be fine, and return to her silent examination of her heart.
But it was not Maegan who was at the door.
“Lady McTiernay!” Mhàiri gasped in surprise. “I . . . I was not aware that you knew I had left.”
Laurel offered her an apologetic smile and entered the room when Mhàiri stepped aside and held open the door. “I saw you leave after speaking with Conan. He has been in a foul mood lately, and seeing your face, I knew he had taken his sullenness out on you, for which I apologize. I should have made him disappear until he could be of good humor, but I had thought the entertainment would pull him from his gloominess and into good cheer. It seems I was wrong.”
“I hope I did not alarm you, but I am well,” Mhàiri replied, closing the door and reluctantly letting go of the handle. She hoped Laurel was not planning to stay and keep her company. “Conan did say something unpleasant, but I promise that is not the reason I decided to retire early. It was . . . other events that took place this evening that proved to be a little overwhelming. Perhaps I am not used to so many of these types of celebrations.”
“Then it is good I came to see you for another reason. One that is sure to bring you some needed cheer to end this Epiphany. News came this evening about your father. He knows you are here and will arrive as soon as the weather permits safe travel. Until then, he has been invited to stay with Conor’s brother Colin, who is a laird in the Lowlands.”
The message itself was not startling as it changed nothing from what had been anticipated, and yet Mhàiri felt her chest tighten. She loved her father, but deep down she did not want the life of a merchant. It was still limiting. They traveled, but to familiar markets or places where his goods could be bought and sold, never to some of the more isolated, wild, and stunning parts of Scotland. And yet, it was her only alternative outside of becoming a wife and set
tling down.
Laurel clutched her hands together. “I can tell that you are tired and would like to rest.” She maneuvered around Mhàiri and pulled on the handle to open the door.
Mhàiri jumped a little, realizing that she had been preoccupied with her thoughts. “I, uh, thank you for coming and telling me about my father. And, I wanted to thank you again for letting me stay here for so long. I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t.”
Laurel turned in the doorway and smiled at Mhàiri. “You would have stayed in your cottage next to the priory until your father could come to you there. It would have been hard, but you are a survivor, Mhàiri. That is why the idea of traveling the world is adventurous to you, whereas to others it would be a terrifying notion.”
“Well, I’m glad staying here and not the priory was my fate.”
Laurel was about to turn around and leave, when she stopped. “Don’t judge Conan too harshly, Mhàiri. Despite what he thinks, I love him very much and only want to see him happy. Unfortunately, he has not a clue what that is.”
“I think he does.”
“I know the look of true fulfillment, and he has never once experienced that feeling. Oh, he loves his maps and is invigorated by the challenge his plans for his future hold, but they will only bring him partial satisfaction. He does not realize that a person needs to seek out what their heart desires—there is more to life than only avoiding what makes one unhappy. Don’t you agree?”
Mhàiri furrowed her brow, puzzled by the unexpected question. Realizing that Laurel was waiting for an answer, she said, “I never really thought about it.”
“Unhappiness is an odd thing when you think about it. If you are not happy, then you are in fact unhappy. It is impossible to avoid unless you know what it is that fills your soul and makes you truly content. What I fear most for Conan is that he is so fixated on his idea for a future that he won’t seize happiness when he gets the chance because it will mean making a change—one that he promised never to consider.” Then, pulling the door closed behind her, Laurel said, “Good night, Mhàiri. See you on the morrow.”
Mhàiri did not know how long she stood staring at the door through which Laurel had disappeared. Only her eyes moved, blinking as Laurel’s thoughts on unhappiness churned in her mind.
“Laurel is right,” she breathed aloud. “She’s right.”
Mhàiri yanked open the door to her bedchambers and ran out and then down the stairwell. Not caring who saw her, she headed to the North Tower. She raced up four flights of stairs only to stop and catch her breath once she reached Conan’s door.
Able to breathe again, she knocked. There was no answer to her second knock as well, but Mhàiri knew he was in there. She had sought sanctuary in her chambers; she knew Conan had gone to his. Mhàiri started banging on the door with the outside of her fist, refusing to stop until Conan let her in.
A few seconds later, Conan yanked the door open. Seeing Mhàiri, he choked back the string of curse words he had almost laid on whom he had thought was Seamus. Recovering from his shock, Conan narrowed his gaze. “What do you want?”
Mhàiri did not wait for an invitation to come in, mostly because she was fairly certain that Conan was never going to issue one. “I think it is clear that I want to talk to you,” she replied and went back to his workspace and began to look around.
Conan followed her. “What the hell are you looking for?”
“Bonny? Is she with you? Or even Brenna? Where do they like to hide?”
Conan shook his head. “They are under strict orders to either be in the line of sight of their mother or Aileen until they fall asleep. Brenna may be overly curious, but she won’t openly defy her father.”
Mhàiri closed her eyes and took a deep breath, for she had dashed over without really having a plan. Coming here and visiting a man alone in his bedchambers at night was definitely not wise, and yet she did not care. She had made a decision to seize not just her happiness, but Conan’s.
“You need to leave, Mhàiri. Now.” Conan pointed to the door.
Mhàiri did not move. “We need to talk.”
“Nay, we don’t. If Callum no longer fancies you, then find someone else,” he said, hoping his biting remark would get Mhàiri to leave. He had lost control tonight, and if she stayed much longer, he was in danger of losing it again. Her presence was just too much. He needed to distance himself from her and somehow extinguish his feelings. And there was no way he could do that with her standing twenty feet away from his bed. “You do not lack for admirers, only time to spend with all of them.”
Mhàiri looked at him but refused to flinch under his icy glare. She knew the truth, and all the coldness rolling off him proved he knew it too. “This is now the third time you have tried to get me to pursue another, and I know that isn’t what you want.”
Conan took a step closer. A fury of emotions was swirling in his blue eyes. “Why are you here, Mhàiri?”
“Because I don’t want to go to anyone but you either.”
Conan’s heart was beating so hard he could hear it pound in his ears. Mhàiri was in his room, alone, telling him that she wanted him. She was not a fool. She knew what would happen upon such a declaration, and she also knew that in the end it would change nothing. Conan knew he should send her away, but his eyes could not break away from her mouth. She had a great mouth. Perfect. Inviting. Murt, he wanted her mouth.
He made an inarticulate sound, and his hands reached out and pulled at her waist, yanking her to him. The moment she was within reach, his lips were on hers. Without hesitation, Mhàiri wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fervently back.
Conan slanted his mouth across hers, wanting to cease any thought of whether or not she should or should not be in his arms. She was there. Her arms were holding him close as if they never wanted to let him go.
Conan devoured her lips in a desperate claiming to which she submitted willingly, eagerly. Her fingers explored his hair, and it would not be long before he could not stop at only a kiss. This was leading down a path of commitment, and he had to make sure Mhàiri understood that fate would not be waiting for her when they woke tomorrow.
He bore the sweet torture for another moment before he stepped away. “Leave now, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Conan’s eyes searched her face, trying to reach into her thoughts. “You’re tempting the devil, and you will get burned. You know how this will end.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Their eyes held, and he saw the truth of her words right there in the depths of her magnificent green pools. “Damn you! I will not feel guilty on the morrow.”
“Neither will I,” Mhàiri declared.
Conan’s eyes blazed. “Then so be it, for you are going to learn what it means to be mine.”
Because that was what Mhàiri was. His.
She would never be his wife, his companion, his sonuachar. But nevertheless she was still his. He would claim her in such a way that she would never belong to anyone else.
His control snapped. Jerking her to him, he slammed his mouth down on hers, taking her lips with an intensity that stunned him. Hot and wet, his tongue found hers. He needed to touch her, all of her, and make her writhe with need for the same.
His kisses moved from her lips to her neck. One hand held her head, preventing her from ending their embrace and what was to come. With the fingers of his free hand, he found the ties to her bliaut and freed them. He then eased the gown down her shoulders and let it pool about her waist. Next, he reached for the bow securing her chemise and, with one tug, it broke free. His lips followed, leaving a trail of fiery-hot kisses along her collarbone.
Mhàiri let out a soft, feminine sound. She was not sure what she wanted, but with each kiss, each touch, something stirred inside of her, flooding her with aching demand. She turned and arched toward him, a wordless invitation.
Need slammed into him, hard
and painful, but Conan took a deep breath, fought, and won. He wanted to take things slow, but he was already having trouble holding on to his control. His shaft was hard and throbbing to the point of pain, but he wanted to make this good for her. He needed to make this special.
He could see the worry in her beautiful green eyes as she watched him. She bit at her lower lip in a nervous gesture, and his gaze dropped. Mesmerized by the sight, he wanted to bite that lush lip and soothe the sting away with his tongue. Instead, he gently cupped her face, and his thumbs rubbed her cheeks slowly. Conan was overcome by a surge of possessiveness. He would be her first. And he wanted tonight to be so good that he would be her last.
Mhàiri was sheer perfection. His mouth watered at the sight of her full breasts. He wanted to taste them until she cried out, and he would, but first he simply wanted to know the silky feel of her skin. He brushed the backs of his hands against the swell of her breasts and smiled when she shivered in response.
He bent his head and glided his mouth over hers. A hungry sound escaped him as he demanded entry. Her arms latched around his neck, and she willingly gave in, opening for him as she pushed her body deeper into his.
That small action was his undoing. There was no way he could stop now. Conan wanted to devour her, consume her. He was drowning in a desperate need to have her, and he wanted to take her deep into the dark depths so she would never be free of him.
He went to work, undoing the rest of the laces of her dress, stripping her from her gown, letting it and the chemise underneath fall to the floor. His mouth descended. The feel of her skin caused every muscle in his body to become tight with sexual tension. Never breaking the kiss, Conan swept her up into his arms and entered his private chambers, heading directly to his bed.
Breaking off the kiss, he laid her down. He eased back and simply stared at her quivering body laid out before him. He had wanted her since he had first seen her standing in that small cottage doorway. She had a body made for loving. Her waist was small, but her hips curved out slightly, creating a sexy contour to her body. His gaze lowered to her dark mound and saw proof of her desire. He couldn’t wait to touch every inch of her and slowly drifted a finger down her neck through the valley of her breasts.
The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland Page 25