The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland

by Michele Sinclair

  Mhàiri threw up her arms in exasperation. “Why would having a child affect our lifestyle? My parents raised my sister and me on the road, and we turned out fairly well.”

  “Ha! She became a nun.”

  “And I became like you!”

  “You can’t cook!”

  “So I’ll learn! We aren’t leaving for a couple of months. I have time. Fiona will teach me, and you will be the best-fed man in Scotland.”

  Conan was breathing hard. Fiona was not a kind woman and did not like anyone to interfere in her kitchen. Ever. But somehow he suspected Mhàiri would be the exception.

  “You aren’t listening and you need to, Mhàiri. It doesn’t matter whether you can cook, are willing to sleep outside, or are the bravest woman in the world. I. Don’t. Want. You. With. Me.”

  That got her to pause. She took a step back as if he had struck her physically. “Why?” she choked out.

  Conan took a breath and slowly exhaled. He ran a hand through his hair. “Because,” he began, searching for the words to explain what he felt. “Because it is not what I planned.”

  “You never planned to have a wife so you don’t want one?” she said, the sound barely a whisper. “Even one willing to do everything you want, doesn’t even consider it a compromise, but an opportunity, one you love . . . only because it is not what you had planned?” Her voice gained strength. “Because if that’s true, Conan, you are right. There is nothing I can do to prove that we can be happy, living a life that is so wonderful, so incredible, neither of us could have envisioned it.”

  Mhàiri marched to his chamber door and yanked it open. She spun around. “You may go on your trip, make your maps, but years from now, when you still are puzzled as to why it doesn’t bring you the satisfaction you thought it would, you think back on today. This conversation. For until you realize that only by giving up on your old dreams can you embrace the one that God is offering, you won’t be truly happy. And I’ve decided that is what I want. I don’t want to just avoid being unhappy. I want it all. And I intend to have it all.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Laurel rubbed her stomach as she studied Mhàiri. The last couple of months since Epiphany, she had started to grow large, and Conor feared she was carrying twins again. Laurel knew she wasn’t. The babe was large, but Hagatha suspected it was because this was her fourth child.

  She had forgotten what pregnancy was like. She had remembered it as wonderful, but now that she was in her last couple of months, she realized that it was the baby that made it wonderful. In reality, being pregnant was anything but.

  Last week, Aileen revealed that she, too, was pregnant and a happier expectant mother could not be found. Laurel had been waiting for the announcement for weeks. Finn had been grinning far too regularly for someone who preferred to frown. But Laurel had not asked because she knew Aileen was intentionally waiting. Her best friend had conceived several times over the years, but always lost her children early in her pregnancy. Aileen no doubt feared it would happen again. But the weeks passed and she was still carrying. So on Epiphany she had told Finn, who could not have been more surprised . . . or thrilled. Now that another two months had gone by, the fear had been replaced with anticipation. The babes would be only a few months apart, but essentially the same age.

  “I asked you to come here today so that I could make a request. I want you to stop bathing in the river.”

  Mhàiri’s eyes widened. She had hoped Laurel had seen all that she had been doing for the past several weeks and was finally going to offer her help. It was Laurel who had made her realize what she wanted and she did not think that had been an accident, but now it seemed Lady McTiernay had changed her mind.

  “I don’t mind it, and I have my reasons.”

  Laurel inhaled and then sighed. “You are going to get sick. Whatever point you were trying to make has been made.”

  Mhàiri’s jaw clenched. Laurel did not understand the situation, for she had never told anyone what had happened between her and Conan—not even Maegan. And she was certain he, too, had kept what happened on Epiphany and their argument afterwards to himself.

  For two months, Mhàiri had been trying to prove to Conan that she would not be a burden during their travels, reminding him in whatever ways possible that she wanted to be with him. However, his ability to avoid her had made it more than just a little difficult. She was mostly relying on rumors about her accomplishments getting to him, because they had yet to talk since that fateful night.

  “I am not sure it has.”

  “Well, trekking all the way back to the castle is not the same as immediately sitting by a campfire to get warm, so please stop.”

  Mhàiri pursed her lips and rose to her feet. “Fine. Is there anything else you would like me to cease doing?” she challenged.

  It had been difficult, but Mhàiri had finally gotten Fiona to agree to a truce, of sorts. The old cook was a gray-haired, stoutly built woman, and her dark brown eyes were always aware of everything going on in her kitchen. She loved to cook, but she did not love people. And she especially did not like anyone coming into the kitchens to bother her, help, or even pinch some of her food before she was ready to serve it. She had a wicked tongue, and Mhàiri had been frightened by it until she had realized that was all the woman had. So Mhàiri kept coming in. Every day, she would come and talk to the help and move things around. Not much, but just enough to be annoying. Fiona would rant and rave, but it had done no good. And that was when Mhàiri had offered Fiona a bargain. Teach her how to cook and she would leave her kitchens.

  So Fiona had reluctantly agreed, but refused to do so in her kitchens. The crotchety woman made it clear that if Mhàiri wanted to learn how to cook over a campfire, then that was where she was going to learn. So Mhàiri had been yelled at, insulted, criticized, and even injured. But she had also learned.

  Mhàiri could now quickly pluck a bird, clean it, and skin a rabbit. She now recognized what grew wild that could be used to make food tastier. She was becoming an expert at telling when meat was done and how to keep it from becoming too dry. Her repertoire of recipes included soup, dried meat, and bread, which she had learned how to bake in a pot over a fire. And Mhàiri knew for a fact that Conan had eaten and enjoyed a couple of her meals because Fiona had surprised everyone when she came out near the end of one of the dinners and announced to all that Mhàiri had been the one to prepare most of what had been served. But Mhàiri was not done learning. Fiona still had to teach her about fish, certain pies, and many other things. Mhàiri did not want Laurel stripping those from her as well.

  Laurel shrugged her shoulders. “That you convinced Fiona to teach you how to cook is a miracle and I won’t interfere with it. But if that was going to change anything between you and Conan, it already would have.”

  The shock that Laurel had seen and recognized what she was doing rocketed through Mhàiri. She collapsed by Laurel’s feet. “Please help me. Please help me make him see what he is giving up.”

  Laurel swept Mhàiri’s hair from her face and cupped her cheek. “I cannot. For two reasons. First, despite what people think, all I have ever done for anyone is given a little bit of advice. A few words spoken at just the right time often can put things into motion, but all the pieces have to be in place first. I cannot create what isn’t there.”

  Mhàiri still did not understand. “But it is there.”

  “And what words would I say that you have not already spoken? When words no longer work, the only thing left is action, and that is the one thing I cannot do for you.”

  Alarm overtook Mhàiri’s expression, and Laurel immediately doused the flames that she could see growing. “I do not know what transpired between you and Conan. I only know something did.”

  Mhàiri sat back. “Then how do you know I spoke the right words?”

  “Because of the second reason I cannot help you.” Laurel paused and waited until Mhàiri was looking at her again. “Conan asked me not to.”
/>   * * *

  Mhàiri would have fallen if she had not already been sitting on the floor.

  Conan knew. He had known at some point she would be desperate enough to seek out Laurel’s help. And he had feared she would give it to her because he had feared it would work. That should have given her hope, for it meant that he was struggling with his feelings, warring with them, and yet it did just the opposite. Mhàiri felt all her confidence dissipate until she had none left at all. If Conan was this adamant, she was at a loss. He feared her changing him, but he was the one who had changed her. And for what? An impossible dream.

  Mhàiri rose to her feet and was about to say her good-byes when Bonny came running into the room. “Guess who is here!” she cried. “Your papa! Fallon says you are to come right away!”

  Mhàiri swallowed. How did God know? The one person she needed more than ever was her beloved father. He would wrap her in his arms and take her away. Away from the pain and the loss and the heartbreak.

  With a cry, she ran past Bonny and down the stairwell. Entering the courtyard, she spied him and his massive cart. How he had gotten that thing this far north when winter was only now easing, she did not know. Nor did she care. All Mhàiri knew was her father was here and somehow he was going to make it all better.

  “Athair!” she yelled.

  A large man who had been talking to Fallon turned to the voice. Iain Mayboill had the craggy look of an unfinished sculpture and yet women found him deliciously appealing. He had a massive, self-confident presence that was so striking, it caused those around him to turn and stare. Wings of gray hair fanned out at his temples, adding drama and distinction. With bright green eyes and dark hair, he had a smile that she had heard could cut a man like a knife. But to Mhàiri, he was just her father. A man who loved her without question.

  Upon seeing her, pleasure softened his granite-like face. He opened his arms wide as she collided into his embrace. “Ah, inghean, it is so good to see you so well and bonnie. I have missed you, lass.”

  Mhàiri hugged him close and felt a shadow over her shoulder. She glanced back to see Laurel and Conor. “Father, please let me introduce Laird and Lady McTiernay.”

  “I’m Iain Mayboill. A great privilege it is to meet you. Not only is your clan’s name well known throughout Scotland, but you took care of my Mhàiri, here, and that means more to me than I can express.”

  Laurel gave him her warmest, most welcoming smile. “She was a pleasure.”

  Iain wagged his finger at Laurel. “Quite a weapon she has there,” he said to Conor, who was about to take exception to this man pointing at his wife. “Those stormy eyes, that smile, her beauty. That combination renders you powerless most days, I bet. My wife could do the same to me when she was alive.”

  Conor blinked. The man spoke the truth, and Laurel was practically giggling with the idea that she had power over him that she already knew she had. “We were not expecting you so soon. The snow just began to thaw here.”

  “It wasn’t so bad, though the last day got to be a little bit of fun in parts. Your brother Colin encouraged me to stay longer, but his three wee ones are a bit like his wife—wild and rambunctious. And before I forget, I was supposed to tell you that they have another on the way.”

  Laurel’s fingers rose to her lips. Aislinn was seven, about to turn eight, Machara was almost four, and Connor was not even two yet. Thinking of stoic Colin chasing all those children around was enough to bring her to laughter. “Aye,” Iain said to her unspoken words, “I think your brother Colin is actually scared, especially when his wife says that she still plans on having at least six. The man will have to learn how to relax or go stark raving mad, I expect.”

  At that, Conor laughed. “Come and tell us of your travels.”

  “Where would you like me to put my cart? The man wasn’t pleased I insisted on bringing it inside, but this is my home, my livelihood.”

  Laurel wiped the tears from her eyes. “Your livelihood is in no jeopardy outside the walls, and you can stay in the North Tower while you are here. I’ll have Glynis prepare you a room.”

  Iain folded his arms and stared down at Laurel and then finally laughed. “I would argue with you, but I think I would lose. You have that look about you my Mhàiri gets, which she got from her mother. It says the argument would be a long and bloody battle, but you’re willing to wage it and do whatever it takes to come out the victor. So I shall concede now.” Then he gave a wink to Mhàiri, and nudged her side with his elbow. “You see that, lass? I’m finally learning to listen. If only your mother were here to see it.”

  “She still wouldn’t believe it,” Mhàiri said, smiling up at him. “And she enjoyed arguing with you as much as you enjoyed arguing with her.”

  “Much like the laird and his lady, I suspect.”

  Laurel closed her eyes and shook her head, trying not to grin and failing. “Colin has been talking about me and Conor, I see.”

  “Nay!” Iain denied. “I would never listen to such gossip. I just sees what I see. And what I’m seeing is that you need a longer pillow at night to sleep so that you won’t wake with your back hurting.”

  Laurel’s mouth dropped in shock. Her back did hurt and she was not sleeping well. “You think a longer pillow is all I need?”

  Iain walked to his cart and pulled out a large pillow packed with feathers. “Aye. Leave the one you have for your head and use this to curl up to. This beast here,” he said, gesturing to Conor, “is all meat and hardness. No doubt a lot of fun and the reason you have a bairn on the way, but for the next couple of months, snuggle up to this here pillow and you will wake refreshed and with more energy.”

  Conor was about to strongly object. He liked his wife at his side and most definitely did not want to be replaced by a pillow. But when he saw the look of sheer excitement in Laurel’s face, he knew he could not deny her.

  Mhàiri bit her bottom lip. “That’s Father,” she said timidly. “He is very friendly and always seems to know what you need.”

  Conor pursed his lips. “Your father is exceptionally shrewd.” He had met men like Iain before. Laird MacInnes was one of them. He was his father’s best friend who had moved to the south when he had married a woman who’d turned out to be Laurel’s grandmother. He, too, could within minutes understand those around him as though he had spent a lifetime in their company. It enabled him to draw one in quickly so they trusted him.

  Bonny stood by Mhàiri. She had followed her outside and had been carefully watching the newcomer. “I’ve decided I like you,” she announced, surprising everyone around her.

  Iain knelt down to her level. “And why is that?”

  “Because you are smart like me.”

  Iain peered into Bonny’s gray eyes and what he saw was his own soul staring back at him. Brilliance, with a natural understanding of people. “Why, you are quite smart, aren’t you?” he said and swung her up in his arms. “Do your mama and papa know this?”

  Bonny shook her head, to the surprise of both her parents. “Only Uncle Conan,” she replied.

  “Come, let us go and get some ale. I’m sure you are parched after your journey,” Conor encouraged Iain.

  “Aye, but first let me get a present from my cart before it is sent rolling out of reach.” He went over and shifted some things around before pulling out a large crate. He pried it open and there inside was a treasure. Books of hemp paper. “I thought, on your travels, you would need some more. So this is for you.”

  Mhàiri gasped, and knelt down to see. At least five books were inside. “Travels? How did you—?”

  “Shinae,” her father answered.

  “I went to see your sister and she mentioned what you and she had planned to do before the priory had burned down. She explained that you want to see the world and if I know my sweet Mhàiri, she has found a way to do that besides traveling with an old merchant like me.”

  Tears filled Mhàiri’s eyes. How right her father was. And how wrong. “How is Shin
ae? You know she was forced to take her vows.”

  “No one can force another to do anything. Shinae is living with that decision, but you know your sister. She always finds a way to locate the sun in every rain cloud.”

  Mhàiri nodded. Her sister could do that. She was the kindest of souls, but also the most stubborn, and could be a force unlike any other when pressed.

  “Now, let’s go have this drink and you can tell me all about that man hovering over there with a scowl and how he is troubling you, lass. I’m guessing he’s wee Bonny’s Uncle Conan.”

  * * *

  The fire crackled in the great hall, and Mhàiri studied the flames. They had gone to enjoy some ale, and soon word had spread of Iain Mayboill’s arrival. The group grew as Hagatha, then Aileen and Finn, followed by Seamus and Maegan joined them. Their laughter created curiosity, and soon every nearby soldier not on duty and anyone who was not busy with time-sensitive chores were in the great hall, listening and laughing as Iain regaled them with one story followed by another. Some Mhàiri knew, some Mhàiri had participated in, and some she had never heard because they had taken place after she had left for the priory.

  Now it was quiet. They had all left, letting father and daughter get reacquainted.

  “So, inghean, what keeps your heart from smiling? Your lips curl, but there is no light in your eyes. Not even for your old father who traveled all this way to see you. Could it be that I should be arriving to news of a wedding, but I’m not?”

  Mhàiri should have known her father would have accurately guessed. Conan had joined them, but only briefly. Her father had asked pointed questions about his plans and Conan had answered them, just as directly. Nothing had been odd about his comments or demeanor, and yet her father had known.

  “I wish there to be one. I do. But you heard Conan. He will not change his plans despite all that I’ve done.” Iain listened quietly as Mhàiri described all of Conan’s arguments and her efforts to thwart them. “But he cares not. He refuses to change the dreams he has held on to for the chance at something better.”