The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland

by Michele Sinclair

  “And nor should he. I don’t think I would either. You don’t know if you want that life. You’ve never done it, day after day. In three days, you might be so bored and dirty you’ll never want to see Conan again.”

  “But I wouldn’t!” Mhàiri insisted.

  “Words,” her father said with a shrug. “To ask a man to give up his life for a new one based on only mere words, now that is a lot to ask.”

  Anger began to boil once again in Mhàiri. She could not believe it. First Laurel and now her own father. No one believed she could be happy with Conan. That what they shared was not just about love and physical passion—though that was definitely a major incentive—it was much more. This was her life that she was fighting for. A life that she very much wanted. To travel and draw with a purpose. To meet people and see places. To have complete autonomy over where she lived and went. She would do anything, adjust to anything, and endure anything to have it. It was no wonder that Conan did not believe her. No one did.

  Iain reached over and tapped her knee. “I can tell you are upset and have been for a while. What you need is a way to release some of that aggression.” He rose to his feet. “I heard Finn mention that his men train every morning in some fields outside the castle walls.”

  “I know them. I’ve gone to watch a few times.”

  “But have you joined them?”

  Mhàiri scoffed. “I think Finn would have more than a few words at that idea.”

  Iain grinned at his daughter. “Aye. He will be shocked. You should remember his expression on the morrow and sketch it later. Then give it to his wife.” That got Mhàiri to smile. “But I bet I could convince him to let you join for awhile, if only to see what would happen.”

  Mhàiri bit the inside of her cheek and then shook her head. “I’m not in the mood to spar, Papa.”

  A hard glint entered his eyes. “You’re angry. You’re frustrated. That means you’re in the mood. So tomorrow morning?”

  Knowing it would do little good to argue, Mhàiri nodded in agreement. For somehow, someway, she would be there anyway.

  * * *

  Finn held his hands up, and immediately all the activity halted. Conan looked to see why they’d stopped and spied Iain and Mhàiri. “What brings you here?” Finn asked with impatience.

  Iain gripped Mhàiri’s shoulder in one of his large hands and said with a smile, “Mhàiri tells me that she has not trained all winter. I’m a merchant and sometimes that means I encounter people who are not so honest. And Mhàiri is pretty. I need to make sure she still knows how to protect herself before we leave your lands and are back on our own.”

  Finn looked at Mhàiri, arched a brow, and then coughed into his hand in an effort to hide his laughter. Mhàiri narrowed her gaze. “For that, Finn, your wife is going to get a present from me later today,” she hissed.

  Finn had no idea what Mhàiri meant, but he did detect the sharp tone and realized Iain had been serious. Suddenly he remembered Laurel’s unusual ability with a bow and thought perhaps he had been too hasty with his assumptions. “Well, what skills do you have then that need practice?”

  Iain rubbed his chin. “Do you have a target?”

  “Tell her to go where the women train.” The sharp comment had come from one of Finn’s largest men, who was leaning forward against his sword, tip in the ground. Buzz was a good-natured but mouthy soldier. He had shown interest in Mhàiri after Loman and was not pleased when she had made it clear that she was not interested. After that, she had received at least one jeering remark from the man a week. Mhàiri had had enough.

  With incredible speed, Mhàiri whipped out the knives she had strapped on this morning and sent them zinging through the air. The first hit his sword out of his hand. The next three landed right in front of him, all in the same spot so that they fanned out, making it clear that each one had landed exactly where she had aimed.

  Iain slapped his hands together. “Not bad. He was a little close, but I think we can say that you still can throw, daughter.” He then turned to Finn, whose mouth was hanging open. “Mhàiri,” Iain said, using his thumb to gesture toward Finn, “you might want to remember that expression as well.”

  Mhàiri nodded. “I think I just might.”

  “You’ve proven your aim is still good, but what about the rest?”

  Mhàiri scanned the men. Her eyes landed on Conan. His expression was inscrutable. “Will anyone spar with me?” she asked.

  Conan continued to stare at her, but his countenance did not change. He did not move. Nothing to be misconstrued as volunteering.

  “I will,” Seamus said, stepping forward.

  Finn nodded, knowing that Seamus was good enough to give her a challenge without accidentally pushing too far and hurting her. Mhàiri’s father might be watching, even encouraging, this crazy pursuit, but Conor would have all of them for dinner if Mhàiri got hurt. And that was only after Laurel made them all miserable.

  Five minutes later, Seamus found himself on his back staring at the sky. His side was stinging something awful. He had totally underestimated Mhàiri and had ended up looking like a fool because of it. The only upside was that maybe Maegan would take pity on him and talk to him. He had scared her at Epiphany, pushed her too far. He only hoped with enough time she would see that they were good together. He could make her happy. But first she had to let go of Clyde, and he wondered if she was ever going to be able to do that.

  “I am so sorry, Seamus,” Mhàiri said, clearly upset. “I think you are going to need a thread and needle.”

  Seamus tried to sit up and winced. “Aye, I think you are right.”

  Mhàiri closed her eyes. “Father is right. I should have kept up with my skills. I leaned in way too far on that last spin when we were just sparring.”

  Seamus looked at his side. “Just sparring. You are deadly, Mhàiri.”

  Iain took a look. “Aye, that’s a nasty cut.” He offered Seamus an arm. “Come on. Let’s go get you cleaned up.” Then, with a wave, they left and headed back to the castle. “You have someone good with a needle?”

  Seamus nodded. “Hagatha and Laurel.”

  Iain chuckled. “I thought you might be wanting that pretty little lass Maegan to be tending to you.”

  “I’m, uh, not sure she would want to.”

  Iain grinned. “She would, and afterwards, she’ll be talking to you again and you’ll be thanking my Mhàiri here for giving you such a scar.”

  Seamus hobbled another couple of steps before he realized exactly what Iain had said. Based on all the stuff he had witnessed last night, he had no doubt that Iain Mayboill had an ability to see into someone like he had never witnessed before. He looked at the older man and then grinned. “I think I will.”

  Mhàiri watched as Seamus’s hobble turned into a near sprint, leaving her and her father to walk back alone.

  She looked at her father. “Did you see what you came to see?”

  “Aye. Your knives are still good. You are slow with your left hand, and your Conan definitely loves you. So why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

  Mhàiri’s hands curled into fists. “I know you were listening when I told you all that I had been doing to convince him. You said my actions had no more influence to change his mind than words.”

  “Your promises are just words and knowing how to cook over a campfire doesn’t mean you will want to do so every meal.”

  “Then what do you mean? What else can I do?”

  “Only you know that. I do know that the man is scared. I felt that way when I met your mother. I knew she was willing to come with me, but I had trouble believing she could really be happy as a merchant’s wife. Good thing she was more determined than you. Otherwise, I might have left her village alone.”

  “How did she convince you?”

  Iain laughed. “That woman did the most insane thing I had ever seen in my life,” he replied. “She became a merchant! And what’s more, she loved it! When I saw her smile after he
r first sale, I knew she was hooked and I knew then that I had to have her.”

  Mhàiri suddenly realized what Laurel had meant. When words no longer work, the only thing left is action. Words were not enough. That’s what Laurel and her father were trying to tell her. She had come to them for some way to reach Conan, but that was something she could only do.

  Mhàiri reached up on her tiptoes and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Athair. I have something I have to do, so don’t worry about me if you don’t see me for a few days.”

  * * *

  Conan entered the great hall and shook the water out of his hair. It had been cold and raining for the last two days, and the wind was getting worse. The warm spell they had been experiencing had left with a vengeance. Winter wanted one more storm before it left for the year, and it was going to be a bad one. By tomorrow, everything would be frozen under a thick layer of ice.

  He moved to sit in his normal spot at the dinner table, surprised to find that he was nearly the last one to arrive. It had been more than a week since he had joined the family for dinner, and he had half expected Laurel to have chased him down, ordering his return by now. She just smiled and waved at him, continuing to listen to something Iain Mayboill was saying. Everyone was tuned in with rapt attention. Laurel and Aileen’s pregnancies were stirring up the old merchant’s memories of when Shinae and Mhàiri had been born, and the adventures of bringing them into the world while on the road were the ones he cherished the most.

  Conan could listen no more. Every time he heard Iain’s voice, he remembered the last time he had seen him . . . and Mhàiri.

  She had said she could protect herself, but he had had no idea exactly what that had meant. It had needled at him for days before he had figured out why. She could protect herself. Her vulnerability had been one of the main reasons he had been so reluctant to even consider the idea of her coming with him. But she had been right. Mhàiri could protect herself better than most men.

  Conan decided to risk catching her eye and glanced around the table to see where she was sitting. He looked again. She was not there, nor was there a hole as if her arrival was anticipated.

  “Maegan,” he clipped, finally getting her attention from Seamus. She was smiling, and his friend, who had been almost intolerable the last two months, seemed himself again. “Where’s Mhàiri?”

  Maegan finished swallowing her food and then took a sip of ale. She licked her lips. Conan wondered if she was delaying telling him on purpose. Was this some lame scheme she and Mhàiri had hatched to prove he still cared about her? “I don’t know,” Maegan finally replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

  Conan gripped his mug tightly in his hand and prayed for patience. “No games, Maegan. Where is she?”

  Maegan put her own mug down and leveled her sky-blue eyes on him. “I do not know,” she repeated. “I have not seen her for days. Her father told us not to worry, so I haven’t.”

  Days? Conan thought in shock. Had Mhàiri been trying to avoid him, like he had her? Or was she ill? If so, why had he not been told? But Conan knew the answer. He had not been around and had made it clear to Laurel that when it came to Mhàiri, he wanted to hear nothing. But he had meant no advice, not that he wouldn’t want to know if she was not well.

  “Is someone taking Mhàiri food?” he asked Brenna, knowing the ten-year-old would be well aware of where Mhàiri was, her status, and why she was not at dinner.

  Brenna imitated Maegan and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Well, at least tell me where she is,” he hissed.

  Brenna’s gray eyes grew large. “I don’t know, Uncle Conan.”

  Conan sat quietly fuming for the rest of the dinner. When everyone stood to leave, he waited for Iain and carefully cornered him. He intended to get some answers, and if Iain thought he could play his mind and word games with him, he was about to learn very differently.

  “Where is Mhàiri?”

  Iain crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “I don’t know. Last I saw her, she kissed my cheek and told me not to worry about her and that I wouldn’t be seeing her for a few days. Last time that happened, I had made her a cloth drawing board. The girl barely stopped to eat, but she slowed down soon enough. If I had tried to make Mhàiri stop before she was ready, she would have resented me and kept drawing, but only for longer.”

  Conan spun on his heel and headed for the Warden’s Tower. He ran up the stairs and began to bang on Mhàiri’s door, shouting at her to open up. When she did not answer, he considered barging in. If he had to, he would, but he knew there was someone to whom she would respond.

  An hour later, he had found Maegan, who was in the Star Tower, ensuring his nieces were getting ready for bed. He waved for her to meet him in the hallway right outside the room. “I need you to do something,” he stated without preamble or pleasantries.

  Maegan huffed. “I am done scheming. For Brenna. For Bonny. For everyone, which includes you.”

  Conan’s face grew hard. “I am not asking you to scheme,” he snarled. “I’m asking you to check on your friend, whom it seems that no one has seen for the past week.”

  “That’s impossible,” Maegan said.

  “Then why haven’t you seen her at dinner?”

  “I assumed she was avoiding Seamus. She did cut him very badly. He could have gotten a fever and died.” Maegan’s voice had grown cold, and her anger could not be missed.

  “She was not avoiding Seamus. You know Mhàiri—she doesn’t run from problems. Ever. It’s actually more surprising that she has not checked on him every day, which proves that something is not right.”

  Maegan blinked. She had been rather busy, and after seeing what Mhàiri had done to Seamus, she had been angry with her friend and not really in the mood to see or talk to her. Just the thought of losing Seamus had scared her enormously, but Conan was right. Maegan should have at least seen her in passing. It had been over a week now, and it was clear Seamus was going to recover. “Mhàiri must be with her father. They will be leaving soon, so she is probably just making preparations.” She snapped her fingers, and relief flooded her countenance. “I know. In addition to more paper, her father had brought her a couple of books that she was very excited about. I am sure she is simply completely engrossed in them, like you are when you get new scrolls and whatnot.”

  Maegan opened the door to finish checking on the girls. Conan took a deep breath and exhaled. That had to be it. He knew what it was like to get absorbed in a new activity to the exclusion of all else. Mhàiri was the same way. She had probably told her father not to worry and was having servants run her up food.

  He stepped into the room and said, “I’m sure you are right, but I need to know for sure.”

  Maegan had just started to comb Bonny’s hair. “You know, only a man in love would be asking this when even Mhàiri’s own father is not concerned.”

  “I don’t deny loving Mhàiri, but loving someone does not mean we would be happy together.”

  Maegan looked at him then and swallowed. “I’ll check on her right after I finish here.”

  “Thank you.”

  Maegan was shocked. That was the first time Conan had ever voiced his appreciation to her that she could recall. She was about to say something to that effect when Bonny tugged on her sleeve.

  “You won’t find Mhàiri in her room,” she whispered, but it was loud enough for Conan to hear her.

  He marched up beside her. “What do you mean, Bonny?”

  “She left the castle the day she hurt Seamus. I saw her.”

  Terror twisted his stomach. “Left how?”

  “Neal gave her a horse and a small cart. She put a couple blankets and some books in it and left. I asked Neal yesterday when she was coming back, and he said that he didn’t know. That Mhàiri had only told him that she needed an animal that wouldn’t be missed for a while. He had assumed she would only be gone that afternoon because she didn’t take any food, but as far as he knew, Mhà
iri had still not returned.”

  Conan felt his heart turn to stone and the sweat chill on his body. An ice storm was upon them. The rain that had been falling down would turn to ice now that it was dark, and it would be coming down hard and painfully. People died in weather like this. Did her father not know this? Did he and Laurel and everyone else assume what he had? That Mhàiri was in her room, drawing or studying a new book?

  Panic began to take hold, and he fought the urge to race off madly, blindly.

  Conan looked at Maegan, who was beginning to shake with fear for her friend. “This storm is getting worse, and if Mhàiri is out in it, she won’t survive to the morning. Go find Conor and Laurel and tell them that I’m going out now to find and bring her back, but if I don’t return by the morning to form a search party.”

  Tears filled Maegan’s eyes to the brim and began to fall down her cheeks. “Find her, Conan.”

  “I will. And she will be alive.”

  She will be alive, he repeated to himself.

  For Mhàiri was his. She had his heart, and now it was time to claim hers.

  She will be alive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Thank you, Maegan, but don’t look so alarmed!” Iain chided, his laughter filling the great hall.

  Maegan was shocked that he, Laurel, and Conor did not move. All three just remained sitting by the hearth, prepared to continue talking and smiling without any concerns.

  “My daughter knows how to stay warm and dry in an ice storm. We’ve lived through many. She knows what to do.”

  Maegan stared at him incredulously. “You knew?” she asked. “You knew Mhàiri has been living out there on her own for days?”

  “Well, how else is she supposed to know if she is going to like it? And after the past few hellacious days, I suppose she does, otherwise she would have been back by now.”

  Laurel grinned. “I think we will be preparing for a wedding when those two return.”

  “You better hope so,” Conor snorted. “After listening to you two applaud your devious ways, I would not let you forget it if you are wrong.”