Conan tickled her side. Mhàiri screamed and began to thrash. By the time she begged for mercy, he was atop her and she was breathing heavily. He had to fight the urge to take her once more.
“Maybe we should return because you need to plan a wedding.”
Mhàiri’s soft green eyes sparkled with love and excitement. “A wedding?”
“Aye, a wedding.”
“By chance whose wedding would I be planning?”
Conan leaned down and kissed the top of her nose. “It just so happens, you will be the bride and I will be the groom.”
Mhàiri bit her bottom lip, her grin large and full of joy. “And when is this wedding to take place?”
“Tomorrow. Right at sunset.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Tomorrow afternoon! I think not!” Laurel choked out, the sound echoing in the great hall. “That is not nearly enough time!”
“For what?” Conan asked, mystified, as he snuggled Mhàiri closer on his lap. He was wondering how he was going to last tonight without her in his arms and if they had enough time to marry today. Sunset—when all the McTiernays wed—was a little more than an hour away. It was possible.
“There is a considerable amount to do,” Laurel stated in her most authoritative voice.
“I agree with Conan,” Conor chimed in. “Tomorrow is good. The sooner you are wed, the sooner calm reenters my life.”
Laurel took his hand and rubbed her round stomach. “You, my love, are about to have another child. Calm is not something you are going to see again for a long, long time.” Conor grunted. “And as far as a wedding, Conan, yours will not be taking place next week, let alone tomorrow.”
“Next week!” Conan shouted.
“I said not next week. I would guess three weeks. At the very least.”
Hagatha nodded. “And that is only if Conor sends the runners out today. People will need time to prepare.”
Conan stilled. “What people?”
Aileen waved a finger over Mhàiri’s form. “And you need a gown.”
Excited with the idea of a new outfit that was not a hand-me-down, Mhàiri slid off Conan’s lap. “A new dress?”
“Oh, it will be the most beautiful dress ever created,” Maegan sighed. “I’ve some ideas that I want to share with you. And your hair . . . we need to wait a few weeks for the spring flowers to bloom.”
Seamus elbowed Conan. “Looks like your marriage is waiting on flowers, my friend.”
“People?” Conan repeated, this time with a little more force.
“All of us have been looking forward to this happy event for months and nothing”—Laurel paused to look at Conan and then her husband, Conor—“is going to ruin our plans.”
“Just what do you mean by people?” Conan croaked.
“Well, did you think that we are the only ones who are going to want to witness this event?” Laurel huffed. “Because you could not be more mistaken. I have a feeling when word spreads that you, Conan McTiernay, are not only wanting to get married, but have found a woman who also wants to marry you, our home is going to draw quite a crowd.”
“Then we will marry today. I am not someone people need to come and ogle at.”
Laurel scrunched her nose at the idea. “They won’t be coming to see you . . . they will be coming to see Mhàiri. And when we are done,” she said to her soon-to-be sister-in-law, “you will be the envy of every woman in Scotland.”
Mhàiri’s eyes grew large with excitement. She looked at Conan, who was scowling. She grinned at him and shrugged her shoulders. “We’re waiting,” she said with such happiness he could not say no. “It isn’t every day a girl gets to be the envy of every woman in Scotland.”
* * *
Conan sat brooding in the great hall, drinking ale that was too damn weak. Ale was always brewing, and too many were working in the buttery that never had before. When Conor had said they were going to have to ration the ale to only dinner, thank God Rae Schellden—the McTiernays’ closest friend, ally, and neighbor—had not been happy with the decision. He had ordered his people to begin making ale as well, and after a week they’d begun getting a delivery every day.
Conor maneuvered through the crowd of men who had come in out of the rain and slid into a chair next to Conan. Immediately, a servant handed him a mug, which was another thing that had run out. It was fortunate that people brought their own utensils to use on their journeys; otherwise many of them would not have anything to eat on.
Conor took a swig and wrinkled his nose at the weak flavor. It needed less water and more time. They were just lucky that the last few harvests had been extremely good and there were enough oats for the crush of people who had seized McTiernay Castle and its lands for the last few weeks. He looked at his brother. “You look in a fouler mood than normal.”
“I’ve decided I hate your wife.”
Conor took another gulp. “That’s not news. You’ve disliked her for various reasons over the years, but the last one, I think, resulted in you getting married.”
“You can seriously say that to me? It’s because of her that I’m not married. I’m ready, Mhàiri is ready, Father Lanaghly is ready, even the damn dress is ready. The only one who isn’t is Laurel. She is now insisting we wait for MacInnes to arrive.”
“He was our father’s best friend. He wants to see you wed.”
“Then he should have gotten his arse up here with the rest of Scotland.” Conan looked at Conor. “It’s been almost six weeks,” he snarled. “That’s long enough, and it’s time you tell Laurel.”
“Tell Laurel what?” The question came from behind Conan. He glanced momentarily over his shoulder. Hamish and Colin, his second-oldest brother from the Lowlands, had come to join them.
“That I don’t care to wait for stragglers like yourself any longer.”
Hamish nodded to Conor, Colin, and Cole, who were sitting at the table, enjoying the frustration of their younger brother. “It’s your fault. We honestly thought the first missive an error. And we were not alone in that assumption either.”
Conan snorted. No one had believed it. No one. Even Rae Schellden, their neighbor and close ally, had doubted the news.
Cole, who had been sitting drinking quietly beside his brother, agreed with Hamish, especially as he too had had doubts the first time he had heard the news. “I mean would you have believed a herald claiming the great Conan McTiernay had fallen madly in love with a beautiful woman who adored him in return, and was to marry imminently?”
The missive had been more than that. Laurel’s message had also said that all were welcome to come join and witness the event. They just needed to bring tents, their own servants, and significant contributions to the food and drink. So, like everyone else, Colin had sent a runner back with a statement asking if the real reason Laurel wanted them to visit was to say good-bye to Conan. For that, he and Makenna would have liked to have come, but would never have left their homes for such a reason, especially as they were expecting their fourth child. And because most heralds were not sent to only one clan, but had to make multiple stops, it had taken almost two weeks for the heralds to return to Laurel with words of disbelief, some teasing comments about the insanity of the alleged bride, and requests for proof.
The runners had been dispatched out again. It had not been until Hamish received a message from Rae Schellden stating that the news was earnest that he had believed it. Conan was indeed getting married. Then the heralds had returned, all with variations on one theme—the ceremony could not take place until they arrived. Conan getting married was something that needed to be seen to be believed.
Colin winked at Conan, which rankled him further. “I think he just misses his woman,” he said playfully, with a massive grin pasted on his face. Colin was not the sort to smile. The man possessed an unnatural amount of self-control. He could emotionally wall himself off, which made him a superb strategist, but it seemed that after nearly a decade of being married to Makenna and becoming
a father to three children, with a fourth on the way, had changed him. And not for the better, in Conan’s mind.
It also did not help that Colin was right.
Now that he knew the feel of Mhàiri’s skin, her scent, her passionate response, her greedy need for him, and his insatiable need for her, the idea of not being with her at night was akin to torture. Sneaking to her room might have been possible the first week, but had become very difficult the second week. After that, guests had started to arrive in staggering numbers. The castle had never been so full. Even when Conor had married Laurel, it had not touched this constant influx of people. As a result, Mhàiri and Maegan had given up their rooms and were now sleeping with Bonny and Brenna, and visiting maids now lined the halls in temporary beds. So sneaking into Mhàiri’s chambers was not an option.
The torture was not only the loss of having her in his bed; it was far more than that.
He had not seen Mhàiri practically at all these past few weeks. Dinner did not count, as there were too many people present to make conversation, much less keep one. People kept asking for her attention, and the numbers of those inquisitive people kept growing every day. Conan had assumed this would alarm Mhàiri as much as it did him, but he had been wrong.
At dinner, he had groused about how few times he had had a chance to spend time with her, and Mhàiri’s response had been to laugh. She had laughed, infecting all those around her, and then had reminded him about the two months he had pushed her away, ignoring her. That if she could wait, then so could he.
When he had returned from an impromptu trip and Mhàiri had still been as inaccessible as before, he had begun to worry. What would she be like when it was only the two of them? There would be no crowds to entertain her. It would be just her and him, sometimes for weeks at a time.
He had been so desperate, he had gone to Brenna and Bonny for help. Both girls normally loved all the activity, but even for them, it had been too much. Luckily, Brenna had known Mhàiri’s schedule and when to intercept her so they could have a few minutes. The only place had been the bottom floor of the Star Tower, which also served as a storage room.
It was the smartest thing he had done in the past six weeks, for Mhàiri’s actions and first words had put his mind at ease.
Mhàiri had gripped his head between her hands and kissed him with a surge of exasperation and enthusiasm. “Can you believe this lunacy?” she had asked. “The only one who isn’t here is the King of Scotland, and I’m not sure why, for all his people seem to be camped outside your brother’s castle!”
“Someone had to be responsible enough to stay home.”
Mhàiri had wrapped her arms around his neck and urged his mouth down to hers once more for claiming. When he released her lips, she said, “Can you imagine if our wedding was the reason behind a string of English raids on castles left vulnerable because all the lairds are here?”
Conan had not thought about it, but she was right. If news did get down to certain leaders in England, they might realize the powerful draw of their wedding. While the clan leaders had journeyed north without the majority of their security, those who came had almost assuredly taken their best.
“All for the wedding of a woman they don’t know to a man they respect but don’t like,” she said. Conan had arched a brow, but said nothing. Mhàiri had shrugged. “It’s true, love. But admit it, you feel the same way about them.”
“Aye,” he had replied as he had nuzzled her neck, not wanting to let her go.
“I love you.”
“I’m surprised, with all the things being said tonight.”
She had pulled his head back and cupped his face in her hands so that he would look at her. “I do not care what they say or think. I only care about you and am so lucky you trust that.”
Conan had swallowed at the enormity of her words and their impact. It had been damn near impossible not pummeling those who’d wanted to tell Mhàiri about women from his past, but he had remained seated. He had seen the plea in her green eyes and he had complied. For her. Unable to speak, he had pulled her back into his arms for another steamy embrace that lasted several minutes.
He should have asked about all the men flirting with her. When he was around, he ended it, usually with nonverbal threats of harm, but he was not with her much of the time. Almost every laird had brought several soldiers with them, usually their elite guard. The fact that no one knew who Conan was marrying meant that when those soldiers met Mhàiri, they became immediately infatuated. Conan wanted to make sure that she was sending them scurrying and not protecting their feelings as she was more likely to do if they were nice. But holding her in his arms, he had forgotten everything, everyone. And before he had known it, Brenna had been whispering that someone was coming into the storage room.
“Aye, I miss my woman,” Conan grumbled, glaring at Colin. “She’s the only person who can carry on a decent conversation, and the reason that I cannot do so right now, privately and within the freedom of the outdoors, is because of people like you.”
“Me?” Colin yelped in surprise. “I’ve been here nearly a week! I got here even before Cole!”
Cole threw up his hands. “Blame Hamish—he only arrived yesterday.”
“I was forced to bring two pregnant women!” Hamish wailed, expressing just how difficult it had been to travel with his wife and also pregnant sister-in-law in those few words. “And there were a lot of us.”
Conan fixed a level stare on Hamish. “Why is that?” he asked earnestly. “I don’t know your brother, and I don’t know Laird Mackay. And neither of them know me.”
Hamish’s eyes flew to the end of the hall, where his brother and Laird Mackay were sitting drinking with other very powerful lairds. All three of them wished they had left a lot sooner. This gathering was unlike any before it and probably any that would come after. They had missed much by delaying their trip.
After the ice storm, the weather had been surprisingly cooperative. Scotland was not a dry land, but it had been a relatively dry spring that had come early. So the grounds had hardened, making it easier, safer, and quicker to travel. Hence, some who might have decided to stay home had changed their minds and decided to come. As the numbers of people and clans grew, more and more realized they would be the only ones not at the event and sent word that they, too, were on their way.
The training fields and those next to them had been taken over by large tents, corralled horses, and campfires. Training had been replaced with games of skill that anyone could participate in. And for those days it did rain, like this afternoon, lairds and some of their elite soldiers found their way to the crowded great hall to drink and talk. And the talk had been very interesting.
McTiernay was a large and powerful clan with several strong allies. Those allies also had strong allies, and many of them had come under the guise of seeing the most unexpected wedding ever known, but also so they would not be left out of any potential discussions. Those who were not there were noticeable. MacCoinnich, Andrias, Hamilton, and Keney were the most obvious. Hamilton and Keney were more important to Colin, as they were powerful Lowland clans. But MacCoinnich and Andrias were not. And MacCoinnich was just as powerful as the Mackays from the north. But unlike the Mackays, who had few truly trusted alliances due to their history, the MacCoinnichs had key strategic relationships in place that stretched from one side of northern Scotland through to Inverness.
Iain Mayboill strolled up to the group and wedged himself in between two McTiernays without worry that they might be offended or would not move. Conan could not think of another person in the world—including their eldest brother, Conor—whom they would have willingly shifted in their seats for. But they did it for Iain. Conan bit back a derisive comment, not to his future father-in-law, but to his brothers. He had to admit that Iain was a marvel. Mhàiri’s father had sold everything of any value that he had wanted to sell weeks ago and was just as antsy to leave as Conan was.
“That was a pretty good figh
t you and my daughter had yesterday.” Iain stared at Conan with mirth dancing in his eyes. The old man was intentionally stirring up trouble.
“Only fun if you get to make up. Which I didn’t.”
Iain pursed his lips together, but it did not do much to hide his smile. “That is true.”
“And furthermore, I won. It’s really not fair of Laurel not to let me spend time with my woman right after a fight.”
“Worse, you probably won’t win another argument for a long, long time,” Cole added, speaking from experience. Another “aye” came from Colin. And the rest were bobbing their heads. “Another reason for me to hate Laurel,” Conan added, directing this one to Conor.
“She loves this stuff. Not me,” Conor said in his defense.
“Nor me or Mhàiri. We should have just left,” Conan moaned. “Someday Scotland is going to have a place, some town, that people can rush off to in the dead of the night and wed without any fuss.”
Iain took a deep breath and slowly scanned the room. It was full and only getting more packed as the rain continued and it got closer to dinner. “I’m looking forward to tonight’s meal. I’m not sure how Fiona manages with these numbers, but the quality of what comes out of her kitchen is still some of the best food I’ve ever had.”
For the first month, hunters, falconers, and fishermen could find enough in the hills and lochs to feed everyone. Then they’d had to start butchering kyloe. Highland cattle were known for their long horns and long, wavy coats. “Thankfully, Laurel thought about food when she sent out the invitations,” Cole said.
Conan snorted. “That only proves she knew exactly what she was doing when she sent out the invitations. The woman is a menace.”
Cole’s head snapped back and he put his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me! I’m just glad I’m married and don’t have to worry anymore about her meddling in my love life. Which is just fine by the way.”
Hamish swung an arm over Cole’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “What? Chricton is now almost two. You never know.”
The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland Page 30