The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland

by Michele Sinclair

  Cole narrowed his gaze. “I know. We agreed. Two were enough. One girl and one boy. Don’t need any more.”

  “You need to talk to Makenna,” Colin grumbled. “We have three, one on the way, and I can tell she is nowhere close to done. She loves being a mother and the chaos that comes with it.”

  Hamish grinned. “The McTiernay brood is growing.” He then looked out the window to the steady rain. “Have you noticed that it always rains when it is our turn to use the loch?”

  “Aye,” Colin answered, pouring himself some more ale. He had no idea how much he had had, but no longer did it taste weak. “Looks like another cold one for us men.”

  With so many at the castle and staying in tents, not only were food and space an issue, but bathing had become one as well. The kitchens were always operating at a furious pace, despite tripling the help. They had no time or room to heat water, leaving all to bathe in the loch, which was also needed by servants to do the laundry. With so many needing access, and privacy and space becoming an issue, Laurel had declared the morning for the women, directly followed by the launderers, and then the men could have the rest of the day since it was impossible to predict when the weather would turn or the games would be over. It had worked, but as the rain usually came in the afternoon, every man was grumbling that it was not fair.

  “I can solve that problem today,” Conan muttered.

  “Could you?” Hamish asked.

  Conan nodded. He had been packed up and ready to go now for a month. Initially, he had actually been glad for some more time to prepare. Mhàiri’s father had traveled all his life with a wagon and had many ideas to make theirs as comfortable and roomy as possible. As a result, night, storms, and cold weather would not be nearly as difficult to endure. “Since the day the cart was done and loaded, I have been ready to leave.”

  Cole, who had been leaning on his elbows, which were on the table, began to wag his finger as an idea occurred to him. “I’m surprised you did not leave and return in the nick of time.”

  “Like you?” Conan chided. “And I did leave. I was gone for a week and had gotten back right when you arrived. I actually thought I had arrived just in time for our wedding. I had no idea that Laurel would insist on waiting for every affirmative answer she received.”

  Hamish grinned. So did Colin, Conor, and Cole. Conan looked around. Everyone was smiling. “You all are loving this!” he shouted. “This is all fun for you! Keep it up and I’ll make sure your trip was pointless by sneaking Mhàiri away and getting married alone.”

  This only brought more smiles.

  * * *

  Mhàiri watched the hard rain fall as she sat on one of the padded seats in Laurel’s day room, which, along with Conor’s day room above it and the solar on the top floor, made up the only three rooms in the castle that had not been turned over to guests or extended family.

  The rain had been falling steadily now for an hour, and with all the people, the grass in the courtyard had been nearly trampled to death. Soon it would be a muddy nightmare. Before the wedding, the large bailey would have virtually emptied during such a downpour. With so many visitors and so much constantly needing to be done as a result, the commotion never ceased. Another reason the grass had no chance if the wedding was delayed much longer.

  At first, Mhàiri had loved all the bustle and commotion. It reminded her of Christmastide. There were always new faces, and meal times were filled with hilarity as the group got larger. Her father was not the only one who had the gift of gab, and she found herself doubled over in stitches at least twice each meal before their plates were collected.

  The additional time to make a dress had also been necessary. Laurel and Aileen had enlisted Nairne’s mother, Siùsan, to help with the wedding gown. It had been beautiful, with a scooped neck, butterfly sleeves, lace, and a sweeping train. Then Ellenor and Brighid had arrived. Brighid, whose skill with a needle Mhàiri had heard of for months, took a look and insisted it needed more. And the gown had only become more beautiful.

  Unfortunately, during the modifications, the five women had chatted and all concurred that the gown, while beautiful, was not the right style or color. And they had been right.

  The luxurious, rich blue bliaut they had made was stunning. Brighid had created a subtle floral embroidery all over the shimmery material. The sleeves’ wider openings narrowed down to the elbows, in a shape known as a bell sleeve, separated by lace. The front and back corset curved to her body, making her look even taller and slimmer. Mhàiri loved it and felt beautiful in it. All five had agreed, which was why they’d finished it, but they had also all agreed that it was still not what she should get married in.

  The next ensemble had made her feel like a princess. Created out of the most beautiful material of jet black and purple crushed velvet Mhàiri’s father had acquired when in Europe last fall, the five women had created something truly spectacular. The dress and outer sleeves had been made with the velvet, and the neckline had been detailed with a black braid that also adorned the arm bands. The front corset was a stunning purple shade that also lined the inner sleeves.

  Mhàiri loved it, but she did not want to wear something so dark. So a final dress had been made, and even if all five had thought it, too, could be outdone, Mhàiri would have stopped them. Nothing could outshine the final lavender gown, and thankfully all agreed. Mhàiri had her wedding dress.

  Mhàiri had worried about the other dresses made and that Conor wouldn’t like the waste. But Laurel had assured her that Conor would have no idea, nor would he care, as long as it made all the women happy, especially his wife.

  Mhàiri was very appreciative and very glad that it was over. She had helped a little, but her stitches were not as precise as Siùsan and Brighid’s. And Maegan had only been able to give her reprieves periodically as she was tasked with overseeing the ever-growing brood. When Makenna had arrived with her son and two daughters—both of whom looked and acted frightening like their mother—Maegan had threatened to run away. She had not been serious, but she had told Seamus later that she did not want a large family and hoped that Clyde would be fine with that since he had six brothers. Seamus had pointed out that he had only one sibling and thought one or two children the perfect number.

  Maegan had told her that the last time they had been together. It had been a week ago, and they had been out watching the Highland games. Mhàiri had been capturing on paper some of what she saw when archery had begun and she had seen Laurel take aim. The woman was massively pregnant, but that had not seemed to affect her ability to shoot, for she had soundly beat all who had gone against her. That had given Mhàiri the courage to join the competition of dagger throwing. She had been surprised when Laurel, too, had entered.

  “Conor’s men always go on about what I can do with a bow and arrow, but they forget what I can do with a dirk.” Then she had looked at what was in Mhàiri’s hand and asked, “Can you throw as well?”

  The competition had soon whittled down to just a handful. That was when Mhàiri had noticed Conan was in the crowd, standing next to a scowling Conor. Neither of them had looked happy to know their loved ones were so deadly. Mhàiri had eventually won, and Laurel had said that her pregnancy was throwing her slightly off. Mhàiri had not thought so, but she would love the chance to challenge Laurel again someday and told Conan that at dinner. Unfortunately, before he could respond, she had been overheard and the topic had caused quite a stir of questions being aimed at her.

  At first, all the attention had been great for her ego and self-confidence, but it had not been long before it had become old—very old. A month of answering questions about her life, her skills with a knife, her drawing, the languages she spoke, did she think she was smarter than Conan, did she really love him, how could she tolerate his company, and so many more, had made her want to sneak off, grab Conan, tell the priest their promises, leave, and break in their new cart.

  She loved the new cart. It was beyond perfect, and she wished she
could have joined Conan when he had taken it out for a test run. She had wanted to be there for its first use, but her man had not been happy with all the delays and she had wanted him to be. She, on the other hand, was not going to be happy until she stopped sleeping with little Bonny and started sleeping with Conan as his wife. At least she was not in bed with Brenna, who moved around in her sleep. She often woke Maegan and nearly pushed her out of the bed, despite its large size.

  Maegan was one of the only reasons she had yet to tell Laurel that enough time had passed and the ceremony would be taking place immediately. Maegan and Seamus loved each other. It was etched all over their faces, but something had happened at Christmastide and they stopped talking to one another. Thankfully they were speaking again, but both were pretending that things were as they had been before. Neither wanted to lose their friendship, and neither knew how to move forward without jeopardizing it. This careful dance they were doing with each other could not be sustained forever, and Mhàiri feared that Maegan would need a friend before long if she made the wrong decision. Because soon, and Mhàiri feared that her wedding might be the catalyst, Seamus was going to give Maegan an ultimatum. One he probably did not want to give, but had to.

  Giggles were coming from behind her, and Mhàiri glanced back over her shoulder. There were so many pregnant women around it was overwhelming. Laurel was due within the month, and Crevan’s wife, Raelynd, who was due either in May or June also looked as if she could have a child at any moment. Not much further off was Colin’s wife, Makenna, who had been born and raised in the Lowlands, but acted as if she were a Highlander through and through. Mairead, Hamish’s wife, just beamed when she was not conspiring. The only wives who were not pregnant were Ellenor, Cole’s wife, her best friend, Brighid, and Meriel, who was married to Craig and had had a child only a year before.

  The door opened. In walked a woman whom Mhàiri immediately knew to be both kind and friendly. She had thick reddish brown hair and a smattering of freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. When she smiled, her brown eyes literally twinkled.

  Upon seeing who had entered, Laurel gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth just as Raelynd and Meriel squealed with delight. “Rowena! ”

  This was immediately followed by “Meriel!” and a “Mo chairde, Raelynd, you are huge!”

  The three women hugged and laughed and danced the best they could with Raelynd being so large. It was only after several minutes of revelry and talking about how Cyric, her husband, had finally been able to break away that they remembered they were not alone and why everyone was there.

  The bride. The bride whom no one knew. The bride whom everyone was here to meet. It seemed they really had little interest in Conan. They wanted to meet her. To see her and determine what kind of woman Conan was willing to marry and just could possibly be willing to marry him. Mhàiri was tired of it.

  “Rowena,” Meriel said, grinning and gasping for breath, “meet Mhàiri.”

  Like everyone, Rowena’s eyes grew wide with surprise, and then what could only be labeled as a skeptical smile followed. It was as if they were surprised by her appearance and then had trouble envisioning her with Conan. “Why does everyone do that?” Mhàiri asked bluntly, pointing to Rowena’s face.

  “What?”

  “That look of surprise. Don’t deny it. You are not the only one. Practically everyone does it when they first meet me. Why?”

  Rowena looked back at her friends, who seemed just as shocked by the small outburst. But her husband, Cyric, was very gifted in the ways of diplomacy, and over the years she had learned a few things. First was not to be affronted by honesty. In fact, do the opposite and embrace it. Rowena sat down beside Mhàiri. “I guess you do probably feel like a specimen being inspected, but trust me, if my expression is like everyone else’s, you have not been found wanting.”

  Mhàiri swallowed. “Well, that is a relief. But that smile was not one of happiness. It was more amazed than genuine.”

  Rowena laughed. “Well, first, I was surprised at how beautiful you are. I mean, you truly are stunning. Conan may be a very good-looking man, but he is a difficult one. And since you are being blunt, I will, too. I am not a beautiful woman—”

  “You are too!” came the cries from her best friends and distant cousins.

  “I am far from unpleasant, but I am not a beauty and I know it. I’ve watched many beautiful women, though, over the past few years. My husband works directly for and with the king in diplomacy matters so I have seen too many to count around court. And beautiful women, well, usually seek someone who would fawn over them. They certainly would not be interested in a man with Conan’s difficult temperament. As far as my mischievous smile, you are not just marrying a McTiernay. You are marrying Conan—the McTiernay everyone has heard of.”

  Mhàiri was not sure she could handle another story about Conan and his life before meeting her. And what she had discovered was that those who only knew Conan by reputation were spreading what they had been told, not the truth.

  Mhàiri wanted to say it was physically impossible to have been with that many women, to have scorned them and left their hearts bleeding as he heartlessly walked away. She knew the truth. His eye had been caught by a pretty face numerous times, and he could count on one hand how many had turned him down for a kiss. But it had never gone beyond that because by that time he had found nothing beyond their looks of any interest. He had limited his actual sexual activities to a couple of widows. Who they were she did not know and hoped never to find out. That was his past. What was important was that Conan had not touched another woman since meeting her, including the times they had not been talking.

  Despite most everyone’s stories about Conan being drenched in fiction, the tales kept coming . . . usually over dinner and in the earshot of Conan himself. It had taken everything in Conan not to stand up, pummel the storytellers, and create a scene that launched a massive fight. It had happened once before, Maegan had told her, but Mhàiri knew the reason Conan did not was because of her.

  What was worse were the looks from people who did know Conan. They just could not believe someone was willing to deal with his rude behavior. Raelynd had been the worst of them.

  She and Meriel were not on bad terms with Conan, but neither were they really on good terms with him either. They enjoyed sniping at him and pushed him to snipe back. A couple weeks ago at dinner, both women had been relentless, and when he had had something to say to Mhàiri, he had used the same tone and surliness.

  “This is all your fault,” he had said, the malicious tone unmistakable and aimed directly at Mhàiri. “If you had simply told Laurel no and gotten married when we first wanted to I would not have to put up with any of this, especially those two.” His eyes darted to a hostile Raelynd and then Meriel, who at least looked apologetic for pushing him so far.

  It was the first time that any visitor had heard Conan be rude to Mhàiri. They had all known he would eventually and stared at Mhàiri to see her response. Would she explode in anger, making him explode in kind? Would she meekly apologize?

  Mhàiri had studied him for a moment and then shrugged. “What really is angering you is that I would do all of this”—she twirled her fork around in the air—“again if we had the option. I have no regrets about wanting a wedding, nor will I suddenly attain them because you, Meriel, and Raelynd cannot act like mature adults in each other’s company.”

  Meriel’s jaw had dropped, but Raelynd, who had been listening intently to see how Mhàiri would explode and rip into Conan like she would have, had sat frozen with shock. Her eyes had swiveled to her husband, Crevan, for support. He had just thrown up his hands and said, “You know it’s true. You have been intentionally poking at him every night, waiting to see what will happen.”

  “You should have said something!” Raelynd had shouted at him. “I’m pregnant, not fragile!”

  Creven had shaken his head. “Not until my babe is safely in this world.” Raelynd had sat and fumed and
probably would have said more if Conan had not made a threat.

  “If you feel that I am so immature, maybe I should leave.”

  Mhàiri had bobbed her head. “That is one of the better ideas you’ve had in a while. Go test our cart for a week. By the time you return, everybody will have to be here and we can finally marry.”

  While that had been the perfect response for Conan, it had been the wrong one for everyone else. Mhàiri had been expected to get mad and yell, like all other McTiernay wives. Some had begun to wonder if her and Conan’s relationship was not one of passion, but more one of convenience. The craziest rumor following that night had been that she was afraid of Conan.

  Then, yesterday, all those rumors, thoughts, and concerns had been put to rest. Mhàiri had not been looking for a reason to fight with Conan, and yet that was exactly what had happened.

  She had gone to her old room in the Warden’s Tower to get one of her hemp books and discovered that every last book was missing. She had charged into Conan’s room and found them safely among his things. Unfortunately, he had not been there to explain why he had had them moved . . . but he had been in the courtyard.

  “Of course I moved the damn things!” he had yelled back. “Do you know who is sleeping in your chambers? Donald and Brighid and their three sons.” He had waved three fingers in her face.

  Mhàiri had forgotten this, but felt it did not matter if Conan had a good reason to move her things. He had done so without telling her; therefore, he should have expected she would be angry. “And what would your reaction be if you suddenly found all your things gone from where you knew them to be just because someone got it in their head that they weren’t safe?”

  “But they weren’t safe!”

  “They were mine to move!”

  “Aye, and that’s why I did it! But trust me, I won’t make that mistake again!”

  All throughout the argument, more and more people had surrounded them. Those from McTiernay Castle had stopped for a moment because it had been something new to watch Conan and Mhàiri raise their voices, but after a few minutes they’d realized it was no different from Laurel and Conor. The others, however, had been intrigued and their eyes had been completely glued on the two of them. As a result, it had been impossible to make up after their argument, which was doubly upsetting because she had won.