Rowena patted her knee with a smile, bringing Mhàiri’s attention back to the women surrounding her. “Cyric told me to tell you that Laird MacInnes’s group has been spotted and is less than a day away. He will be here in the morning.”
Laurel clapped her hands together. “Mhàiri, he is my grandfather and Conan’s godfather. Once he is here, there is no reason to wait any longer.” She leveled her gaze on Mhàiri, whose heart started rapidly beating. “Tomorrow afternoon at sunset, we are going to have a wedding.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mhàiri stood beside the great oak looking at Conan as they took their vows. The weather was perfect. Not a cloud was in the sky. The rain from the previous afternoon had passed on in the early hours, and since Neal’s back was no longer hurting, the rain was not going to return for the rest of the day.
The massive crowd of onlookers was indescribable. Mhàiri had been told hundreds had come in, and she had seen many of them in and around the castle. The great hall had been filled with lairds and ladies from clans all over Scotland. The lower hall had been more than full with their elite guards. Tents were everywhere. When she had gone to bathe in the morning, the loch had been crowded with women. And yet she still had no idea exactly how many people had come to watch her and Conan marry until she had stood on that hill and looked out. One could not see hills or grass. Only people. It was incredible, astonishing, and almost beyond comprehension. It was also beautiful.
The only ones missing were Conan’s brother Clyde and her sister, Shinae. She was too new to her vows to be free to travel, and no one knew where Clyde was. Last they had heard from him was almost three years ago. He had been among King Robert’s forces who had invaded Ireland in 1315 to free the country from English rule. Both Clyde and Shinae were missed, but Conan and Mhàiri refused to let their absence rob them of any joy.
Conan had seen many beautiful women in his life. His brother Conor had married one of the most stunning females he had ever seen. Laurel with her light blond hair and blue-and-green-colored eyes could captivate a man’s soul with just a look. But never had Conan seen anything or anyone who could compare with his Mhàiri.
He had seen her radiant in the past, but her beauty shined for all to see. The afternoon sun created a halo effect around her flower-bedecked figure. Mhàiri looked ethereal, almost surreal. Her dress was of the palest lavender satin, with a cream tulle overskirt—simple, elegant, and unadorned except at its hem and scooped neckline, where hundreds of seed pearls and lilac glass beads seemed to shimmer. She carried a small posy of violets and cream roses, mirroring the flowers in her hair.
Mhàiri looked at him, and Conan could feel his heart melt. Her smile could light up an area on a moonless night for miles. And today, he was the reason behind her smile. It humbled him. This beautiful, perfect creature loved him enough to be his wife. He was not worthy of her. He never would be. But then, no one ever would be.
Mhàiri’s cheeks hurt. She could not stop smiling, and she did not want to. The McTiernay nobody had thought would ever marry was pledging himself to her. She had actually found a man to love. A man who loved her fully and completely. Who knew who she was, what she needed, and how to make her truly happy.
Conan was not perfect, but he was perfect for her. They would argue and challenge each other probably daily, but they would also open each other’s minds in ways no one else could. She suspected one lifetime with this man was not going to be enough.
* * *
The happy couple waved to the crowd and headed to where several large bonfires had been erected and were waiting to be lit, signifying the wedding celebration was to begin. Tonight, there would be no restrictions on the meat, the bread, or the ale. All were to feast and be merry until there was not a drop left to drink or a morsel left to eat.
Maegan had been standing near Mhàiri, along with her other closest friends up on the hill. She had been paying attention to the ceremony and the vows, but she had also been scanning the crowd as well.
A week ago, Seamus had said they were going to talk directly after the wedding ceremony, whenever it took place. The comment had left her anxious because she knew what he was going to demand. Seamus wanted a future. He wanted a wife. He wanted her to be that wife. And he wanted to know if that was a dream he needed to let go of or one she was willing to share with him.
All week, Maegan had struggled with the answer.
Her heart wanted two men. It was impossible for her to choose, but Mhàiri had pointed out an inconvenient truth. Seamus was not forcing her to choose; her heart had forced that choice upon her when it had fallen for Seamus. Because if Clyde had returned, would she not have to make a choice then? Would she give up a man she had loved for years for Seamus? Or would she choose a man she probably no longer knew over Seamus, who knew and loved her for who she was today?
Maegan was honestly not sure. She loved Clyde. She had loved him, body and soul, for so long she wondered if it was even possible to split him from her hopes, her dreams . . . her heart. She was not sure she could. And would it be fair to love Seamus, but not in the same way?
It had been a week, and all Maegan had were questions. She still lacked answers. But to Seamus, no response would be an answer.
She could not reject her love for Clyde. And yet, she could not lose Seamus. Just the thought of Seamus not being in her life made her tremble with fear and ache that physically hurt.
Maegan scanned the crowd again, looking for Seamus’s tall frame and dark blond hair. Her eyes were moving from one person to the next when they landed on one face that she would always recognize she had dreamed of it so many times. It was one that, until that very moment, she had never truly believed she would see again.
Clyde.
All the McTiernay brothers had the same dark brown hair, but only two had gray eyes. The first—Conor—and the last—Clyde.
Clyde had come home.
He was here. And yet he was not, for it was clear he did not want anyone to know he was here.
He looked different. So different that people who stood right next to him, who knew him and should have recognized him by sight, had no idea Clyde McTiernay was in their presence.
He was much larger than she remembered and he wore a full beard. His youthful lankiness had disappeared and had been replaced with a man’s body. Muscles rippled underneath his leine. His arms were massive, and his hands looked calloused from hours wielding a weapon. He appeared relaxed, and yet his stance made her think he was always ready for an attack. His gaze was on the happy couple saying their vows and held a strangely detached quality that was disturbing. What had happened to him?
Then, without warning, his eyes shifted to hers. Nothing else about him moved, but in those few seconds of mutual recognition, Maegan saw it. Love. Pain. Defeat. Despair. And then it was gone. But it was too late. She had seen the truth.
In that moment, she made up her mind. She loved Seamus. She did. He was her best friend, her confidant, her support. But he was not her soul mate. Her heart was seared with anguish seeing Clyde hurting so much.
As soon as the ceremony was at a point she could move, Maegan started running. But Clyde had started moving too, and he was unnaturally adept at maneuvering through crowds. Maegan refused to give up and kept charging through, fighting a crowd that wanted to go the opposite direction she was headed in. But finally she spotted him once more and started picking up speed.
She knew that Clyde thought that he had lost her because he did not increase his gait once he was alone. She followed him as he made his way through all the tents and temporary stable setups until he reached one. He stopped, untied the reins of a horse, and was leading the animal out of the penned area when he saw Maegan.
His jaw tightened and his body froze.
Maegan, however, was not inclined to stare and launched herself at him, hugging him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re home. Clyde, you’re home,” she whispered into his chest. Nothing felt better than when his arms
curved around her and held her close.
Maegan felt his mouth in her hair. She absorbed the trembles that went through his frame. She inhaled the one scent that could only be described as Clyde. He was home.
“I’ve waited for so long for you to come back to me.” Her face was pressed into him, muffling her voice. “But I knew you would. I knew it.”
And then it happened.
Clyde changed. Maegan could feel it. It was as if someone had poured ice water into his veins. He released her, gripped her shoulders, and pushed her away from him. “I did not return to you, and I am not home. I came simply to see my brother marry. Now that I have, I am leaving and I do not intend to return again.”
Maegan’s breath caught in her throat. “I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “You love me.” She reached out and grabbed his forearm. She stared into mercury eyes and saw the truth. “I can see it. You can say what you want to leave, but you cannot deny that you still love me.”
Clyde stood for what seemed like an eternity, quiet and not moving, before he spoke. “Aye. I loved you. And you loved me at one time.” His eyes swept down her frame and back up. “But I am not who I was. You no longer know me. If you did, you would know that I don’t have the power to love anymore. That emotion was stripped from me long ago so, if you have been waiting for my return, don’t. This is no longer my home.”
Maegan’s hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes were wide with shock and pain. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I’m not coming back, Maegan,” he said in a resolute voice. “And I am not coming back to you.”
Maegan stumbled back. She had felt the impact of Clyde’s words as if he had struck her physically.
She had loved him. The forever kind of love. The kind of love that could not be destroyed or killed. The kind that inspired a person to travel great distances to be reunited. The kind that one seized onto and did not let go of. She had felt that for him, and she had known Clyde had felt that way about her. She had known it. There had been no doubt. That was why there had never been another.
But it had all been a lie.
“You don’t love me,” she said.
“I don’t even know you.”
“You don’t want me.”
“I don’t want anyone.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes once more. She could see Clyde’s pain. Hear it in every syllable. It was buried deep. So deep that it was one with him. “Are you happy, Clyde?”
Clyde’s jaw twitched. “Irrelevant question, Maegan.”
She closed her eyes and tilted her chin upward, hearing her name on his lips. “It isn’t. I need to know that you are happy.”
He looked up and refused to look her in the eye for nearly a minute. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t want you. Find a man who does.” Using his chin, he gestured behind her.
Maegan glanced over her shoulder, knowing whom she would see. Seamus. He was standing there. Watching. Listening. Waiting. Pain was etched on his face. He knew she loved Clyde. He knew her heart was breaking. He knew that she did not love him the same way. It was killing him. And yet he remained. For her. He was there because he knew she might need him.
“Go and live your life, Maegan. You only get one. Don’t waste it on me.” Clyde gave a tug on the reins and led his horse to where he could jump on. Then, without another word, without looking back even once, he left.
Maegan had known Clyde almost as far back as she could remember. She knew him. She knew the truth. Clyde still loved her as much as he ever had. He was hurting. He was in pain. Something was haunting him, eating away at him, making him believe he could not make her happy. So he had set her free in the only way he knew how.
Clyde was wrong. But it did not matter.
Just as her heart had known he had loved her as much as she had loved him, her heart knew the awful truth now. Clyde was not ever coming back.
Wooden legs took her to Seamus. He said nothing. He only opened his arms and enveloped Maegan the moment her body melted into his. He had been so afraid. He had known he loved her but had not known the depth of his feelings until he had seen her running through the crowd. He had chased her to see whom she was after and had been shocked to see that it had been Clyde.
He had been hugging Maegan in a way that left no doubt to anyone who saw them about his feelings. Clyde’s love was just as deep, just as sure, as Maegan’s. But when Clyde had let go, Seamus had seen something else in the man’s eyes. He had seen it before, though not in one as young as Clyde, but Seamus knew that look.
War ate at a man. It hollowed him in ways that someone who had never taken a life, had never stood in the middle of a bloody field after fighting to the death, at first for a cause and then just survival, would understand. It did something. It changed a person. Doing it for years either hardened hearts or turned men into shells. Clyde was a bit of both. He had been right to push Maegan away. He loved her, but he could not love her in the way she needed or deserved.
So when Clyde looked up and stared him in the eye, making Seamus promise to love her enough for the both of them, Seamus had nodded and prayed that Maegan would let him.
And then a miracle had happened. She had run into his arms. She had sought him out and clung to him, sobbing her pain and grief for another man. But she had come to him.
He had been so afraid that she wouldn’t. That she would run away and curl into herself, blocking out anything and everyone in an effort to get away from the pain. That she wouldn’t let him help her.
But Maegan had come to him.
She loved him.
Maybe not the same way she had loved Clyde, but maybe that was a good thing. It had not let her see the truth. That she had lost Clyde a long time ago when he had failed to return, opting to fight, rather than seeking happiness and the love of a good woman. Seamus had almost made that same mistake. But then he had met Maegan.
She did not know it, but she had saved him. And now it was his turn to save her.
* * *
Conan carried Mhàiri up three flights of stairs before he let her down. He wanted to carry her all seven flights to the solar, and he had intended to, but that had been a foolish ambition. Especially if he wanted to do anything tonight other than recover and pass out.
Mhàiri smiled up at him and then laughed. “I guess Hagatha won.” She giggled.
He frowned. “Won what?”
She reached up on her tippy-toes and gave him a light kiss. “You didn’t think men were the only ones who gambled on ridiculous things? When you announced that you were carrying me up to the solar, we all knew that was never going to happen. We all picked a level that you would stop at. Hagatha had three.”
Conan pursed his lips together, and he contemplated picking Mhàiri back up and carrying her the rest of the way. Three seemed like a very embarrassing number. “What number did you have? And you better not say one.”
Mhàiri grinned. “Seven.” When he reached down to pick her up, she scooted back. “While I have no doubt that you could carry me all seven flights, I have other plans for our last night in a real bed.”
Conan had nearly toppled over in shock when Laurel had said that she and Conor wanted them to have the solar for their wedding night, especially as it would be some time before the couple slept in comfort again. Then Conan had seen Conor’s face and realized his brother had not been so generous and was not happy that his wife had given away their bedchambers, even if it was for only one night. But Conan was not interested in making Conor happy. He only cared about Mhàiri’s happiness and there was no doubt she would love sleeping in the solar. And after he got to explore every inch of her body a few times, they would take a break, go to the top of the tower, and enjoy the view. Just thinking about it made Conan salivate.
He tapped Mhàiri’s bottom. “Hurry up, woman. For weeks, my body has been racked with pain without its only cure—you.”
Mhàiri had started her ascent but stopped and turned around. She was on a higher step and i
t almost brought them face to face. She curled her arms around his neck and said in a husky voice, “I ache for you too.”
“Murt!” he muttered. His hands were on her hips and then her bottom, squeezing her tightly against him so she could feel the evidence of his desire.
Mhàiri’s eyes grew large with excitement. She gave him a quick peck, turned around, and dashed up the remaining four stories to the solar. The room was massive and very masculine, and in the middle was an enormous bed. “How did they ever get that up here?”
Conan came behind her and pulled her back to his chest. He nuzzled her neck and murmured, “They didn’t. My father had it built in this room.”
Mhàiri pulled free and went to look out the window. She had had no idea she would be able to see so far from this high up. She could see the tents and the campfires lit in the distance. The bonfires were mostly obstructed by the curtain wall, but she could see that the crowds had not begun to die down. The party would last for several more hours. Mhàiri was glad she did not have to wait until everyone else was ready to sleep for her and Conan to finally be together. Then, as the world decided to at last sleep, she and Conan would awake and leave. They wanted to be gone by sunrise, embarking on their life and future at last.
Conan took off his shoes, belt, and tartan and tossed them to the side. He then walked up to Mhàiri and hugged her from behind. Slowly, he began to pull pins out of her hair and then tugged free the last ties that kept the intricate weave in place. Plunging his fingers into the thick mass, he gently pulled until the dark locks hung free. Next, very lightly, he slid her gown off her shoulder, revealing skin for him to savor and kiss. “You happy?”
“I am now,” she sighed, leaning back into him. “At first, planning the wedding was fun, but the last couple of weeks have been wearing.” She turned around in his arms. “Pregnant women are emotional, Conan. Like really emotional. Probably the scariest people on earth. They are impossible to talk to or reason with. And there were so many of them.”
The Most Eligible Highlander in Scotland Page 32