Chapter Nine
Mhàiri smiled sweetly as she took the small cloth being handed to her. The large piece of bread nestled inside was still warm. She held on to it and waited as each person in the large circle was served their morsel and their beverage.
She stole a quick glance at Conan, who sat across from her, as he swallowed the contents from the cup, learning that it was not ale, not even mead, but water. She had to admit that she was impressed. His only sign of dissatisfaction was the brief moment of realization. Then he crinkled his eyes and pasted on a smile that almost looked sincere.
It had been four days since their fight, and Mhàiri would have never dreamed that this setting would be their first encounter. She was still not even sure how she had been hoodwinked into coming. This was Maegan’s weekly thing, enduring the widows’ social circle.
Maegan was not a widow, but her grandmother had been a faithful member of the circle since before Maegan had been born. And after Maegan’s parents had died and she had come to live with her grandmother, Maegan had dutifully joined her each week to listen to the older clanswomen talk as they sewed. She loved it and had continued to come after her grandmother had passed. Until this week, Mhàiri had always found a way to escape, but yesterday, she had finally succumbed to the pressure of her friend. And then Maegan had the nerve to not even show up.
Conan lifted his bread as a sign of acknowledgement, his empty smile frozen in place. Mhàiri curled her lips into a similar expression.
“We are so glad you two joined us this week,” the lady on her left said, her voice warm and kind.
“Aye,” came a rickety voice from someone on her right.
“We normally just sew, but today, as we have special guests, we decided to have a treat first,” said another woman a couple of chairs down. She had gray hair that was pulled back into a single plait. Her face was wrinkled, but Mhàiri could tell it was due to excessive smiling. The woman pointed to her bread. “Try it,” she said with a nod. “It’s Almeda’s. No one’s bread is more delicious.”
Mhàiri took a bite and had to agree it was very good.
The woman beaming with pride, who must have been Almeda, sat next to Conan on his left. She was large set with round cheeks and small, bright blue eyes that, despite her years, still looked young and bright.
Mhàiri’s gaze landed on Conan and narrowed. What was he doing here? She could not imagine he did this sort of thing often. She had never heard Maegan mention his attendance at the circle, and it was just not in his nature to sit patiently and listen as old women prattled about things in which he had no interest.
Seeing her inquisitive look, Conan arched a brow and then took a large bite. A second later, he turned and said, “Excellent, Almeda. Even Fiona would be envious of your skill.” This brought on giggles by several of the women.
“Please excuse us, Mhàiri, dear,” came from the woman on her left, “but we are so excited to have Conan with us.” And as if she knew Mhàiri needed further explanation, she added, “We have been asking him to come for years, but until today he has refused.”
Conan took a drink of water. “Seems my little niece thought it time I came as well, Gavina.”
Mhàiri pulled off a small piece of bread and popped it into her mouth, glad to have something to help mask her shocked expression. She wondered how Bonny had convinced him to come today. She could ask, but for a seven-year-old, Bonny was incredibly smart and evasive when she wanted to be. She would be more successful asking Maegan, which she planned on doing right after she finished scolding her for leaving her alone with a bunch of strangers.
“We are so sad to hear you will be leaving us in the spring. Whatever will we do?” The question came from a thin woman who looked incredibly frail. Mhàiri feared a good wind would knock her over and wondered how the old woman was able to survive the cold winters.
“Now, Leane, you do not have to worry,” Conan answered. “I will make sure someone from Conor’s guard steps forward and continues when I leave.”
The woman sitting to her left leaned closer and said in a loud whisper, “A few years ago, us widows started finding meat at our door. Nothing very big, usually a bird or a rabbit, but the perfect size for us to prepare and eat without leaving anything to spoil. For months, we tried to figure out who it was, but it was not until Conan here”—a long finger pointed to him—“left several times over the course of a summer to visit some abbeys with Father Lanaghly that we discovered his secret. You see, each time he left, the meat ceased to appear.” Realizing that Conan was listening to her, as was everyone else, she spoke louder. “And that is when we knew who our angel was.”
Mhàiri’s jaw had been dropping farther and farther as the story had been told. When it was finished, she raised her astonished gaze to Conan, but he was looking elsewhere.
Two hours later, Mhàiri was surprised to realize she was enjoying herself. Each woman had regaled them with her own personal story of love, and when finished, they had wished for Conan to also find someone who would cherish him, like his brothers had. Some shared tales of their children, most of whom were grown but lived near.
Once the bread was consumed, Mhàiri watched as the women brought out their sewing and was glad that Maegan had suggested she bring the drawing she had started sketching to give her something to do. Only two women were working on the same piece, combining two pieces of fabric together to make a thicker, warmer blanket. Most were doing mending, and another was fashioning a new leine for her son to wear during the upcoming festivities.
“Conan, young man, could you help me thread this needle?” Almeda asked, handing him some thread. He took the needle and thread in hand and deftly pushed the fiber through the small hole. “Tapadh leat,” she said when Conan handed it back. “I was hoping you could help me with one last favor.”
Mhàiri watched him arch a brow as he turned in Almeda’s direction. He looked as if he was agreeing, but Mhàiri noticed he had yet to actually commit himself. “Your brother Crevan found me the sweetest puppy when he lived here.”
“He was such a sweet man,” Gavina sighed, then tapped Mhàiri’s hand with a soft finger. “Not as sweet as our Conan though.”
“Piegi just passed,” Almeda continued, “and I was hoping you could find me another.”
Finally, Conan glanced Mhàiri’s way, catching her staring at him. He gave her a triumphant wink and then said, “Of course. I would be delighted.”
Mhàiri almost scoffed aloud, swallowing it just in time. Conan, delighted to find a puppy. Conan, eager to thread needles. Conan, feeding widows. The man sitting across from her might look like Conan. He might even have his name and his voice, but he certainly was not Conan.
“You are so kind.” Almeda gave his hand a little squeeze.
Conan coughed into his other hand, causing Mhàiri to look up. As soon as she did, he caught her gaze, and that was when she knew. Aye, some of his deeds proved he was charitable, but everything he had said and done that afternoon had been to prove her wrong. “Some may disagree with you, I think,” he said. “Why, just this week I was told that one of the very things I was not capable of was kindness.”
This brought about chuckles from the group, as they assumed he was just teasing them. “What nonsense,” Leane said, plunging her needle through the thick material with more force than it seemed possible from her feeble form. “Why, it was just yesterday that a wee lad—you know, Rona’s boy—was pestering you about learning how to sword fight. I’ve heard him ask other soldiers, but they said they didn’t have time.”
“Or that he was too small,” another remarked.
“Aye, but our Conan stopped and showed him a few ways to stop the teases of another child who was bigger and stronger. Made that lad’s day.”
“My granddaughter is your chambermaid and thinks you are the kindest man she knows,” Almeda commented, her plump cheeks turning pink.
Conan’s head jerked back, and Mhàiri could tell even he was surprised at that one. She had seen his room, and it was in a state of disarray. And while she did not know for certain, her gut said that was its normal state. “I, uh, must say I’m surprised,” Conan finally got out.
“Whenever you see her hauling a basket of clothes and linens, you always stop and carry it the rest of the way. You never yell for her to clean the stairwell, and you only ask her to help with your chambers a couple times a month. She considers it a blessing to work for you and will be sad to see you go.”
Conan licked his lips, and a large grin came over his face. He leaned back, crossed his legs at the ankles, and sent Mhàiri a large “so there” grin.
“And then there is little Bonny,” the woman who sat on Conan’s right said, finally joining the conversation. Minna’s perfect posture clashed with the chaos of her white hair, which fought its braided constraints. “Pretty little thing is as smart as they come, but I’ve noticed she doesn’t play with the other children much. Don’t think just because we don’t live in the castle that we don’t know you have befriended the little lass.”
“Aye,” Leane piped in again. “Maegan says you are never impatient with her, teaching her things, making time for her even when you are busy preparing for your trip.”
Mhàiri licked her lips. Our Conan. It was too much. To think that his most ardent admirers were old women. “I must say, ladies, your view of Conan is much different from the one a lot of women have.” Hearing Mhàiri’s voice, Conan’s gaze immediately shifted to lock with hers once again. “I understand that he is a regular insulter of our gender and incapable of apologizing, even when he is in the wrong.”
Gavina clucked her tongue. “Of course we’ve heard how our Conan is quite fond of the ladies,” she began, “but do not be fooled by idle gossip.”
“Aye,” Leane interjected. “Those women who caused a stir were just silly enough to believe they could turn his head. It is their fault they gave their heart away before our Conan was ready to ask for it.”
A single brow formed a perfect arch on his forehead. How Mhàiri wanted to erase that smirk.
“Maybe he can teach the rest of Conor’s soldiers to be like him, for I recently had a horrid experience,” Mhàiri stated.
Gavina perked up. “Really? Please tell us, my dear. What happened? Did he say something unpleasant?”
“Did he try to kiss you?” Almeda asked. She had laid her sewing in her lap and leaned forward, her blue eyes twinkling with interest.
Mhàiri nodded. “He did, but I learned that he was doing it just so that he could trick me out of the paper I use to draw on.”
“Well, that is strange,” Minna acknowledged. “Why would a man want your drawings?”
“Maybe he wanted it to prove to you that he was interested in what you do,” Almeda chimed in. “Men have a hard time expressing themselves. Did you know that it took nearly three years before my man would even look at me? I thought he didn’t like me at all when all the while the reason he wouldn’t speak to me was because he didn’t think that I would ever like him back.”
Gavina nodded. “Perhaps he likes you, Mhàiri. Conan, dear, maybe you can help Maegan’s friend Mhàiri find out just what this man is thinking and then explain it to her.”
Mhàiri smiled and squeezed the old woman’s hand. “Why, I would appreciate that very much. And if you could find out why he refuses to apologize for his behavior even though he knows he was in the wrong, that, too, would be very helpful.”
Conan sat up and placed his hands on his knees. “I can answer that last one for you now. Some men don’t mind saying and doing anything to make a woman happy. Men like me do.”
Mhàiri gritted her teeth and then forced herself to smile. “I’ll be sure to mention that to Laird McTiernay next time we speak. I wonder what category he will think you put him in.”
* * *
Brenna twirled around in the bedchambers, encouraged by the feeling of success. “You know, Bonny, kindness was not nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be. And I don’t think we need to prove he’s honest. Everyone knows Uncle Conan never lies, even to save a person’s feelings.”
Bonny toed off her slippers and began to yank on the ties on the left side of her gown. “You think today worked?”
“Absolutely! They had to have called Uncle Conan kind at least a dozen times!”
“But he and Mhàiri didn’t seem very happy in the end.”
Brenna stopped spinning. She began to sway from being dizzy. “That’s because she doesn’t believe Uncle Conan’s being honorable. We just need to prove he is not going to hurt her.”
Bonny attacked the other side of her bliaut. “Well, I thought of what to do for kindness. You have to do honorable,” she said and shimmied out of her bliaut before diving under the covers of her bed. It would be another hour before evening dinner would be ready, but Bonny was freezing. Two days ago, the weather had turned and while it had not been raining, there had been no sun for warmth. It had been very cold outside listening to the old women talk, but it had been worth it. Brenna was right. Mhàiri might not love Uncle Conan yet, but she could no longer say he wasn’t kind. “I think we should wait for proving he’s heroic.”
Brenna moved to stand close to the fire. “Maybe we can do something at Christmastide for that one.”
Another shiver went through Bonny, and she wondered why her sister was not as cold as she was from their escapade. “That’s next week. So how are we going to show that he is honorable before then?”
Brenna shook her head, thinking. “We need something to show that Uncle Conan is trustworthy and loyal.” She swayed back and forth on her toes with her back to the fire. Her hands were behind her, absorbing the warmth, when suddenly, she snapped her fingers. Her gray eyes, huge with excitement, locked onto Bonny’s smoky ones. “I know what to do,” she said giddily. “We need to learn how to draw.”
“Draw?” Bonny asked dubiously.
“It will be perfect. You will be out with Conan learning how to make maps . . .”
“But I don’t want to know how to make maps.”
“Shh! Listen. You will be out with him, and at the same time I will be with Mhàiri on an outing. Then, we will just happen to run into each other.”
Bonny shuddered just thinking of going back outside again. “It’s cold outside. I don’t think Mhàiri is going to want to go if it is going to be outside. I know Uncle Conan won’t.”
Brenna waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll wait for a sunny day, and then she will want to go. Everyone is preparing for Christmastide and getting all the rooms ready for guests to arrive. Uncle Conan will want a reason to escape, and Mhàiri is always happy to draw.”
“That’s because she’s like you and doesn’t get cold,” Bonny groused. “And I’m not sure how this is going to prove Uncle Conan’s honorable.”
Brenna’s eyes were sparkling. “Don’t worry. It will.”
Bonny lifted the blanket and covered her head. “Let me guess. You have an idea.”
Brenna’s laughter reached under the covers. “And it’s a good one, Bonny! You are going to love it!”
* * *
Conan knelt down beside Bonny and leaned back against the large boulder his niece had selected as the perfect place to practice drawing. He looked over Bonny’s shoulder to see what she was creating. It looked to be a hill with a sun shining over it.
Next to her was Nairne, another little girl about Bonny’s age whom he had seen periodically while walking through the village. Her curly bright red hair made her hard to miss. She was the spitting image of her mother, who often helped Laurel design some of her more intricate tapestries. Nairne had inherited both her mother’s hair and her soft freckles, which were scattered all over her face, but her large dark brown eyes and unusual height she got from her father, who was one of the McTiernay clan’s more successful farmers.
“How are you doing, Nairne?” he asked.
“I’m well,” she said, concentrating.
Conan could see why both girls got along so well. Neither was a great talker, and it was not in Nairne’s nature to accept another’s opinion as her own. She did not care if Bonny knew more or was considered very smart; she had her own thoughts and ideas and was going to keep them until she decided otherwise.
Conan stared at what Nairne was sketching. It was surprisingly detailed for being created in dirt using a stick. “What are you drawing?” he asked.
“Today,” she replied, and with that answer, the image started to make sense. The left side indicated daylight, but it quickly morphed into what was nighttime, which was the majority of the picture. It did indeed represent the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year.
“Well, let me know if you get cold,” he said. The day was bright and sunny, which kept the cold wind from being unbearable.
Nairne never looked up, but answered, “Bonny gets cold. Not me. You should ask her.”
“I’m fine,” Bonny replied, half-heartedly stabbing at her sketch. Conan wondered what was going on, for it was clear his niece was not there to learn about maps as she had said.
For days, Bonny had been hounding him to take her out and show her what he would be doing when he left. At first, the weather had not cooperated and he had been busy helping with gathering the necessary logs for the many bonfires that would be erected over the next several days. But Conan had made a promise to Bonny and would chop off his arm before he let her down. So today, when he had seen the sun was high in the sky without a cloud in sight, bringing much warmer temperatures, he had told his eldest brother that he was busy and would not be available. Thankfully, Conor had been too occupied to give more than just a hrmph, forgoing his lecture on familial responsibilities.
Conan had been looking forward to spending time with his niece. It was the first time Bonny had shown interest in what he would be doing come this spring. He had only a few months left with her and he would cherish every memory they shared. So, when he had announced that today was the day of their outing and learned that they would be taking one of her new friends, Nairne, with them, he had been highly disappointed. Now, he was glad the little girl had come, for she was the only one actually interested in drawing anything.
Bonny tossed her stick on the ground. She pulled up her knees with her arms and rested her chin upon them. “I really don’t like to draw,” she admitted.
Nairne stopped working on her dirt picture and studied it, obviously not happy with how it had turned out. She picked up the stick to erase the evidence of her inability to execute what was in her mind but was stopped before she could.
Conan took Nairne’s stick from her hand. “Why would you want to wipe all your hard work when it is so good?”
Bonny leaned over and nodded. “You draw like Mhàiri.”
Nairne took the stick back and used it to smudge part of her work and try again. “It’s just a silly drawing,” she answered.
“She does draw like Mhàiri, doesn’t she?” Conan acknowledged. “And being able to draw like you do, Nairne, isn’t silly. You should never stop as long as you like to do it.”
“My papa says I should be busy doing other things.”
Conan nodded. “Those other things I’m sure are very important, and you should learn to do them and make your papa proud. But you should also know that there is something special about people who can draw what they see.”
Bonny tossed her stick as far as she could. “You should draw maps so people know where clans are and how to get to places.”
“Aye, she could, but it is also important to be able to just draw pictures that people enjoy and make them smile.”
“Like our mamas’ tapestries,” Bonny offered.
“Do you draw?” Nairne asked.
“In a way,” Conan answered. “I draw the maps Bonny was talking about. Do you want to see?”
The little girl bobbed her red head. Conan smoothed a section of dirt with his hand and then, taking Nairne’s stick, quickly drew a small map on the ground of McTiernay Castle, its village and the main features surrounding them—the loch, the forest and the mountains.
Nairne looked up at him, her brown eyes large with awe. Then she looked at Bonny, who just shrugged. “I told you he was a good drawer.”
Conan shook his head and gave the stick back to Nairne. “Not yet, but I try all the time to get better.”
“How?” The question had come from Nairne, who was clearly curious at how one became better at being an artist.
Conan pushed up from the ground to stand up. He leaned against the boulder and looked down. “By asking for help from someone.”
“Like Mhàiri,” Bonny stated.
“Like Mhàiri,” Conan agreed.
Bonny tilted her head to look up at her uncle. She had been curious about something for a while. “Mhàiri used to help you with your drawing all the time. She doesn’t anymore. Is that because of what you said when you and Seamus were building her those fancy bookshelves?”
“Aye, she heard some things that she didn’t like, but,” Conan cautioned, “as you know she was eavesdropping at the time.”
Nairne pushed the stick around his drawing, adding small details here and there. “Do you not want any more lessons?”
Conan took a deep breath. Both girls were young and he could tell them anything to end this line of questioning, but he had never once treated Bonny that way. It was one of the reasons she loved him so much. And her direct, though often child-like, honesty was one of the reasons he enjoyed her company when he tolerated that of so few others.
“Aye. I would like more lessons,” he answered honestly. “But that is very unlikely to happen.”
Bonny looked up, squinting into the sun. “Why don’t you just tell her you’re sorry?” she asked innocently. “Brenna always forgives Braeden for coming into our room and making a mess, but not until he says sorry. I don’t know why he doesn’t just say it right away, but he never does. Why?” Conan could hear the inquisitive tone in her voice and knew that she was being sincere. “Why would Braeden rather be miserable dealing with Brenna being mad at him than just say he was sorry right away?”
Conan sighed and crossed his arms. This seemed to be a reoccurring theme in his life these days. He had told Mhàiri and said as much again at the widows’ circle, and she had had mixed feelings about his response. So, if Bonny wanted to know, he was going to tell her what he had told everyone else. “Braeden probably refuses to apologize because Brenna is making him say it.”
“But I thought you were supposed to say I’m sorry when you felt bad. I always do.”
“That’s because you are a girl,” Nairne explained. “Boys don’t like it when you make them do anything. Whenever I try to make my little brothers do something, they hate it and cause a fit.” Nairne moved to stand up.
Bonny joined her wiping the dirt off her hands using her gown. “Is that what happened with you and Mhàiri?”
Conan nodded.
“Then maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t apologize to Mhàiri. It would be like saying a lie if you said I’m sorry when you weren’t. Just like it would be a lie to let her think you weren’t sorry when you really were.”
Conan stood still, regarding his beloved niece, digesting the simple truth behind what she had just said. “You know what, Bonny? I’m going to miss you when I leave. More than you will ever know.”
Bonny leaned in and hugged him around his middle. “I’ll miss you too, Uncle Conan.”
* * *
Mhàiri and Maegan had sat frozen, eyes wide, barely breathing the entire time Conan, Bonny, and Nairne had been talking.
Brenna had coaxed them away from the warmth of the fire to the outdoors, professing it would be their last chance before the cold winter winds came. That alone had been enough to get Mhàiri to agree. Eventually, Maegan had capitulated, and the three had ventured outside.
Mhàiri had wanted to head to the loch, for she had started a sketch she had yet to finish there. Maegan had wanted to stay close to the castle in case the wind picked up and it became too cold, but it was Brenna who had finally decided where they were to go. Mostly because she would not take no for an answer.
Soon after they had settled down on a large blanket, Brenna had jumped up, saying that she had forgotten something, and then run off to fetch it. Mhàiri had already gotten out her paper and stylus, and Maegan, not wanting to walk all the way to the castle and back again, had decided to remain with Mhàiri.
Mhàiri had been teasing Maegan about Seamus and whether he was finally going to make his feelings known during the festivities when Bonny and Conan’s voices could be heard just on the other side of the large rock. The boulder was enormous and no one knew exactly how it got there. There were a few massive rocks randomly found in the area. The most prominent one was by the loch. The boulders, like the big oak, were common meeting points, so Mhàiri had thought nothing of it when Brenna had suggested they sit there that afternoon.
But the moment she had heard Conan’s deep baritone sounds she had known that Brenna had laid a trap. It was not until she had seen the shock in Maegan’s face that she had believed her friend had not been involved. But she, too, had come to the same conclusion.
Recovering from the jolt, Mhàiri had been about to plop her things down on the ground, stand up, and make her presence known when she heard Conan start to talk about Nairne’s ability to draw and how it was a special gift. When he mentioned that it was just as important to create something for people to enjoy as it was to produce a map, tears had formed in her eyes. But it had been the end, the discussion between him and Bonny about why men sometimes don’t like to apologize, that had made her finally understand what Conan had been trying to say to her. It wasn’t that he was not sorry. He was. But like any normal man, he did not want to be told what to feel or say.
Mhàiri quietly stood up and smoothed out her gown. “Perhaps you and I should stop eavesdropping.”
Maegan nodded, and both women stepped around the boulder into Conan’s line of sight. He was leaning against the large rock with both his ankles and arms crossed, looking more handsome than any man should. When he only cocked a brow, she took a deep breath and exhaled. “How long did you know we were there?”
“Not long,” he assured her. “I only knew when I heard you stand up. I thought you might be trying to sneak away.”
“I thought about it,” Mhàiri acknowledged.
Maegan appeared, grumbling. “I was not an accomplice to this”—she swirled her finger to include everyone—“supposedly impromptu get-together. Not only is it too cold, but its purpose eludes me.”
Conan glanced at Bonny, who quickly looked away, and said, “I think we all know who was behind today’s scheme.”
Mhàiri looked down to see what the redheaded girl was drawing. And, indeed, a representation of the winter solstice was staring up at her. She wondered what Nairne would be able to accomplish with an actual stylus and decided that she would have to seek her out to show her how to build a cloth board. “So is this what brought you out today?”
Nairne looked up, shaking her head. She pointed a finger at Conan. “He was telling us about maps.”
“Very interesting.” A bemused smile formed on Mhàiri’s lips as she glanced back at Conan. “Do you know in all the times we came out here, you never once told me about your maps or showed me what it is to be a mapmaker? It was always me showing you what I did. Never the reverse.”
“Are you asking now?”
“I suppose I am.”
Conan studied her for a moment, assessing whether or not she was serious. He must have decided she was, for he pushed himself erect. “First, most scholars do not call those who draw maps mapmakers, but map painters. That is because most have no interest in creating actual maps, but in creating art. Their fabricated symmetry holds little accuracy and certainly nothing that shows where bodies of land and water are. Instead, they illustrate concepts, and almost always religious ones.”
Mhàiri was already fascinated. She loved learning anything new and moved to get more comfortable by leaning on the boulder, in the very space he had just vacated.
“Those that aren’t religious still are not very useful, for no measurements are used to demonstrate scale. Almost every one I have ever seen does not make use of longitudes and latitudes but instead uses methods that predate Ptolemy and Anaximander.”
“Who’s Anaximander?”
“He was a Greek philosopher who lived more than two thousand years ago. He was the headmaster of a school and drew what many believe is the first accurate map of the known world. Unfortunately, one of his students, Anaximenes, thought his ideas wrong and put forth that the world was of a rectangular form, instead of round.”
Bonny, who had sat back down and was watching Nairne doodle in the dirt, had also been paying attention to what Conan was saying. “What does the world look like?”
“Round,” Conan answered. “Maybe like a potato, but it is definitely not flat.”
“But how do you know?” Bonny pressed, skepticism lining her voice.
“I’ve seen proof.” He knelt down and found a large, mostly round rock and handed it to Bonny. “Now hold it out from you. Do you see the edge of the rock and how it curves?” She nodded, “Well, the world does the same thing.”
“It does?” Mhàiri asked, holding out a rock for herself, mimicking what Conan was showing Bonny.
“Aye. If you ever get a chance to go to the sea, look out at the horizon, and right where the water’s edge meets the sky, you will see a line just like you do with the rock. If the world was flat, the line would be straight. But it’s not. It bends,” Conan explained. He stood back up and went to stand next to Mhàiri. “Now, some think that the bend means the world is just shaped like a flat disk, but Aristotle ended that argument not long after Anaximander.”
Mhàiri frowned. She took a few steps and threw her rock, silently impressed with how far it went. She then swiped her hands together to get the dirt off. “I’m not sure how math proves the world is round.”
“He didn’t just use math, but logic. The lunar eclipse, for example.”
“Aye, but that is the moon.”
“Then what about the stars?” Conan reached down and picked up the rock that Bonny had discarded and gave it to Mhàiri. He then picked up a small pebble and held it high above the rock. “Think about the stars when you travel. They are not in the same place.” He pointed to a place on the rock. “Let’s say this is the world and you were standing here. You look straight up and there are the stars.” He wiggled the pebble. “But if you go to a different spot, when you look up, they would be in a different place. And if you go far enough”—he moved his finger to the other side—“you would not be able to see them at all, but new ones.” Mhàiri’s mouth parted with understanding. “And that is why ships always seem to sink as they move away out of view.”
“Amazing,” Mhàiri said with heartfelt wonder.
Conan chucked the pebble and then took the rock from her palm, sending it far past the one Mhàiri had thrown earlier. “And it is not only Aristotle who thinks the world is round. I haven’t read it, but a man named Elucidarius wrote a book that is supposed to have evidence that we live on a sphere. And Johannes de Sac-robosco’s work was based on Ptolemy.”
“Who’s Ptolemy?”
Conan began to walk to where he’d thrown the rocks. Mhàiri grabbed one of the tartans, threw it across her shoulders, and fell in beside him. “It’s his discoveries that are going to enable me to create the maps I want. Because the world is round and drawings are flat, it is intrinsically very difficult to capture land accurately.”
“That might be one of the reasons people stopped trying.”
“Aye,” Conan agreed, kicking one of the smaller stones farther away. “It is much easier to put Jerusalem in the middle of everything and place things randomly around it. But representing the world is possible.”
“Let me guess. Ptolemy.”
A grin lit up Conan’s face. “Aye. Ptolemy developed precise methods for identifying exactly where something is on the world. He came up with a coordinate system made up of latitudes and longitudes.” Using a stick, he drew a straight line. “If you knew the coordinates . . .” He paused to draw a second line intersecting the first. “You could go to a specific spot anywhere in the world, even if you had never before been there.”
Mhàiri stared at the spot where the two lines met and then back up at Conan, her eyes wide with astonishment. “Is that really true?”
Conan nodded. “Ptolemy assigned coordinates to more than eight thousand locations and put them into a book, Geographia.”
“And you plan to do the same thing, but for Scotland.”
Conan bobbed his head again. “That is my dream.”
“I now see what you meant about drawings needing to have real value. If you really could create such maps, they would be very powerful pieces of information.”
“I was wrong to say that. The world also needs more beauty in it. Not everything has to have a tangible benefit.”
Mhàiri gasped. She stopped short and grabbed his forearm. “Did I hear you right?”
It took a second for him to comprehend Mhàiri’s question. With a smirk, he answered, “You heard me say I was wrong, not that I was sorry.”
Mhàiri shrugged as a smile tipped the corners of her mouth and grew from there. “I know. And I think hearing you admit you were wrong sounds sweeter than an apology.”
Conan chuckled. “You’ll never know.”
He stared down into her eyes, and Mhàiri’s body responded to his seductive gaze. She could feel herself start to sway closer and forced herself to step back. “Um, uh, how did you become so interested in maps?”
Conan stared at her with mixed feelings. “Father Lanaghly, seeing that I’ve always been interested in books and learning, usually brought me with him when he went to visit other priests. About nine or ten years ago, we went to one abbey where there was a visiting scholar from Italy who was similarly fascinated with the idea of capturing the world on paper. He told me of the travels of Marco Polo and the faraway places to which he had been, and at that moment I knew what I wanted to do. So I stayed there and learned everything he had to teach me about maps, their origin, and history. Since then, I continued my studies, especially anything that was associated with Ptolemy and how to calculate coordinates.”
They continued walking and talking, and Conan answered all her questions about how he intended to capture the various topography he might encounter. They were still debating certain difficulties when a strong breeze came up and Mhàiri began to rub her arms. “I think the wind is getting colder.”
Conan nodded and went to tell Bonny and Nairne to pack things up, that they were returning to the castle, but no one was in sight. “When did they leave?”
Mhàiri smiled. “Some time ago. Maegan was not in the mood for an outing in the first place. They said good-bye, but you were telling me about how Aristotle proved the world was round.”
Now that Mhàiri mentioned it, Conan did faintly recall Bonny saying something to him. Another gust of wind swept across them. “We should head in.”
Mhàiri nodded and tried to tuck wisps of her hair back. “I hope this breeze doesn’t mean rain is coming. I’ve never been to a bonfire, and I don’t want it to be canceled.”
Conan looked up and sniffed. “I detect no moisture, just the cold.” Mhàiri shivered, emphasizing his point. “Come on, let’s get you back to the castle and indoors.”
Mhàiri fell in beside him, her own long strides easily keeping up with his. Her mind was spinning on all that Conan had said, going back to even their first conversations on their ride from the priory. “I was wondering something about your maps.”
Conan was rubbing his hands together and blowing into them for warmth. “And that was?” he prompted.
“You mentioned that you wanted to include enough detail so that someone could use them to know what the land looked like at that very spot.”
“Aye, that is why I asked you to give me lessons.”
“But the map I saw in your chambers was of a large area. It would be impossible to capture the overall shape of the land, and include that level of detail.”
Conan sighed. “I know. I’m still trying to figure out a way to address that issue. Symbols might work, but I might just have to accept that I won’t be able to capture as much as I would like on a single sheet of vellum.”
“Have you ever considered including a symbol where you want to show more detail? That symbol could be related to a specific drawing. Then, if someone wanted to see more of that area, they could flip to a particular drawing. Then, the main map would not be cluttered with information some may not be interested in.”
Conan began to rub his hands together vigorously. Excitement coursed through him, for it was the perfect solution. “You know what this means.” He gave her his most dazzling smile. “I need more lessons.”
Mhàiri lifted her lashes and found herself looking up into laughing eyes. The happy glint in the bright blue pools was enough to make her racing heart to skip a beat. “We’ll begin again after Christmastide,” she promised.