Chapter Twelve
Mhàiri was about to ask Callum to stop for the second time when suddenly there was a grunt and Callum was no longer there.
He had been kissing her and using his tongue to open her mouth. Mhàiri, however, had wanted the kiss to end. She had put her hands to his chest and mumbled his name, followed by a “Please don’t.” She had not thought Callum had heard or understood because instead of breaking away, he was pulling her closer.
Unexpectedly free, Mhàiri stumbled back, her eyes darting around to see where Callum had gone. A groan coming from the ground caught her attention, and she realized that it had come from Callum.
“She told you to stop.”
Mhàiri’s breath hitched in her throat at the deadly tone in Conan’s voice. She knew then that Conan must have followed her and, seeing her struggle, punched Callum so hard in the jaw that the man had fallen.
Callum was very good looking, but he was also large and muscular, more so than even Conan. The man was unused to finding himself on the floor and was not taking the idea that he had been pummeled without warning very well. He was furious. His eyes flashed, and Mhàiri could see Callum cock his fists even though he was still on the ground. When he got up, he was going to attack.
Conan knew it too. “Move, Mhàiri,” he ordered and got ready.
Mhàiri instinctively did what she was told, but said, “Conan, don’t.”
He did not look at her. “You said to stop, and Callum is going to learn to do so when a woman says no, especially if that woman is you.”
“You insult her and then have the audacity to think you can teach me on how to treat a woman?” Callum taunted back, now on his feet. “If anyone has ever deserved to be taught a lesson about sensitivity to a woman’s feelings, it is you. You’ve had this coming for a long time, Conan. I’m just delighted to be the one to give it to you.”
To Mhàiri’s horror, the fight started. Callum was wider and stronger, but Conan was slightly taller and had speed and accuracy. Each blow seemed to land, and both men were ignoring her cries to stop.
Then she saw Seamus leap into the middle, forcing the two men to take a step back or gain a third man in the mix. Thankfully, they did not seem inclined to hit Seamus.
While landing several hits seemed to have calmed Callum’s furor, it had done nothing to lessen Conan’s. Fury still rolled off him in waves, but instead of restarting the fight, Conan pivoted, gave Mhàiri a long, hard stare filled with betrayal and anguish, and then exited the tower.
Callum wiped the blood off his chin and then said, “This ended a little differently than I had planned, àluinn, but thank you for the kiss. I enjoyed it and will remember it with much pleasure.” Then he, too, was gone.
Mhàiri felt Maegan’s arms go around her frozen frame as she hugged her close. “I’m so, so sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen. If Seamus and I had known . . . oh, I’m so sorry, Mhàiri.”
Mhàiri stood there being held by Maegan for several minutes in silence as she slowly processed all that had happened and all that had been said. It was almost too much.
She loved Conan.
Conan had been jealous.
Conan had witnessed her kiss another man and had been enraged.
Any feelings he might have had for her had just been consumed in a flame of his fury.
And somehow Maegan and Seamus were implying they had orchestrated all the events to bring about this result.
“What do you mean, you are sorry, that you never meant for this to happen?” Mhàiri asked in a stilted voice.
Maegan pulled back and tried to explain about Brenna and Bonny. “But there can be no doubt. Conan loves you. He does. He would not have reacted that way if he did not.”
“Whatever feelings he has for me, they are gone or they will be. I know him. He lost control, and he will make sure that never happens again.”
Maegan shook her head. “No, he loves you. He wants you.”
Mhàiri looked at her friend then, her voice cold and penetrating. “It does not matter. We have no future. Now more than ever.”
Maegan’s hand flew to her mouth.
Seamus, seeing Maegan begin to tremble because of the pain she thought she had caused Mhàiri, pulled her back against his chest for support. Then, to Mhàiri, he said, “Maegan’s right. I wasn’t sure until tonight, but I am now. You love Conan, and there can be no doubt that he loves you. He may not want to admit it. He has his whole life planned and never once considered including anyone in those dreams, especially not a wife. But if you love him, find a way to make it work. Find a way to be together and create new dreams that you can share. Find a way or you will both be miserable always knowing that you had met the one you were supposed to be with, but never had the courage to compromise to include them in your life. Because you will compromise eventually. We all do in some ways. I just don’t want you to look back with regret.”
Mhàiri told herself to breathe. She could feel her heart beating rapidly and did not know whether it was from anger or hope. Slowly, she looked at Seamus and then Maegan. “You may be right, but you were wrong to have interfered. Conan and I were in a good place before tonight. Spring is months away, and we had time. We may have figured it out on our own. Right now, things are not better, but far worse. Next time, meddle in your own love affairs and stay out of mine.”
* * *
Maegan watched as Mhàiri disappeared up the stairwell. Her heart was breaking for what had happened. She had known Conan might get upset, but not to that extent. He had looked as if he wanted to kill Callum, and Callum’s instincts had recognized that and had responded in kind.
“Seamus, what have we done?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s done, and now it is up to Mhàiri.”
Maegan spun around in his arms. “Why Mhàiri? Why not Conan?”
“Because he can’t. He has so many walls around his heart, he is unable to see the truth for himself. Hopefully, Mhàiri saw the truth tonight and will try to find a way to make it work. I know I saw it.”
Maegan looked up. “What do you mean?”
Seamus bent his head and took her mouth, answering her question in the way he had dreamed of for months. He kissed her long and hot, hoping to reach the very depths of her soul.
As soon as their lips made contact, the connection between them ran straight through their bodies. Every nerve was awakened by low, inviting passion that took Maegan’s breath away.
Seamus felt her shiver in his arms, but she did not pull away. Encouraged, he brushed his mouth persuasively across hers. Maegan was as sweet as honey. Slowly, he swept his tongue along the crest of her lips. He almost groaned aloud when she opened her mouth for his entrance.
Maegan could feel the urgency in Seamus, the tension in the arms, the rigidity of his shoulders, back, and neck beneath her hands. The power of his mouth on hers ran through her frame to her very fingertips. Unconsciously, she pressed herself against him and followed her instincts to slide her tongue into his mouth. Her fingers mimicked the movement in his hair.
When Maegan leaned into him and kissed him back with growing eagerness, a dam of need broke in Seamus. The kiss quickly changed from a gentle caress to one of wild passion. Soon, their tongues were mating again and again. He was almost mindless with wanting more.
Maegan’s heart pounded and her legs trembled. Her stomach was in knots. When Seamus deepened the kiss, the heat of it melted away the last rational thought she had. The feel of his tongue invading her mouth, touching every corner, tasting her, overwhelmed her completely. It felt so incredibly right. Like it was a missing piece in her life that she had been denying for way too long. All she could do was cling to him helplessly, letting the sensations take over her mind and soul.
Seamus had meant only to give Maegan a gentle kiss, but what they were sharing was so much more. It was the most incredible kiss he had ever experienced, and he would not have stopped if she had not started trembling.
When he released her, Maegan stood dumbfounded, staring at him with misty eyes filled with passion, and her lips, red and swollen, beckoned him to taste her again. Somehow, he resisted.
“Just like Mhàiri and Conan, you have this set idea for your future, but is it going to make you happy? Or is it time to change those plans and make room for someone who would love you as deeply as any other man ever did or could.”
He kissed her forehead, brushing his lips softly against her skin before placing one last soft, tender kiss on her lips. “I love you, Maegan. You’ve known that, and I’ve given you time. Now, you need to decide whether that means anything to you.”
Seamus left, his heart pounding. He knew that Mhàiri and Conan were both confused and hurting, but if he had to do tonight all over again, he would not change a thing.
* * *
Mhàiri stood looking down at the revelry taking place in the courtyard. It would go on for several more hours. Last night, she had been among them. Tonight, the last thing she felt like doing was dancing and making merry. She did not want to be with people, forced to talk and make conversation, but neither did she want to be alone. She felt like a rudderless ship, moving about with no direction or purpose.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Mhàiri sighed. She knew Maegan’s heart and that her friend had never intended for tonight to go the way it had, but that did not mean she was ready to talk to her just yet. The knock persisted, and Mhàiri turned from the window to go answer the door, assure Maegan she would be fine, and return to her silent examination of her heart.
But it was not Maegan who was at the door.
“Lady McTiernay!” Mhàiri gasped in surprise. “I . . . I was not aware that you knew I had left.”
Laurel offered her an apologetic smile and entered the room when Mhàiri stepped aside and held open the door. “I saw you leave after speaking with Conan. He has been in a foul mood lately, and seeing your face, I knew he had taken his sullenness out on you, for which I apologize. I should have made him disappear until he could be of good humor, but I had thought the entertainment would pull him from his gloominess and into good cheer. It seems I was wrong.”
“I hope I did not alarm you, but I am well,” Mhàiri replied, closing the door and reluctantly letting go of the handle. She hoped Laurel was not planning to stay and keep her company. “Conan did say something unpleasant, but I promise that is not the reason I decided to retire early. It was . . . other events that took place this evening that proved to be a little overwhelming. Perhaps I am not used to so many of these types of celebrations.”
“Then it is good I came to see you for another reason. One that is sure to bring you some needed cheer to end this Epiphany. News came this evening about your father. He knows you are here and will arrive as soon as the weather permits safe travel. Until then, he has been invited to stay with Conor’s brother Colin, who is a laird in the Lowlands.”
The message itself was not startling as it changed nothing from what had been anticipated, and yet Mhàiri felt her chest tighten. She loved her father, but deep down she did not want the life of a merchant. It was still limiting. They traveled, but to familiar markets or places where his goods could be bought and sold, never to some of the more isolated, wild, and stunning parts of Scotland. And yet, it was her only alternative outside of becoming a wife and settling down.
Laurel clutched her hands together. “I can tell that you are tired and would like to rest.” She maneuvered around Mhàiri and pulled on the handle to open the door.
Mhàiri jumped a little, realizing that she had been preoccupied with her thoughts. “I, uh, thank you for coming and telling me about my father. And, I wanted to thank you again for letting me stay here for so long. I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t.”
Laurel turned in the doorway and smiled at Mhàiri. “You would have stayed in your cottage next to the priory until your father could come to you there. It would have been hard, but you are a survivor, Mhàiri. That is why the idea of traveling the world is adventurous to you, whereas to others it would be a terrifying notion.”
“Well, I’m glad staying here and not the priory was my fate.”
Laurel was about to turn around and leave, when she stopped. “Don’t judge Conan too harshly, Mhàiri. Despite what he thinks, I love him very much and only want to see him happy. Unfortunately, he has not a clue what that is.”
“I think he does.”
“I know the look of true fulfillment, and he has never once experienced that feeling. Oh, he loves his maps and is invigorated by the challenge his plans for his future hold, but they will only bring him partial satisfaction. He does not realize that a person needs to seek out what their heart desires—there is more to life than only avoiding what makes one unhappy. Don’t you agree?”
Mhàiri furrowed her brow, puzzled by the unexpected question. Realizing that Laurel was waiting for an answer, she said, “I never really thought about it.”
“Unhappiness is an odd thing when you think about it. If you are not happy, then you are in fact unhappy. It is impossible to avoid unless you know what it is that fills your soul and makes you truly content. What I fear most for Conan is that he is so fixated on his idea for a future that he won’t seize happiness when he gets the chance because it will mean making a change—one that he promised never to consider.” Then, pulling the door closed behind her, Laurel said, “Good night, Mhàiri. See you on the morrow.”
Mhàiri did not know how long she stood staring at the door through which Laurel had disappeared. Only her eyes moved, blinking as Laurel’s thoughts on unhappiness churned in her mind.
“Laurel is right,” she breathed aloud. “She’s right.”
Mhàiri yanked open the door to her bedchambers and ran out and then down the stairwell. Not caring who saw her, she headed to the North Tower. She raced up four flights of stairs only to stop and catch her breath once she reached Conan’s door.
Able to breathe again, she knocked. There was no answer to her second knock as well, but Mhàiri knew he was in there. She had sought sanctuary in her chambers; she knew Conan had gone to his. Mhàiri started banging on the door with the outside of her fist, refusing to stop until Conan let her in.
A few seconds later, Conan yanked the door open. Seeing Mhàiri, he choked back the string of curse words he had almost laid on whom he had thought was Seamus. Recovering from his shock, Conan narrowed his gaze. “What do you want?”
Mhàiri did not wait for an invitation to come in, mostly because she was fairly certain that Conan was never going to issue one. “I think it is clear that I want to talk to you,” she replied and went back to his workspace and began to look around.
Conan followed her. “What the hell are you looking for?”
“Bonny? Is she with you? Or even Brenna? Where do they like to hide?”
Conan shook his head. “They are under strict orders to either be in the line of sight of their mother or Aileen until they fall asleep. Brenna may be overly curious, but she won’t openly defy her father.”
Mhàiri closed her eyes and took a deep breath, for she had dashed over without really having a plan. Coming here and visiting a man alone in his bedchambers at night was definitely not wise, and yet she did not care. She had made a decision to seize not just her happiness, but Conan’s.
“You need to leave, Mhàiri. Now.” Conan pointed to the door.
Mhàiri did not move. “We need to talk.”
“Nay, we don’t. If Callum no longer fancies you, then find someone else,” he said, hoping his biting remark would get Mhàiri to leave. He had lost control tonight, and if she stayed much longer, he was in danger of losing it again. Her presence was just too much. He needed to distance himself from her and somehow extinguish his feelings. And there was no way he could do that with her standing twenty feet away from his bed. “You do not lack for admirers, only time to spend with all of them.”
Mhàiri looked at him but refused to flinch under his icy glare. She knew the truth, and all the coldness rolling off him proved he knew it too. “This is now the third time you have tried to get me to pursue another, and I know that isn’t what you want.”
Conan took a step closer. A fury of emotions was swirling in his blue eyes. “Why are you here, Mhàiri?”
“Because I don’t want to go to anyone but you either.”
Conan’s heart was beating so hard he could hear it pound in his ears. Mhàiri was in his room, alone, telling him that she wanted him. She was not a fool. She knew what would happen upon such a declaration, and she also knew that in the end it would change nothing. Conan knew he should send her away, but his eyes could not break away from her mouth. She had a great mouth. Perfect. Inviting. Murt, he wanted her mouth.
He made an inarticulate sound, and his hands reached out and pulled at her waist, yanking her to him. The moment she was within reach, his lips were on hers. Without hesitation, Mhàiri wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fervently back.
Conan slanted his mouth across hers, wanting to cease any thought of whether or not she should or should not be in his arms. She was there. Her arms were holding him close as if they never wanted to let him go.
Conan devoured her lips in a desperate claiming to which she submitted willingly, eagerly. Her fingers explored his hair, and it would not be long before he could not stop at only a kiss. This was leading down a path of commitment, and he had to make sure Mhàiri understood that fate would not be waiting for her when they woke tomorrow.
He bore the sweet torture for another moment before he stepped away. “Leave now, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Conan’s eyes searched her face, trying to reach into her thoughts. “You’re tempting the devil, and you will get burned. You know how this will end.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Their eyes held, and he saw the truth of her words right there in the depths of her magnificent green pools. “Damn you! I will not feel guilty on the morrow.”
“Neither will I,” Mhàiri declared.
Conan’s eyes blazed. “Then so be it, for you are going to learn what it means to be mine.”
Because that was what Mhàiri was. His.
She would never be his wife, his companion, his sonuachar. But nevertheless she was still his. He would claim her in such a way that she would never belong to anyone else.
His control snapped. Jerking her to him, he slammed his mouth down on hers, taking her lips with an intensity that stunned him. Hot and wet, his tongue found hers. He needed to touch her, all of her, and make her writhe with need for the same.
His kisses moved from her lips to her neck. One hand held her head, preventing her from ending their embrace and what was to come. With the fingers of his free hand, he found the ties to her bliaut and freed them. He then eased the gown down her shoulders and let it pool about her waist. Next, he reached for the bow securing her chemise and, with one tug, it broke free. His lips followed, leaving a trail of fiery-hot kisses along her collarbone.
Mhàiri let out a soft, feminine sound. She was not sure what she wanted, but with each kiss, each touch, something stirred inside of her, flooding her with aching demand. She turned and arched toward him, a wordless invitation.
Need slammed into him, hard and painful, but Conan took a deep breath, fought, and won. He wanted to take things slow, but he was already having trouble holding on to his control. His shaft was hard and throbbing to the point of pain, but he wanted to make this good for her. He needed to make this special.
He could see the worry in her beautiful green eyes as she watched him. She bit at her lower lip in a nervous gesture, and his gaze dropped. Mesmerized by the sight, he wanted to bite that lush lip and soothe the sting away with his tongue. Instead, he gently cupped her face, and his thumbs rubbed her cheeks slowly. Conan was overcome by a surge of possessiveness. He would be her first. And he wanted tonight to be so good that he would be her last.
Mhàiri was sheer perfection. His mouth watered at the sight of her full breasts. He wanted to taste them until she cried out, and he would, but first he simply wanted to know the silky feel of her skin. He brushed the backs of his hands against the swell of her breasts and smiled when she shivered in response.
He bent his head and glided his mouth over hers. A hungry sound escaped him as he demanded entry. Her arms latched around his neck, and she willingly gave in, opening for him as she pushed her body deeper into his.
That small action was his undoing. There was no way he could stop now. Conan wanted to devour her, consume her. He was drowning in a desperate need to have her, and he wanted to take her deep into the dark depths so she would never be free of him.
He went to work, undoing the rest of the laces of her dress, stripping her from her gown, letting it and the chemise underneath fall to the floor. His mouth descended. The feel of her skin caused every muscle in his body to become tight with sexual tension. Never breaking the kiss, Conan swept her up into his arms and entered his private chambers, heading directly to his bed.
Breaking off the kiss, he laid her down. He eased back and simply stared at her quivering body laid out before him. He had wanted her since he had first seen her standing in that small cottage doorway. She had a body made for loving. Her waist was small, but her hips curved out slightly, creating a sexy contour to her body. His gaze lowered to her dark mound and saw proof of her desire. He couldn’t wait to touch every inch of her and slowly drifted a finger down her neck through the valley of her breasts.
Mhàiri instinctively arched herself against him as his hand moved across her stomach to the curve of her hip. He heard himself utter a thick, husky groan. “You are so beautiful,” he muttered, awed.
Mhàiri felt her whole body respond to the heavy, sensual weight of his eyes on her. She wanted to live in this moment forever. Conan wanted her. He had not yet promised her marriage and commitment. But that was something she would worry about later. Right now, she was solely focused on the massive male doing his best to make her breathless. She moaned as her body heated to his touch, and the sound of his answering groan filled her with ecstasy.
He needed to claim her now. Unable to bear not touching her skin to skin, he stood up and removed his clothes.
Mhàiri had a few seconds to collect herself while he was in the process of removing his shirt. She was beginning to comprehend that she was naked in Conan’s bed when he whipped off his leine and the sight of his muscular chest distracted her thoughts once again. Massively built, with thick, corded muscles, Conan was impressive. She wondered if the rest of him matched his size and girth.
He jerked his tartan off, baring all to her, and her light green eyes watched him with rapt fascination. Kneeling on the bed, Conan braced a massive arm on either side of her head, pausing before he sank down for another passionate kiss.
Mhàiri reached up as if to trace the hard lines of the muscles on his abdomen, hesitating before she made contact.
“Touch me, Mhàiri,” he said, part command, part plea. He had to hold back a groan when her hands softly began to stroke over his skin. His body felt hot, tight with tension. He was so hard, he feared he might burst.
Reaching out, Conan cupped one of her breasts in his hand so her nipple poked at the very center of his palm. “You are lovely, Mhàiri. You are so much more than I even dreamed.”
He was determined to make Mhàiri his. To seal her to him with passion and so much pleasure that thoughts of any other man would be impossible. Slamming his lips down on hers, he ravaged her mouth. He kept kissing her until he could not hold back any longer.
Mhàiri’s heart fluttered as she felt Conan stretch out beside her, his larger, heavier frame dwarfing hers. His lips felt so good she could barely think of anything else. She wanted to touch, to taste, to feel every inch of him, but she didn’t know what to do. She tried to grab on to him, and he took both of her hands in one of his and raised them over her head.
Conan pulled away from her lips, his hot mouth trailing down to her neck. A whimper of need escaped her parted lips as he nipped at her earlobe, so he immediately repeated the action.
With his free hand, he ran one finger along the swell of one breast. “So soft,” he murmured as his fingers stroked over her skin.
Mhàiri jerked in surprise, but he caught her gasp in his mouth as he kissed her again.
Mhàiri’s heart thudded in her chest, and her blood roared in her ears as his eyes met hers, blazing with a hunger that made it hard for her to breathe. Shifting lower, he captured the nipple of her right breast in his mouth, tugging lightly at the peak with his teeth.
“Oh my God, that feels so good,” she moaned.
He hummed as he curled his tongue and drew her nipple into his mouth, suckling deeper. When Mhàiri shuddered, Conan moved to the other breast, kissing a soft line to the pink nub, flicking it carefully with his hot, wet tongue, pulling it fully into his mouth.
Mhàiri was on fire; she had never felt like this. Her entire life, logic had ruled her actions. Everything was thought out and calculated. Sensation had never superseded control. But Conan’s touch was overwhelming. She was not a master of her reactions. She needed more, and Conan was the only one who could give it to her. She arched into his touch, desperate to feel his lips glide further down her body.
Conan switched to the other nipple, freeing her hands so he could slowly work his fingers down to her core and stroke her silken folds.
He trailed a single finger softly over her slit and then moved his finger inside her ever so slightly while stroking her outer flesh with a careful thumb, watching her melt. He could not remember wanting anything more than this. Mhàiri was giving herself to him, body and soul, in this one timely siege.
Mhàiri began undulating her hips to his rocking finger. His lips returned to her breast as his fingers made slow, maddening movements. The pressure began to build. Then he delved another finger inside her. She cried out as it overwhelmed her, making her breaths short and fast, and her heart pound against the wall of her chest. She squeaked out a moan and opened wider for him. The power he had over her was amazing. Her brain was usually a constant haze of thoughts and ideas, but when Conan touched her, there was nothing but him.
Tremors began in her belly, her muscles tightening, and then, without warning, her body shattered into a million tiny pieces. The only thing holding her together was him.
Conan let out a low growl as he watched sheer pleasure wash over her as her tight sheath clenched around him. He wanted her to scream his name, to tell him that she was his. He needed her to be as desperate for him as he was for her, and he damn well wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. The sounds of her moans were like the sweetest music, making him determined to drive her up again.
Hooking his hands beneath her knees, he slid her body down to the end of the bed, then knelt between her parted thighs. Hungry for her, he leaned forward and used his tongue to lick at her juices. He heard her cry out in shock, but didn’t stop. He pushed one of his fingers into her and found her warm and slick. He groaned while she sucked in a sharp breath. He loved her reactions. He parted her tender folds with two of his fingers, once again stretching her to be ready for him, for she was so tight he knew he would lose his mind as soon as he was inside her.
Mhàiri arched off the bed, her back bowed as he drove her to another climax.
“It’s too much!” He drank down her passionate cry and felt her nails score his back.
Conan wanted to say that she was wrong, but he was past the ability to speak. He had already waited too long to have her. He was throbbing painfully. Pulling his fingers from her, he rose to his feet. He reached for her waist and moved her back on the bed so she was lying in the center. He moved over her, covering her perfect body with his.
Entering her, he found she was even smaller and tighter than he had thought, but oh so hot and so wet. His massive arms started to quiver. He did not want to hurt her.
Mhàiri groaned. Her eyes had darkened to emeralds and were glazing over. Her hips circled, wanting more.
“Easy,” Conan groaned, sweat beginning to slick his chest from the strain of holding back. “We need to go slow. I don’t want to hurt you.”
But Mhàiri was past all thought; only need ruled. She had felt what his fingers could give her, but she needed more. “Conan,” she whispered and pulled him down into a blinding kiss that had her tongue devouring his.
Conan’s hips jerked, thrusting deep. He closed his eyes as her tightness surrounded his thick shaft. Mhàiri threw her head back with a stunned cry. “Conan!”
Freezing, he held her still. “Did I hurt you?”
Her parted lips were swollen from their kisses, and her eyes were glazed with passion as she shook her head. “No, it’s . . . I feel full.”
He closed his eyes as he fought the need to pull out and thrust again. “Tight. You feel tight.”
“It’s so good. You feel so good. I never—”
Watching her face, he let himself sink deeper, sliding the full length of him into her. She gasped and instinctively raised her legs up to wrap around him. Then, without warning, she screamed, “More! Oh, God, please more!”
He let out a groan against her mouth as he pulled back, then started thrusting inside her using a slow, steady rhythm. Mhàiri’s nails dug into his shoulders. Her soft moans were driving him crazy. He lost control when she tilted her hips up to meet his, grinding against him, building the tension to an unbearable level. He pulled back, then slammed into her, repeating the motion over and over again, lost in the pleasure of feeling her wrapped around him.
“Conan!” she cried out again.
He could hear the fear in her voice and understood, for he too was frightened by what he was feeling. His own release was building with an intensity that he had never experienced before, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. And he wouldn’t even if he could.
“Come, Mhàiri. Come and take me with you.”
He didn’t give her a choice. Pounding into her, he pushed her further toward the edge, needing her to find her release before he gave in to his own pleasure.
Mhàiri held on to him, her arms wrapped around his neck tightly. She let out a wild cry as the unbearable tension finally snapped. Shudders racked her body as she came, and he couldn’t stop himself from coming when she clenched down around him. His muscles tensed as his own release tore through him. He let out a loud roar as he exploded inside her.
He rested his forehead on hers as he tried to regain his breath. He had never experienced a release like that and feared his lack of control had harmed her.
Conan held her close. He didn’t want to leave the haven of her body, but he worried that he might be crushing her. Wanting to ask if she was okay, he lifted his head, but when he saw her face, he just smiled.
Mhàiri knew she was right where she belonged, safe and secure in his arms. And she was determined to stay there . . . forever.
“I love you, Conan. There will never be another man for me but you.”
Love. It occurred to him he did not like the word. It was too vague, too imprecise, too shallow to capture what he felt. Mhàiri was his soul mate. A ghrà mo chroì. Never had another occupied his heart, and another never would. His heart was Mhàiri’s and hers alone.
But he could not tell her. Tonight was what they had, and it was all that they would have. So he did the only thing he could. He brought her pleasure over and over again, and each time her responses became more impetuous, more fevered, loosening his own tightly held reins. He made love to her as if consumed by a ravenous need, for tonight had to be enough to quench his thirst for her for life.
* * *
Mhàiri snuggled against him as their legs intertwined. “Are you happy?”
Conan nuzzled her hair. Training would start soon and he needed to get out to the fields, but after last night’s revelry, he knew that he would not be the only one arriving late. So, instead, he held Mhàiri tight as though he never wanted to let go. “Aye, more than I have a right to be.”
He knew he should regret what had happened between them. But he never would. He could live forever and he knew there would never be another woman for him.
Mhàiri placed her hands on his chest as his arms wound their way around her back of their own accord. “That’s not true, Conan. You have a right to happiness, and so do I. That’s what I realized. Why I came here to you.” She rose up on an elbow and looked down at him. “Traveling with my father was a way to avoid the misery of maintaining a home, but it would not have made me happy. I want more than not being miserable. Nor is it enough to be merely satisfied when you just showed me more pleasure than I ever knew possible. So why is it wrong for us to want to continue to know and experience that joy?”
The fingers stroking her back stilled. Tonight had been beyond words, but they both knew that their coming together changed nothing. “It is not wrong to seek happiness as long as that doesn’t include me.”
Mhàiri’s gaze grew in intensity. “But it does. I know you and I together are not what either of us had planned, but we could be happy together. Surely you see that. I’m willing to change and—”
“But I am not. I will not give up what I have worked for all my life.”
Mhàiri pushed herself up to a sitting position. “And I’m not asking you to. I’m only asking you to include me in your dreams. I can draw the detailed sketches, and you can focus on all the math and measuring to ensure what is captured is accurate. We will go where you wish, but we will be together.”
Conan did not want to have this conversation, especially with her sitting in front of him, exposing her perfect breasts to his touch. Forcing himself to turn away, he threw his legs to the side of the bed and sat up. “You might be happy at first, but I eventually sour the fondest woman’s feelings. Even my own brothers would attest to that. Out there is someone who would nourish your love. Find him and the happiness you deserve. The best thing I can give you is to leave immediately. It would make it easier on you.” Make it easier on him.
Mhàiri sat still, unable to move. Conan was not just denying her, but denying her of a future she now very much wanted. He had given her a passion for drawing things of meaning and value. And with Conan, she would have both love and a life—a combination she had always secretly wanted but never thought possible.
“I did find him and the happiness I deserve. It is you,” Mhàiri said to his back. She would not let his fear of change rob them both of what they could have. “And you deserve happiness too, which is why we are going to wait until spring to marry so my father can be there.”
“Mhàiri . . .” he said, twisting around.
“Nay, Conan!” Mhàiri said, standing up. She went and found her chemise and bliaut and started yanking them on. “You tell me that I would be miserable, but you cannot speak for me. We could be married for thirty years and you would still not be able to read my heart and mind enough to tell me what to feel and think.”
Conan had to admit that, based on some of the fights Conor and Laurel had, Mhàiri was probably right, for Conor was still clueless about his wife.
“So, unless you can give me a real reason why we cannot be together, we are leaving in the spring and we are leaving together.”
Conan jabbed a finger in her direction. “That’s one problem right there. Everything you stated included the word we,” he said, grabbing his leine. “Not only would we wear on each other’s nerves, when I did have to leave your side from time to time, you would be left unprotected. I will not be bringing soldiers or guards. You would be alone.”
“If that is your objection, let me put your fears aside. I can protect myself, Conan.” He arched a brow in disbelief. “I did for two weeks until you and Father Lanaghly arrived,” she reminded him and began to tie one side of her bliaut. “My father feared the same thing and made sure that my sister and I were able to handle any situation that might arise.”
“And what about bathing? Your father has a large wagon in which to tote his belongings as well as his goods. I will be living off the land, bathing in rivers, hunting for dinner each night, eating over a fire, and sleeping on ground that is often cold and wet.”
“I love to bathe in the river. I enjoy the feel of the water as it goes over my skin. And I think campfires are romantic. Besides, you and I both know that the majority of your nights will be spent in a bed just like this one. You are traveling on orders of your king. Doors will open to you for however long you need. For those nights that we are in between shelter, we will sleep in a cart, like merchants do, when it is too cold and wet to sleep on the ground.”
“But I’m not bringing a cart,” Conan countered.
“Of course we are,” Mhàiri replied, tossing his plaid at him. “How else do you plan on keeping everything protected? I agree it shouldn’t be a large one, just one big enough to tote our belongings and carry all my books of hemp paper.”
“Now you are trying to bribe me,” he huffed and began to fold the plaid around his waist.
“I already did that when I threw myself into your arms this evening. And lucky for us both, you accepted it.” She held on to the side of a bookcase and pulled on one slipper. “I need to speak to Maegan. I spoke somewhat harshly to her and need to apologize since she is going to help me prepare for a wedding!”
Conan dropped his sword. Snatching it up again, he jammed it into the sheath on his belt. He took ten deep breaths. How had a fantastic night and morning making memories he would treasure turned into this nightmare? “You can say all the nonsense you want, but it will not work.”
Mhàiri went over to stand right in front of him. “You love me.”
“I do not recall ever telling you that.”
Mhàiri smiled, still sure that this would end with them together. She knew he loved her. Of that, she had no doubt. “Good thing I don’t need all the flowery and passion-filled words then, isn’t it? Besides, you not saying it doesn’t make it less true.”
Conan stepped around her. “What if I do love you?” he asked, whipping around now that she was no longer in kissing distance. “You knew since we met that my future plans did not include a wife, and I have never wavered on the idea of going alone. You attempting to change that is the same as you trying to change me. And I am not changing for anyone!” he decreed, stabbing his thumb into his chest.
Mhàiri fought the compulsion to roll her eyes. “What a ridiculous thing to say. Of course change is happening. Life happens and we change because of it. You and I had plans. Then we met. The moment that happened, things began to change. It just took a few months, several fights, and last night to figure out how, but now that we have, to pretend otherwise . . . is . . . well, it’s ridiculous!”
“Ridiculous or not, I’m not changing.”
“I don’t believe you. You are too smart to mean what you are saying. That you would rather go alone, with a fraction of the resources, and novice abilities to draw. That you would forgo potential happiness rather than travel with me at your side, when I would help you conquer all your dreams and so much more. Together, we would be the ultimate team, and deep down you know it.”
Conan faced her without expression, without moving a muscle. “What about children? What happens to this ultimate team you are envisioning when you get pregnant and we have to suddenly settle down into the static life you and I both dread.”
Mhàiri threw up her arms in exasperation. “Why would having a child affect our lifestyle? My parents raised my sister and me on the road, and we turned out fairly well.”
“Ha! She became a nun.”
“And I became like you!”
“You can’t cook!”
“So I’ll learn! We aren’t leaving for a couple of months. I have time. Fiona will teach me, and you will be the best-fed man in Scotland.”
Conan was breathing hard. Fiona was not a kind woman and did not like anyone to interfere in her kitchen. Ever. But somehow he suspected Mhàiri would be the exception.
“You aren’t listening and you need to, Mhàiri. It doesn’t matter whether you can cook, are willing to sleep outside, or are the bravest woman in the world. I. Don’t. Want. You. With. Me.”
That got her to pause. She took a step back as if he had struck her physically. “Why?” she choked out.
Conan took a breath and slowly exhaled. He ran a hand through his hair. “Because,” he began, searching for the words to explain what he felt. “Because it is not what I planned.”
“You never planned to have a wife so you don’t want one?” she said, the sound barely a whisper. “Even one willing to do everything you want, doesn’t even consider it a compromise, but an opportunity, one you love . . . only because it is not what you had planned?” Her voice gained strength. “Because if that’s true, Conan, you are right. There is nothing I can do to prove that we can be happy, living a life that is so wonderful, so incredible, neither of us could have envisioned it.”
Mhàiri marched to his chamber door and yanked it open. She spun around. “You may go on your trip, make your maps, but years from now, when you still are puzzled as to why it doesn’t bring you the satisfaction you thought it would, you think back on today. This conversation. For until you realize that only by giving up on your old dreams can you embrace the one that God is offering, you won’t be truly happy. And I’ve decided that is what I want. I don’t want to just avoid being unhappy. I want it all. And I intend to have it all.”