Chapter Thirteen
Laurel rubbed her stomach as she studied Mhàiri. The last couple of months since Epiphany, she had started to grow large, and Conor feared she was carrying twins again. Laurel knew she wasn’t. The babe was large, but Hagatha suspected it was because this was her fourth child.
She had forgotten what pregnancy was like. She had remembered it as wonderful, but now that she was in her last couple of months, she realized that it was the baby that made it wonderful. In reality, being pregnant was anything but.
Last week, Aileen revealed that she, too, was pregnant and a happier expectant mother could not be found. Laurel had been waiting for the announcement for weeks. Finn had been grinning far too regularly for someone who preferred to frown. But Laurel had not asked because she knew Aileen was intentionally waiting. Her best friend had conceived several times over the years, but always lost her children early in her pregnancy. Aileen no doubt feared it would happen again. But the weeks passed and she was still carrying. So on Epiphany she had told Finn, who could not have been more surprised . . . or thrilled. Now that another two months had gone by, the fear had been replaced with anticipation. The babes would be only a few months apart, but essentially the same age.
“I asked you to come here today so that I could make a request. I want you to stop bathing in the river.”
Mhàiri’s eyes widened. She had hoped Laurel had seen all that she had been doing for the past several weeks and was finally going to offer her help. It was Laurel who had made her realize what she wanted and she did not think that had been an accident, but now it seemed Lady McTiernay had changed her mind.
“I don’t mind it, and I have my reasons.”
Laurel inhaled and then sighed. “You are going to get sick. Whatever point you were trying to make has been made.”
Mhàiri’s jaw clenched. Laurel did not understand the situation, for she had never told anyone what had happened between her and Conan—not even Maegan. And she was certain he, too, had kept what happened on Epiphany and their argument afterwards to himself.
For two months, Mhàiri had been trying to prove to Conan that she would not be a burden during their travels, reminding him in whatever ways possible that she wanted to be with him. However, his ability to avoid her had made it more than just a little difficult. She was mostly relying on rumors about her accomplishments getting to him, because they had yet to talk since that fateful night.
“I am not sure it has.”
“Well, trekking all the way back to the castle is not the same as immediately sitting by a campfire to get warm, so please stop.”
Mhàiri pursed her lips and rose to her feet. “Fine. Is there anything else you would like me to cease doing?” she challenged.
It had been difficult, but Mhàiri had finally gotten Fiona to agree to a truce, of sorts. The old cook was a gray-haired, stoutly built woman, and her dark brown eyes were always aware of everything going on in her kitchen. She loved to cook, but she did not love people. And she especially did not like anyone coming into the kitchens to bother her, help, or even pinch some of her food before she was ready to serve it. She had a wicked tongue, and Mhàiri had been frightened by it until she had realized that was all the woman had. So Mhàiri kept coming in. Every day, she would come and talk to the help and move things around. Not much, but just enough to be annoying. Fiona would rant and rave, but it had done no good. And that was when Mhàiri had offered Fiona a bargain. Teach her how to cook and she would leave her kitchens.
So Fiona had reluctantly agreed, but refused to do so in her kitchens. The crotchety woman made it clear that if Mhàiri wanted to learn how to cook over a campfire, then that was where she was going to learn. So Mhàiri had been yelled at, insulted, criticized, and even injured. But she had also learned.
Mhàiri could now quickly pluck a bird, clean it, and skin a rabbit. She now recognized what grew wild that could be used to make food tastier. She was becoming an expert at telling when meat was done and how to keep it from becoming too dry. Her repertoire of recipes included soup, dried meat, and bread, which she had learned how to bake in a pot over a fire. And Mhàiri knew for a fact that Conan had eaten and enjoyed a couple of her meals because Fiona had surprised everyone when she came out near the end of one of the dinners and announced to all that Mhàiri had been the one to prepare most of what had been served. But Mhàiri was not done learning. Fiona still had to teach her about fish, certain pies, and many other things. Mhàiri did not want Laurel stripping those from her as well.
Laurel shrugged her shoulders. “That you convinced Fiona to teach you how to cook is a miracle and I won’t interfere with it. But if that was going to change anything between you and Conan, it already would have.”
The shock that Laurel had seen and recognized what she was doing rocketed through Mhàiri. She collapsed by Laurel’s feet. “Please help me. Please help me make him see what he is giving up.”
Laurel swept Mhàiri’s hair from her face and cupped her cheek. “I cannot. For two reasons. First, despite what people think, all I have ever done for anyone is given a little bit of advice. A few words spoken at just the right time often can put things into motion, but all the pieces have to be in place first. I cannot create what isn’t there.”
Mhàiri still did not understand. “But it is there.”
“And what words would I say that you have not already spoken? When words no longer work, the only thing left is action, and that is the one thing I cannot do for you.”
Alarm overtook Mhàiri’s expression, and Laurel immediately doused the flames that she could see growing. “I do not know what transpired between you and Conan. I only know something did.”
Mhàiri sat back. “Then how do you know I spoke the right words?”
“Because of the second reason I cannot help you.” Laurel paused and waited until Mhàiri was looking at her again. “Conan asked me not to.”
* * *
Mhàiri would have fallen if she had not already been sitting on the floor.
Conan knew. He had known at some point she would be desperate enough to seek out Laurel’s help. And he had feared she would give it to her because he had feared it would work. That should have given her hope, for it meant that he was struggling with his feelings, warring with them, and yet it did just the opposite. Mhàiri felt all her confidence dissipate until she had none left at all. If Conan was this adamant, she was at a loss. He feared her changing him, but he was the one who had changed her. And for what? An impossible dream.
Mhàiri rose to her feet and was about to say her good-byes when Bonny came running into the room. “Guess who is here!” she cried. “Your papa! Fallon says you are to come right away!”
Mhàiri swallowed. How did God know? The one person she needed more than ever was her beloved father. He would wrap her in his arms and take her away. Away from the pain and the loss and the heartbreak.
With a cry, she ran past Bonny and down the stairwell. Entering the courtyard, she spied him and his massive cart. How he had gotten that thing this far north when winter was only now easing, she did not know. Nor did she care. All Mhàiri knew was her father was here and somehow he was going to make it all better.
“Athair!” she yelled.
A large man who had been talking to Fallon turned to the voice. Iain Mayboill had the craggy look of an unfinished sculpture and yet women found him deliciously appealing. He had a massive, self-confident presence that was so striking, it caused those around him to turn and stare. Wings of gray hair fanned out at his temples, adding drama and distinction. With bright green eyes and dark hair, he had a smile that she had heard could cut a man like a knife. But to Mhàiri, he was just her father. A man who loved her without question.
Upon seeing her, pleasure softened his granite-like face. He opened his arms wide as she collided into his embrace. “Ah, inghean, it is so good to see you so well and bonnie. I have missed you, lass.”
Mhàiri hugged him close and felt a shadow over her shoulder. She glanced back to see Laurel and Conor. “Father, please let me introduce Laird and Lady McTiernay.”
“I’m Iain Mayboill. A great privilege it is to meet you. Not only is your clan’s name well known throughout Scotland, but you took care of my Mhàiri, here, and that means more to me than I can express.”
Laurel gave him her warmest, most welcoming smile. “She was a pleasure.”
Iain wagged his finger at Laurel. “Quite a weapon she has there,” he said to Conor, who was about to take exception to this man pointing at his wife. “Those stormy eyes, that smile, her beauty. That combination renders you powerless most days, I bet. My wife could do the same to me when she was alive.”
Conor blinked. The man spoke the truth, and Laurel was practically giggling with the idea that she had power over him that she already knew she had. “We were not expecting you so soon. The snow just began to thaw here.”
“It wasn’t so bad, though the last day got to be a little bit of fun in parts. Your brother Colin encouraged me to stay longer, but his three wee ones are a bit like his wife—wild and rambunctious. And before I forget, I was supposed to tell you that they have another on the way.”
Laurel’s fingers rose to her lips. Aislinn was seven, about to turn eight, Machara was almost four, and Connor was not even two yet. Thinking of stoic Colin chasing all those children around was enough to bring her to laughter. “Aye,” Iain said to her unspoken words, “I think your brother Colin is actually scared, especially when his wife says that she still plans on having at least six. The man will have to learn how to relax or go stark raving mad, I expect.”
At that, Conor laughed. “Come and tell us of your travels.”
“Where would you like me to put my cart? The man wasn’t pleased I insisted on bringing it inside, but this is my home, my livelihood.”
Laurel wiped the tears from her eyes. “Your livelihood is in no jeopardy outside the walls, and you can stay in the North Tower while you are here. I’ll have Glynis prepare you a room.”
Iain folded his arms and stared down at Laurel and then finally laughed. “I would argue with you, but I think I would lose. You have that look about you my Mhàiri gets, which she got from her mother. It says the argument would be a long and bloody battle, but you’re willing to wage it and do whatever it takes to come out the victor. So I shall concede now.” Then he gave a wink to Mhàiri, and nudged her side with his elbow. “You see that, lass? I’m finally learning to listen. If only your mother were here to see it.”
“She still wouldn’t believe it,” Mhàiri said, smiling up at him. “And she enjoyed arguing with you as much as you enjoyed arguing with her.”
“Much like the laird and his lady, I suspect.”
Laurel closed her eyes and shook her head, trying not to grin and failing. “Colin has been talking about me and Conor, I see.”
“Nay!” Iain denied. “I would never listen to such gossip. I just sees what I see. And what I’m seeing is that you need a longer pillow at night to sleep so that you won’t wake with your back hurting.”
Laurel’s mouth dropped in shock. Her back did hurt and she was not sleeping well. “You think a longer pillow is all I need?”
Iain walked to his cart and pulled out a large pillow packed with feathers. “Aye. Leave the one you have for your head and use this to curl up to. This beast here,” he said, gesturing to Conor, “is all meat and hardness. No doubt a lot of fun and the reason you have a bairn on the way, but for the next couple of months, snuggle up to this here pillow and you will wake refreshed and with more energy.”
Conor was about to strongly object. He liked his wife at his side and most definitely did not want to be replaced by a pillow. But when he saw the look of sheer excitement in Laurel’s face, he knew he could not deny her.
Mhàiri bit her bottom lip. “That’s Father,” she said timidly. “He is very friendly and always seems to know what you need.”
Conor pursed his lips. “Your father is exceptionally shrewd.” He had met men like Iain before. Laird MacInnes was one of them. He was his father’s best friend who had moved to the south when he had married a woman who’d turned out to be Laurel’s grandmother. He, too, could within minutes understand those around him as though he had spent a lifetime in their company. It enabled him to draw one in quickly so they trusted him.
Bonny stood by Mhàiri. She had followed her outside and had been carefully watching the newcomer. “I’ve decided I like you,” she announced, surprising everyone around her.
Iain knelt down to her level. “And why is that?”
“Because you are smart like me.”
Iain peered into Bonny’s gray eyes and what he saw was his own soul staring back at him. Brilliance, with a natural understanding of people. “Why, you are quite smart, aren’t you?” he said and swung her up in his arms. “Do your mama and papa know this?”
Bonny shook her head, to the surprise of both her parents. “Only Uncle Conan,” she replied.
“Come, let us go and get some ale. I’m sure you are parched after your journey,” Conor encouraged Iain.
“Aye, but first let me get a present from my cart before it is sent rolling out of reach.” He went over and shifted some things around before pulling out a large crate. He pried it open and there inside was a treasure. Books of hemp paper. “I thought, on your travels, you would need some more. So this is for you.”
Mhàiri gasped, and knelt down to see. At least five books were inside. “Travels? How did you—?”
“Shinae,” her father answered.
“I went to see your sister and she mentioned what you and she had planned to do before the priory had burned down. She explained that you want to see the world and if I know my sweet Mhàiri, she has found a way to do that besides traveling with an old merchant like me.”
Tears filled Mhàiri’s eyes. How right her father was. And how wrong. “How is Shinae? You know she was forced to take her vows.”
“No one can force another to do anything. Shinae is living with that decision, but you know your sister. She always finds a way to locate the sun in every rain cloud.”
Mhàiri nodded. Her sister could do that. She was the kindest of souls, but also the most stubborn, and could be a force unlike any other when pressed.
“Now, let’s go have this drink and you can tell me all about that man hovering over there with a scowl and how he is troubling you, lass. I’m guessing he’s wee Bonny’s Uncle Conan.”
* * *
The fire crackled in the great hall, and Mhàiri studied the flames. They had gone to enjoy some ale, and soon word had spread of Iain Mayboill’s arrival. The group grew as Hagatha, then Aileen and Finn, followed by Seamus and Maegan joined them. Their laughter created curiosity, and soon every nearby soldier not on duty and anyone who was not busy with time-sensitive chores were in the great hall, listening and laughing as Iain regaled them with one story followed by another. Some Mhàiri knew, some Mhàiri had participated in, and some she had never heard because they had taken place after she had left for the priory.
Now it was quiet. They had all left, letting father and daughter get reacquainted.
“So, inghean, what keeps your heart from smiling? Your lips curl, but there is no light in your eyes. Not even for your old father who traveled all this way to see you. Could it be that I should be arriving to news of a wedding, but I’m not?”
Mhàiri should have known her father would have accurately guessed. Conan had joined them, but only briefly. Her father had asked pointed questions about his plans and Conan had answered them, just as directly. Nothing had been odd about his comments or demeanor, and yet her father had known.
“I wish there to be one. I do. But you heard Conan. He will not change his plans despite all that I’ve done.” Iain listened quietly as Mhàiri described all of Conan’s arguments and her efforts to thwart them. “But he cares not. He refuses to change the dreams he has held on to for the chance at something better.”
“And nor should he. I don’t think I would either. You don’t know if you want that life. You’ve never done it, day after day. In three days, you might be so bored and dirty you’ll never want to see Conan again.”
“But I wouldn’t!” Mhàiri insisted.
“Words,” her father said with a shrug. “To ask a man to give up his life for a new one based on only mere words, now that is a lot to ask.”
Anger began to boil once again in Mhàiri. She could not believe it. First Laurel and now her own father. No one believed she could be happy with Conan. That what they shared was not just about love and physical passion—though that was definitely a major incentive—it was much more. This was her life that she was fighting for. A life that she very much wanted. To travel and draw with a purpose. To meet people and see places. To have complete autonomy over where she lived and went. She would do anything, adjust to anything, and endure anything to have it. It was no wonder that Conan did not believe her. No one did.
Iain reached over and tapped her knee. “I can tell you are upset and have been for a while. What you need is a way to release some of that aggression.” He rose to his feet. “I heard Finn mention that his men train every morning in some fields outside the castle walls.”
“I know them. I’ve gone to watch a few times.”
“But have you joined them?”
Mhàiri scoffed. “I think Finn would have more than a few words at that idea.”
Iain grinned at his daughter. “Aye. He will be shocked. You should remember his expression on the morrow and sketch it later. Then give it to his wife.” That got Mhàiri to smile. “But I bet I could convince him to let you join for awhile, if only to see what would happen.”
Mhàiri bit the inside of her cheek and then shook her head. “I’m not in the mood to spar, Papa.”
A hard glint entered his eyes. “You’re angry. You’re frustrated. That means you’re in the mood. So tomorrow morning?”
Knowing it would do little good to argue, Mhàiri nodded in agreement. For somehow, someway, she would be there anyway.
* * *
Finn held his hands up, and immediately all the activity halted. Conan looked to see why they’d stopped and spied Iain and Mhàiri. “What brings you here?” Finn asked with impatience.
Iain gripped Mhàiri’s shoulder in one of his large hands and said with a smile, “Mhàiri tells me that she has not trained all winter. I’m a merchant and sometimes that means I encounter people who are not so honest. And Mhàiri is pretty. I need to make sure she still knows how to protect herself before we leave your lands and are back on our own.”
Finn looked at Mhàiri, arched a brow, and then coughed into his hand in an effort to hide his laughter. Mhàiri narrowed her gaze. “For that, Finn, your wife is going to get a present from me later today,” she hissed.
Finn had no idea what Mhàiri meant, but he did detect the sharp tone and realized Iain had been serious. Suddenly he remembered Laurel’s unusual ability with a bow and thought perhaps he had been too hasty with his assumptions. “Well, what skills do you have then that need practice?”
Iain rubbed his chin. “Do you have a target?”
“Tell her to go where the women train.” The sharp comment had come from one of Finn’s largest men, who was leaning forward against his sword, tip in the ground. Buzz was a good-natured but mouthy soldier. He had shown interest in Mhàiri after Loman and was not pleased when she had made it clear that she was not interested. After that, she had received at least one jeering remark from the man a week. Mhàiri had had enough.
With incredible speed, Mhàiri whipped out the knives she had strapped on this morning and sent them zinging through the air. The first hit his sword out of his hand. The next three landed right in front of him, all in the same spot so that they fanned out, making it clear that each one had landed exactly where she had aimed.
Iain slapped his hands together. “Not bad. He was a little close, but I think we can say that you still can throw, daughter.” He then turned to Finn, whose mouth was hanging open. “Mhàiri,” Iain said, using his thumb to gesture toward Finn, “you might want to remember that expression as well.”
Mhàiri nodded. “I think I just might.”
“You’ve proven your aim is still good, but what about the rest?”
Mhàiri scanned the men. Her eyes landed on Conan. His expression was inscrutable. “Will anyone spar with me?” she asked.
Conan continued to stare at her, but his countenance did not change. He did not move. Nothing to be misconstrued as volunteering.
“I will,” Seamus said, stepping forward.
Finn nodded, knowing that Seamus was good enough to give her a challenge without accidentally pushing too far and hurting her. Mhàiri’s father might be watching, even encouraging, this crazy pursuit, but Conor would have all of them for dinner if Mhàiri got hurt. And that was only after Laurel made them all miserable.
Five minutes later, Seamus found himself on his back staring at the sky. His side was stinging something awful. He had totally underestimated Mhàiri and had ended up looking like a fool because of it. The only upside was that maybe Maegan would take pity on him and talk to him. He had scared her at Epiphany, pushed her too far. He only hoped with enough time she would see that they were good together. He could make her happy. But first she had to let go of Clyde, and he wondered if she was ever going to be able to do that.
“I am so sorry, Seamus,” Mhàiri said, clearly upset. “I think you are going to need a thread and needle.”
Seamus tried to sit up and winced. “Aye, I think you are right.”
Mhàiri closed her eyes. “Father is right. I should have kept up with my skills. I leaned in way too far on that last spin when we were just sparring.”
Seamus looked at his side. “Just sparring. You are deadly, Mhàiri.”
Iain took a look. “Aye, that’s a nasty cut.” He offered Seamus an arm. “Come on. Let’s go get you cleaned up.” Then, with a wave, they left and headed back to the castle. “You have someone good with a needle?”
Seamus nodded. “Hagatha and Laurel.”
Iain chuckled. “I thought you might be wanting that pretty little lass Maegan to be tending to you.”
“I’m, uh, not sure she would want to.”
Iain grinned. “She would, and afterwards, she’ll be talking to you again and you’ll be thanking my Mhàiri here for giving you such a scar.”
Seamus hobbled another couple of steps before he realized exactly what Iain had said. Based on all the stuff he had witnessed last night, he had no doubt that Iain Mayboill had an ability to see into someone like he had never witnessed before. He looked at the older man and then grinned. “I think I will.”
Mhàiri watched as Seamus’s hobble turned into a near sprint, leaving her and her father to walk back alone.
She looked at her father. “Did you see what you came to see?”
“Aye. Your knives are still good. You are slow with your left hand, and your Conan definitely loves you. So why aren’t you doing anything about it?”
Mhàiri’s hands curled into fists. “I know you were listening when I told you all that I had been doing to convince him. You said my actions had no more influence to change his mind than words.”
“Your promises are just words and knowing how to cook over a campfire doesn’t mean you will want to do so every meal.”
“Then what do you mean? What else can I do?”
“Only you know that. I do know that the man is scared. I felt that way when I met your mother. I knew she was willing to come with me, but I had trouble believing she could really be happy as a merchant’s wife. Good thing she was more determined than you. Otherwise, I might have left her village alone.”
“How did she convince you?”
Iain laughed. “That woman did the most insane thing I had ever seen in my life,” he replied. “She became a merchant! And what’s more, she loved it! When I saw her smile after her first sale, I knew she was hooked and I knew then that I had to have her.”
Mhàiri suddenly realized what Laurel had meant. When words no longer work, the only thing left is action. Words were not enough. That’s what Laurel and her father were trying to tell her. She had come to them for some way to reach Conan, but that was something she could only do.
Mhàiri reached up on her tiptoes and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Athair. I have something I have to do, so don’t worry about me if you don’t see me for a few days.”
* * *
Conan entered the great hall and shook the water out of his hair. It had been cold and raining for the last two days, and the wind was getting worse. The warm spell they had been experiencing had left with a vengeance. Winter wanted one more storm before it left for the year, and it was going to be a bad one. By tomorrow, everything would be frozen under a thick layer of ice.
He moved to sit in his normal spot at the dinner table, surprised to find that he was nearly the last one to arrive. It had been more than a week since he had joined the family for dinner, and he had half expected Laurel to have chased him down, ordering his return by now. She just smiled and waved at him, continuing to listen to something Iain Mayboill was saying. Everyone was tuned in with rapt attention. Laurel and Aileen’s pregnancies were stirring up the old merchant’s memories of when Shinae and Mhàiri had been born, and the adventures of bringing them into the world while on the road were the ones he cherished the most.
Conan could listen no more. Every time he heard Iain’s voice, he remembered the last time he had seen him . . . and Mhàiri.
She had said she could protect herself, but he had had no idea exactly what that had meant. It had needled at him for days before he had figured out why. She could protect herself. Her vulnerability had been one of the main reasons he had been so reluctant to even consider the idea of her coming with him. But she had been right. Mhàiri could protect herself better than most men.
Conan decided to risk catching her eye and glanced around the table to see where she was sitting. He looked again. She was not there, nor was there a hole as if her arrival was anticipated.
“Maegan,” he clipped, finally getting her attention from Seamus. She was smiling, and his friend, who had been almost intolerable the last two months, seemed himself again. “Where’s Mhàiri?”
Maegan finished swallowing her food and then took a sip of ale. She licked her lips. Conan wondered if she was delaying telling him on purpose. Was this some lame scheme she and Mhàiri had hatched to prove he still cared about her? “I don’t know,” Maegan finally replied with a shrug of her shoulders.
Conan gripped his mug tightly in his hand and prayed for patience. “No games, Maegan. Where is she?”
Maegan put her own mug down and leveled her sky-blue eyes on him. “I do not know,” she repeated. “I have not seen her for days. Her father told us not to worry, so I haven’t.”
Days? Conan thought in shock. Had Mhàiri been trying to avoid him, like he had her? Or was she ill? If so, why had he not been told? But Conan knew the answer. He had not been around and had made it clear to Laurel that when it came to Mhàiri, he wanted to hear nothing. But he had meant no advice, not that he wouldn’t want to know if she was not well.
“Is someone taking Mhàiri food?” he asked Brenna, knowing the ten-year-old would be well aware of where Mhàiri was, her status, and why she was not at dinner.
Brenna imitated Maegan and shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, at least tell me where she is,” he hissed.
Brenna’s gray eyes grew large. “I don’t know, Uncle Conan.”
Conan sat quietly fuming for the rest of the dinner. When everyone stood to leave, he waited for Iain and carefully cornered him. He intended to get some answers, and if Iain thought he could play his mind and word games with him, he was about to learn very differently.
“Where is Mhàiri?”
Iain crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “I don’t know. Last I saw her, she kissed my cheek and told me not to worry about her and that I wouldn’t be seeing her for a few days. Last time that happened, I had made her a cloth drawing board. The girl barely stopped to eat, but she slowed down soon enough. If I had tried to make Mhàiri stop before she was ready, she would have resented me and kept drawing, but only for longer.”
Conan spun on his heel and headed for the Warden’s Tower. He ran up the stairs and began to bang on Mhàiri’s door, shouting at her to open up. When she did not answer, he considered barging in. If he had to, he would, but he knew there was someone to whom she would respond.
An hour later, he had found Maegan, who was in the Star Tower, ensuring his nieces were getting ready for bed. He waved for her to meet him in the hallway right outside the room. “I need you to do something,” he stated without preamble or pleasantries.
Maegan huffed. “I am done scheming. For Brenna. For Bonny. For everyone, which includes you.”
Conan’s face grew hard. “I am not asking you to scheme,” he snarled. “I’m asking you to check on your friend, whom it seems that no one has seen for the past week.”
“That’s impossible,” Maegan said.
“Then why haven’t you seen her at dinner?”
“I assumed she was avoiding Seamus. She did cut him very badly. He could have gotten a fever and died.” Maegan’s voice had grown cold, and her anger could not be missed.
“She was not avoiding Seamus. You know Mhàiri—she doesn’t run from problems. Ever. It’s actually more surprising that she has not checked on him every day, which proves that something is not right.”
Maegan blinked. She had been rather busy, and after seeing what Mhàiri had done to Seamus, she had been angry with her friend and not really in the mood to see or talk to her. Just the thought of losing Seamus had scared her enormously, but Conan was right. Maegan should have at least seen her in passing. It had been over a week now, and it was clear Seamus was going to recover. “Mhàiri must be with her father. They will be leaving soon, so she is probably just making preparations.” She snapped her fingers, and relief flooded her countenance. “I know. In addition to more paper, her father had brought her a couple of books that she was very excited about. I am sure she is simply completely engrossed in them, like you are when you get new scrolls and whatnot.”
Maegan opened the door to finish checking on the girls. Conan took a deep breath and exhaled. That had to be it. He knew what it was like to get absorbed in a new activity to the exclusion of all else. Mhàiri was the same way. She had probably told her father not to worry and was having servants run her up food.
He stepped into the room and said, “I’m sure you are right, but I need to know for sure.”
Maegan had just started to comb Bonny’s hair. “You know, only a man in love would be asking this when even Mhàiri’s own father is not concerned.”
“I don’t deny loving Mhàiri, but loving someone does not mean we would be happy together.”
Maegan looked at him then and swallowed. “I’ll check on her right after I finish here.”
“Thank you.”
Maegan was shocked. That was the first time Conan had ever voiced his appreciation to her that she could recall. She was about to say something to that effect when Bonny tugged on her sleeve.
“You won’t find Mhàiri in her room,” she whispered, but it was loud enough for Conan to hear her.
He marched up beside her. “What do you mean, Bonny?”
“She left the castle the day she hurt Seamus. I saw her.”
Terror twisted his stomach. “Left how?”
“Neal gave her a horse and a small cart. She put a couple blankets and some books in it and left. I asked Neal yesterday when she was coming back, and he said that he didn’t know. That Mhàiri had only told him that she needed an animal that wouldn’t be missed for a while. He had assumed she would only be gone that afternoon because she didn’t take any food, but as far as he knew, Mhàiri had still not returned.”
Conan felt his heart turn to stone and the sweat chill on his body. An ice storm was upon them. The rain that had been falling down would turn to ice now that it was dark, and it would be coming down hard and painfully. People died in weather like this. Did her father not know this? Did he and Laurel and everyone else assume what he had? That Mhàiri was in her room, drawing or studying a new book?
Panic began to take hold, and he fought the urge to race off madly, blindly.
Conan looked at Maegan, who was beginning to shake with fear for her friend. “This storm is getting worse, and if Mhàiri is out in it, she won’t survive to the morning. Go find Conor and Laurel and tell them that I’m going out now to find and bring her back, but if I don’t return by the morning to form a search party.”
Tears filled Maegan’s eyes to the brim and began to fall down her cheeks. “Find her, Conan.”
“I will. And she will be alive.”
She will be alive, he repeated to himself.
For Mhàiri was his. She had his heart, and now it was time to claim hers.
She will be alive.