Chapter Fifteen
“Tomorrow afternoon! I think not!” Laurel choked out, the sound echoing in the great hall. “That is not nearly enough time!”
“For what?” Conan asked, mystified, as he snuggled Mhàiri closer on his lap. He was wondering how he was going to last tonight without her in his arms and if they had enough time to marry today. Sunset—when all the McTiernays wed—was a little more than an hour away. It was possible.
“There is a considerable amount to do,” Laurel stated in her most authoritative voice.
“I agree with Conan,” Conor chimed in. “Tomorrow is good. The sooner you are wed, the sooner calm reenters my life.”
Laurel took his hand and rubbed her round stomach. “You, my love, are about to have another child. Calm is not something you are going to see again for a long, long time.” Conor grunted. “And as far as a wedding, Conan, yours will not be taking place next week, let alone tomorrow.”
“Next week!” Conan shouted.
“I said not next week. I would guess three weeks. At the very least.”
Hagatha nodded. “And that is only if Conor sends the runners out today. People will need time to prepare.”
Conan stilled. “What people?”
Aileen waved a finger over Mhàiri’s form. “And you need a gown.”
Excited with the idea of a new outfit that was not a hand-me-down, Mhàiri slid off Conan’s lap. “A new dress?”
“Oh, it will be the most beautiful dress ever created,” Maegan sighed. “I’ve some ideas that I want to share with you. And your hair . . . we need to wait a few weeks for the spring flowers to bloom.”
Seamus elbowed Conan. “Looks like your marriage is waiting on flowers, my friend.”
“People?” Conan repeated, this time with a little more force.
“All of us have been looking forward to this happy event for months and nothing”—Laurel paused to look at Conan and then her husband, Conor—“is going to ruin our plans.”
“Just what do you mean by people?” Conan croaked.
“Well, did you think that we are the only ones who are going to want to witness this event?” Laurel huffed. “Because you could not be more mistaken. I have a feeling when word spreads that you, Conan McTiernay, are not only wanting to get married, but have found a woman who also wants to marry you, our home is going to draw quite a crowd.”
“Then we will marry today. I am not someone people need to come and ogle at.”
Laurel scrunched her nose at the idea. “They won’t be coming to see you . . . they will be coming to see Mhàiri. And when we are done,” she said to her soon-to-be sister-in-law, “you will be the envy of every woman in Scotland.”
Mhàiri’s eyes grew large with excitement. She looked at Conan, who was scowling. She grinned at him and shrugged her shoulders. “We’re waiting,” she said with such happiness he could not say no. “It isn’t every day a girl gets to be the envy of every woman in Scotland.”
* * *
Conan sat brooding in the great hall, drinking ale that was too damn weak. Ale was always brewing, and too many were working in the buttery that never had before. When Conor had said they were going to have to ration the ale to only dinner, thank God Rae Schellden—the McTiernays’ closest friend, ally, and neighbor—had not been happy with the decision. He had ordered his people to begin making ale as well, and after a week they’d begun getting a delivery every day.
Conor maneuvered through the crowd of men who had come in out of the rain and slid into a chair next to Conan. Immediately, a servant handed him a mug, which was another thing that had run out. It was fortunate that people brought their own utensils to use on their journeys; otherwise many of them would not have anything to eat on.
Conor took a swig and wrinkled his nose at the weak flavor. It needed less water and more time. They were just lucky that the last few harvests had been extremely good and there were enough oats for the crush of people who had seized McTiernay Castle and its lands for the last few weeks. He looked at his brother. “You look in a fouler mood than normal.”
“I’ve decided I hate your wife.”
Conor took another gulp. “That’s not news. You’ve disliked her for various reasons over the years, but the last one, I think, resulted in you getting married.”
“You can seriously say that to me? It’s because of her that I’m not married. I’m ready, Mhàiri is ready, Father Lanaghly is ready, even the damn dress is ready. The only one who isn’t is Laurel. She is now insisting we wait for MacInnes to arrive.”
“He was our father’s best friend. He wants to see you wed.”
“Then he should have gotten his arse up here with the rest of Scotland.” Conan looked at Conor. “It’s been almost six weeks,” he snarled. “That’s long enough, and it’s time you tell Laurel.”
“Tell Laurel what?” The question came from behind Conan. He glanced momentarily over his shoulder. Hamish and Colin, his second-oldest brother from the Lowlands, had come to join them.
“That I don’t care to wait for stragglers like yourself any longer.”
Hamish nodded to Conor, Colin, and Cole, who were sitting at the table, enjoying the frustration of their younger brother. “It’s your fault. We honestly thought the first missive an error. And we were not alone in that assumption either.”
Conan snorted. No one had believed it. No one. Even Rae Schellden, their neighbor and close ally, had doubted the news.
Cole, who had been sitting drinking quietly beside his brother, agreed with Hamish, especially as he too had had doubts the first time he had heard the news. “I mean would you have believed a herald claiming the great Conan McTiernay had fallen madly in love with a beautiful woman who adored him in return, and was to marry imminently?”
The missive had been more than that. Laurel’s message had also said that all were welcome to come join and witness the event. They just needed to bring tents, their own servants, and significant contributions to the food and drink. So, like everyone else, Colin had sent a runner back with a statement asking if the real reason Laurel wanted them to visit was to say good-bye to Conan. For that, he and Makenna would have liked to have come, but would never have left their homes for such a reason, especially as they were expecting their fourth child. And because most heralds were not sent to only one clan, but had to make multiple stops, it had taken almost two weeks for the heralds to return to Laurel with words of disbelief, some teasing comments about the insanity of the alleged bride, and requests for proof.
The runners had been dispatched out again. It had not been until Hamish received a message from Rae Schellden stating that the news was earnest that he had believed it. Conan was indeed getting married. Then the heralds had returned, all with variations on one theme—the ceremony could not take place until they arrived. Conan getting married was something that needed to be seen to be believed.
Colin winked at Conan, which rankled him further. “I think he just misses his woman,” he said playfully, with a massive grin pasted on his face. Colin was not the sort to smile. The man possessed an unnatural amount of self-control. He could emotionally wall himself off, which made him a superb strategist, but it seemed that after nearly a decade of being married to Makenna and becoming a father to three children, with a fourth on the way, had changed him. And not for the better, in Conan’s mind.
It also did not help that Colin was right.
Now that he knew the feel of Mhàiri’s skin, her scent, her passionate response, her greedy need for him, and his insatiable need for her, the idea of not being with her at night was akin to torture. Sneaking to her room might have been possible the first week, but had become very difficult the second week. After that, guests had started to arrive in staggering numbers. The castle had never been so full. Even when Conor had married Laurel, it had not touched this constant influx of people. As a result, Mhàiri and Maegan had given up their rooms and were now sleeping with Bonny and Brenna, and visiting maids now lined the halls in temporary beds. So sneaking into Mhàiri’s chambers was not an option.
The torture was not only the loss of having her in his bed; it was far more than that.
He had not seen Mhàiri practically at all these past few weeks. Dinner did not count, as there were too many people present to make conversation, much less keep one. People kept asking for her attention, and the numbers of those inquisitive people kept growing every day. Conan had assumed this would alarm Mhàiri as much as it did him, but he had been wrong.
At dinner, he had groused about how few times he had had a chance to spend time with her, and Mhàiri’s response had been to laugh. She had laughed, infecting all those around her, and then had reminded him about the two months he had pushed her away, ignoring her. That if she could wait, then so could he.
When he had returned from an impromptu trip and Mhàiri had still been as inaccessible as before, he had begun to worry. What would she be like when it was only the two of them? There would be no crowds to entertain her. It would be just her and him, sometimes for weeks at a time.
He had been so desperate, he had gone to Brenna and Bonny for help. Both girls normally loved all the activity, but even for them, it had been too much. Luckily, Brenna had known Mhàiri’s schedule and when to intercept her so they could have a few minutes. The only place had been the bottom floor of the Star Tower, which also served as a storage room.
It was the smartest thing he had done in the past six weeks, for Mhàiri’s actions and first words had put his mind at ease.
Mhàiri had gripped his head between her hands and kissed him with a surge of exasperation and enthusiasm. “Can you believe this lunacy?” she had asked. “The only one who isn’t here is the King of Scotland, and I’m not sure why, for all his people seem to be camped outside your brother’s castle!”
“Someone had to be responsible enough to stay home.”
Mhàiri had wrapped her arms around his neck and urged his mouth down to hers once more for claiming. When he released her lips, she said, “Can you imagine if our wedding was the reason behind a string of English raids on castles left vulnerable because all the lairds are here?”
Conan had not thought about it, but she was right. If news did get down to certain leaders in England, they might realize the powerful draw of their wedding. While the clan leaders had journeyed north without the majority of their security, those who came had almost assuredly taken their best.
“All for the wedding of a woman they don’t know to a man they respect but don’t like,” she said. Conan had arched a brow, but said nothing. Mhàiri had shrugged. “It’s true, love. But admit it, you feel the same way about them.”
“Aye,” he had replied as he had nuzzled her neck, not wanting to let her go.
“I love you.”
“I’m surprised, with all the things being said tonight.”
She had pulled his head back and cupped his face in her hands so that he would look at her. “I do not care what they say or think. I only care about you and am so lucky you trust that.”
Conan had swallowed at the enormity of her words and their impact. It had been damn near impossible not pummeling those who’d wanted to tell Mhàiri about women from his past, but he had remained seated. He had seen the plea in her green eyes and he had complied. For her. Unable to speak, he had pulled her back into his arms for another steamy embrace that lasted several minutes.
He should have asked about all the men flirting with her. When he was around, he ended it, usually with nonverbal threats of harm, but he was not with her much of the time. Almost every laird had brought several soldiers with them, usually their elite guard. The fact that no one knew who Conan was marrying meant that when those soldiers met Mhàiri, they became immediately infatuated. Conan wanted to make sure that she was sending them scurrying and not protecting their feelings as she was more likely to do if they were nice. But holding her in his arms, he had forgotten everything, everyone. And before he had known it, Brenna had been whispering that someone was coming into the storage room.
“Aye, I miss my woman,” Conan grumbled, glaring at Colin. “She’s the only person who can carry on a decent conversation, and the reason that I cannot do so right now, privately and within the freedom of the outdoors, is because of people like you.”
“Me?” Colin yelped in surprise. “I’ve been here nearly a week! I got here even before Cole!”
Cole threw up his hands. “Blame Hamish—he only arrived yesterday.”
“I was forced to bring two pregnant women!” Hamish wailed, expressing just how difficult it had been to travel with his wife and also pregnant sister-in-law in those few words. “And there were a lot of us.”
Conan fixed a level stare on Hamish. “Why is that?” he asked earnestly. “I don’t know your brother, and I don’t know Laird Mackay. And neither of them know me.”
Hamish’s eyes flew to the end of the hall, where his brother and Laird Mackay were sitting drinking with other very powerful lairds. All three of them wished they had left a lot sooner. This gathering was unlike any before it and probably any that would come after. They had missed much by delaying their trip.
After the ice storm, the weather had been surprisingly cooperative. Scotland was not a dry land, but it had been a relatively dry spring that had come early. So the grounds had hardened, making it easier, safer, and quicker to travel. Hence, some who might have decided to stay home had changed their minds and decided to come. As the numbers of people and clans grew, more and more realized they would be the only ones not at the event and sent word that they, too, were on their way.
The training fields and those next to them had been taken over by large tents, corralled horses, and campfires. Training had been replaced with games of skill that anyone could participate in. And for those days it did rain, like this afternoon, lairds and some of their elite soldiers found their way to the crowded great hall to drink and talk. And the talk had been very interesting.
McTiernay was a large and powerful clan with several strong allies. Those allies also had strong allies, and many of them had come under the guise of seeing the most unexpected wedding ever known, but also so they would not be left out of any potential discussions. Those who were not there were noticeable. MacCoinnich, Andrias, Hamilton, and Keney were the most obvious. Hamilton and Keney were more important to Colin, as they were powerful Lowland clans. But MacCoinnich and Andrias were not. And MacCoinnich was just as powerful as the Mackays from the north. But unlike the Mackays, who had few truly trusted alliances due to their history, the MacCoinnichs had key strategic relationships in place that stretched from one side of northern Scotland through to Inverness.
Iain Mayboill strolled up to the group and wedged himself in between two McTiernays without worry that they might be offended or would not move. Conan could not think of another person in the world—including their eldest brother, Conor—whom they would have willingly shifted in their seats for. But they did it for Iain. Conan bit back a derisive comment, not to his future father-in-law, but to his brothers. He had to admit that Iain was a marvel. Mhàiri’s father had sold everything of any value that he had wanted to sell weeks ago and was just as antsy to leave as Conan was.
“That was a pretty good fight you and my daughter had yesterday.” Iain stared at Conan with mirth dancing in his eyes. The old man was intentionally stirring up trouble.
“Only fun if you get to make up. Which I didn’t.”
Iain pursed his lips together, but it did not do much to hide his smile. “That is true.”
“And furthermore, I won. It’s really not fair of Laurel not to let me spend time with my woman right after a fight.”
“Worse, you probably won’t win another argument for a long, long time,” Cole added, speaking from experience. Another “aye” came from Colin. And the rest were bobbing their heads. “Another reason for me to hate Laurel,” Conan added, directing this one to Conor.
“She loves this stuff. Not me,” Conor said in his defense.
“Nor me or Mhàiri. We should have just left,” Conan moaned. “Someday Scotland is going to have a place, some town, that people can rush off to in the dead of the night and wed without any fuss.”
Iain took a deep breath and slowly scanned the room. It was full and only getting more packed as the rain continued and it got closer to dinner. “I’m looking forward to tonight’s meal. I’m not sure how Fiona manages with these numbers, but the quality of what comes out of her kitchen is still some of the best food I’ve ever had.”
For the first month, hunters, falconers, and fishermen could find enough in the hills and lochs to feed everyone. Then they’d had to start butchering kyloe. Highland cattle were known for their long horns and long, wavy coats. “Thankfully, Laurel thought about food when she sent out the invitations,” Cole said.
Conan snorted. “That only proves she knew exactly what she was doing when she sent out the invitations. The woman is a menace.”
Cole’s head snapped back and he put his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me! I’m just glad I’m married and don’t have to worry anymore about her meddling in my love life. Which is just fine by the way.”
Hamish swung an arm over Cole’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “What? Chricton is now almost two. You never know.”
Cole narrowed his gaze. “I know. We agreed. Two were enough. One girl and one boy. Don’t need any more.”
“You need to talk to Makenna,” Colin grumbled. “We have three, one on the way, and I can tell she is nowhere close to done. She loves being a mother and the chaos that comes with it.”
Hamish grinned. “The McTiernay brood is growing.” He then looked out the window to the steady rain. “Have you noticed that it always rains when it is our turn to use the loch?”
“Aye,” Colin answered, pouring himself some more ale. He had no idea how much he had had, but no longer did it taste weak. “Looks like another cold one for us men.”
With so many at the castle and staying in tents, not only were food and space an issue, but bathing had become one as well. The kitchens were always operating at a furious pace, despite tripling the help. They had no time or room to heat water, leaving all to bathe in the loch, which was also needed by servants to do the laundry. With so many needing access, and privacy and space becoming an issue, Laurel had declared the morning for the women, directly followed by the launderers, and then the men could have the rest of the day since it was impossible to predict when the weather would turn or the games would be over. It had worked, but as the rain usually came in the afternoon, every man was grumbling that it was not fair.
“I can solve that problem today,” Conan muttered.
“Could you?” Hamish asked.
Conan nodded. He had been packed up and ready to go now for a month. Initially, he had actually been glad for some more time to prepare. Mhàiri’s father had traveled all his life with a wagon and had many ideas to make theirs as comfortable and roomy as possible. As a result, night, storms, and cold weather would not be nearly as difficult to endure. “Since the day the cart was done and loaded, I have been ready to leave.”
Cole, who had been leaning on his elbows, which were on the table, began to wag his finger as an idea occurred to him. “I’m surprised you did not leave and return in the nick of time.”
“Like you?” Conan chided. “And I did leave. I was gone for a week and had gotten back right when you arrived. I actually thought I had arrived just in time for our wedding. I had no idea that Laurel would insist on waiting for every affirmative answer she received.”
Hamish grinned. So did Colin, Conor, and Cole. Conan looked around. Everyone was smiling. “You all are loving this!” he shouted. “This is all fun for you! Keep it up and I’ll make sure your trip was pointless by sneaking Mhàiri away and getting married alone.”
This only brought more smiles.
* * *
Mhàiri watched the hard rain fall as she sat on one of the padded seats in Laurel’s day room, which, along with Conor’s day room above it and the solar on the top floor, made up the only three rooms in the castle that had not been turned over to guests or extended family.
The rain had been falling steadily now for an hour, and with all the people, the grass in the courtyard had been nearly trampled to death. Soon it would be a muddy nightmare. Before the wedding, the large bailey would have virtually emptied during such a downpour. With so many visitors and so much constantly needing to be done as a result, the commotion never ceased. Another reason the grass had no chance if the wedding was delayed much longer.
At first, Mhàiri had loved all the bustle and commotion. It reminded her of Christmastide. There were always new faces, and meal times were filled with hilarity as the group got larger. Her father was not the only one who had the gift of gab, and she found herself doubled over in stitches at least twice each meal before their plates were collected.
The additional time to make a dress had also been necessary. Laurel and Aileen had enlisted Nairne’s mother, Siùsan, to help with the wedding gown. It had been beautiful, with a scooped neck, butterfly sleeves, lace, and a sweeping train. Then Ellenor and Brighid had arrived. Brighid, whose skill with a needle Mhàiri had heard of for months, took a look and insisted it needed more. And the gown had only become more beautiful.
Unfortunately, during the modifications, the five women had chatted and all concurred that the gown, while beautiful, was not the right style or color. And they had been right.
The luxurious, rich blue bliaut they had made was stunning. Brighid had created a subtle floral embroidery all over the shimmery material. The sleeves’ wider openings narrowed down to the elbows, in a shape known as a bell sleeve, separated by lace. The front and back corset curved to her body, making her look even taller and slimmer. Mhàiri loved it and felt beautiful in it. All five had agreed, which was why they’d finished it, but they had also all agreed that it was still not what she should get married in.
The next ensemble had made her feel like a princess. Created out of the most beautiful material of jet black and purple crushed velvet Mhàiri’s father had acquired when in Europe last fall, the five women had created something truly spectacular. The dress and outer sleeves had been made with the velvet, and the neckline had been detailed with a black braid that also adorned the arm bands. The front corset was a stunning purple shade that also lined the inner sleeves.
Mhàiri loved it, but she did not want to wear something so dark. So a final dress had been made, and even if all five had thought it, too, could be outdone, Mhàiri would have stopped them. Nothing could outshine the final lavender gown, and thankfully all agreed. Mhàiri had her wedding dress.
Mhàiri had worried about the other dresses made and that Conor wouldn’t like the waste. But Laurel had assured her that Conor would have no idea, nor would he care, as long as it made all the women happy, especially his wife.
Mhàiri was very appreciative and very glad that it was over. She had helped a little, but her stitches were not as precise as Siùsan and Brighid’s. And Maegan had only been able to give her reprieves periodically as she was tasked with overseeing the ever-growing brood. When Makenna had arrived with her son and two daughters—both of whom looked and acted frightening like their mother—Maegan had threatened to run away. She had not been serious, but she had told Seamus later that she did not want a large family and hoped that Clyde would be fine with that since he had six brothers. Seamus had pointed out that he had only one sibling and thought one or two children the perfect number.
Maegan had told her that the last time they had been together. It had been a week ago, and they had been out watching the Highland games. Mhàiri had been capturing on paper some of what she saw when archery had begun and she had seen Laurel take aim. The woman was massively pregnant, but that had not seemed to affect her ability to shoot, for she had soundly beat all who had gone against her. That had given Mhàiri the courage to join the competition of dagger throwing. She had been surprised when Laurel, too, had entered.
“Conor’s men always go on about what I can do with a bow and arrow, but they forget what I can do with a dirk.” Then she had looked at what was in Mhàiri’s hand and asked, “Can you throw as well?”
The competition had soon whittled down to just a handful. That was when Mhàiri had noticed Conan was in the crowd, standing next to a scowling Conor. Neither of them had looked happy to know their loved ones were so deadly. Mhàiri had eventually won, and Laurel had said that her pregnancy was throwing her slightly off. Mhàiri had not thought so, but she would love the chance to challenge Laurel again someday and told Conan that at dinner. Unfortunately, before he could respond, she had been overheard and the topic had caused quite a stir of questions being aimed at her.
At first, all the attention had been great for her ego and self-confidence, but it had not been long before it had become old—very old. A month of answering questions about her life, her skills with a knife, her drawing, the languages she spoke, did she think she was smarter than Conan, did she really love him, how could she tolerate his company, and so many more, had made her want to sneak off, grab Conan, tell the priest their promises, leave, and break in their new cart.
She loved the new cart. It was beyond perfect, and she wished she could have joined Conan when he had taken it out for a test run. She had wanted to be there for its first use, but her man had not been happy with all the delays and she had wanted him to be. She, on the other hand, was not going to be happy until she stopped sleeping with little Bonny and started sleeping with Conan as his wife. At least she was not in bed with Brenna, who moved around in her sleep. She often woke Maegan and nearly pushed her out of the bed, despite its large size.
Maegan was one of the only reasons she had yet to tell Laurel that enough time had passed and the ceremony would be taking place immediately. Maegan and Seamus loved each other. It was etched all over their faces, but something had happened at Christmastide and they stopped talking to one another. Thankfully they were speaking again, but both were pretending that things were as they had been before. Neither wanted to lose their friendship, and neither knew how to move forward without jeopardizing it. This careful dance they were doing with each other could not be sustained forever, and Mhàiri feared that Maegan would need a friend before long if she made the wrong decision. Because soon, and Mhàiri feared that her wedding might be the catalyst, Seamus was going to give Maegan an ultimatum. One he probably did not want to give, but had to.
Giggles were coming from behind her, and Mhàiri glanced back over her shoulder. There were so many pregnant women around it was overwhelming. Laurel was due within the month, and Crevan’s wife, Raelynd, who was due either in May or June also looked as if she could have a child at any moment. Not much further off was Colin’s wife, Makenna, who had been born and raised in the Lowlands, but acted as if she were a Highlander through and through. Mairead, Hamish’s wife, just beamed when she was not conspiring. The only wives who were not pregnant were Ellenor, Cole’s wife, her best friend, Brighid, and Meriel, who was married to Craig and had had a child only a year before.
The door opened. In walked a woman whom Mhàiri immediately knew to be both kind and friendly. She had thick reddish brown hair and a smattering of freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. When she smiled, her brown eyes literally twinkled.
Upon seeing who had entered, Laurel gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth just as Raelynd and Meriel squealed with delight. “Rowena! ”
This was immediately followed by “Meriel!” and a “Mo chairde, Raelynd, you are huge!”
The three women hugged and laughed and danced the best they could with Raelynd being so large. It was only after several minutes of revelry and talking about how Cyric, her husband, had finally been able to break away that they remembered they were not alone and why everyone was there.
The bride. The bride whom no one knew. The bride whom everyone was here to meet. It seemed they really had little interest in Conan. They wanted to meet her. To see her and determine what kind of woman Conan was willing to marry and just could possibly be willing to marry him. Mhàiri was tired of it.
“Rowena,” Meriel said, grinning and gasping for breath, “meet Mhàiri.”
Like everyone, Rowena’s eyes grew wide with surprise, and then what could only be labeled as a skeptical smile followed. It was as if they were surprised by her appearance and then had trouble envisioning her with Conan. “Why does everyone do that?” Mhàiri asked bluntly, pointing to Rowena’s face.
“What?”
“That look of surprise. Don’t deny it. You are not the only one. Practically everyone does it when they first meet me. Why?”
Rowena looked back at her friends, who seemed just as shocked by the small outburst. But her husband, Cyric, was very gifted in the ways of diplomacy, and over the years she had learned a few things. First was not to be affronted by honesty. In fact, do the opposite and embrace it. Rowena sat down beside Mhàiri. “I guess you do probably feel like a specimen being inspected, but trust me, if my expression is like everyone else’s, you have not been found wanting.”
Mhàiri swallowed. “Well, that is a relief. But that smile was not one of happiness. It was more amazed than genuine.”
Rowena laughed. “Well, first, I was surprised at how beautiful you are. I mean, you truly are stunning. Conan may be a very good-looking man, but he is a difficult one. And since you are being blunt, I will, too. I am not a beautiful woman—”
“You are too!” came the cries from her best friends and distant cousins.
“I am far from unpleasant, but I am not a beauty and I know it. I’ve watched many beautiful women, though, over the past few years. My husband works directly for and with the king in diplomacy matters so I have seen too many to count around court. And beautiful women, well, usually seek someone who would fawn over them. They certainly would not be interested in a man with Conan’s difficult temperament. As far as my mischievous smile, you are not just marrying a McTiernay. You are marrying Conan—the McTiernay everyone has heard of.”
Mhàiri was not sure she could handle another story about Conan and his life before meeting her. And what she had discovered was that those who only knew Conan by reputation were spreading what they had been told, not the truth.
Mhàiri wanted to say it was physically impossible to have been with that many women, to have scorned them and left their hearts bleeding as he heartlessly walked away. She knew the truth. His eye had been caught by a pretty face numerous times, and he could count on one hand how many had turned him down for a kiss. But it had never gone beyond that because by that time he had found nothing beyond their looks of any interest. He had limited his actual sexual activities to a couple of widows. Who they were she did not know and hoped never to find out. That was his past. What was important was that Conan had not touched another woman since meeting her, including the times they had not been talking.
Despite most everyone’s stories about Conan being drenched in fiction, the tales kept coming . . . usually over dinner and in the earshot of Conan himself. It had taken everything in Conan not to stand up, pummel the storytellers, and create a scene that launched a massive fight. It had happened once before, Maegan had told her, but Mhàiri knew the reason Conan did not was because of her.
What was worse were the looks from people who did know Conan. They just could not believe someone was willing to deal with his rude behavior. Raelynd had been the worst of them.
She and Meriel were not on bad terms with Conan, but neither were they really on good terms with him either. They enjoyed sniping at him and pushed him to snipe back. A couple weeks ago at dinner, both women had been relentless, and when he had had something to say to Mhàiri, he had used the same tone and surliness.
“This is all your fault,” he had said, the malicious tone unmistakable and aimed directly at Mhàiri. “If you had simply told Laurel no and gotten married when we first wanted to I would not have to put up with any of this, especially those two.” His eyes darted to a hostile Raelynd and then Meriel, who at least looked apologetic for pushing him so far.
It was the first time that any visitor had heard Conan be rude to Mhàiri. They had all known he would eventually and stared at Mhàiri to see her response. Would she explode in anger, making him explode in kind? Would she meekly apologize?
Mhàiri had studied him for a moment and then shrugged. “What really is angering you is that I would do all of this”—she twirled her fork around in the air—“again if we had the option. I have no regrets about wanting a wedding, nor will I suddenly attain them because you, Meriel, and Raelynd cannot act like mature adults in each other’s company.”
Meriel’s jaw had dropped, but Raelynd, who had been listening intently to see how Mhàiri would explode and rip into Conan like she would have, had sat frozen with shock. Her eyes had swiveled to her husband, Crevan, for support. He had just thrown up his hands and said, “You know it’s true. You have been intentionally poking at him every night, waiting to see what will happen.”
“You should have said something!” Raelynd had shouted at him. “I’m pregnant, not fragile!”
Creven had shaken his head. “Not until my babe is safely in this world.” Raelynd had sat and fumed and probably would have said more if Conan had not made a threat.
“If you feel that I am so immature, maybe I should leave.”
Mhàiri had bobbed her head. “That is one of the better ideas you’ve had in a while. Go test our cart for a week. By the time you return, everybody will have to be here and we can finally marry.”
While that had been the perfect response for Conan, it had been the wrong one for everyone else. Mhàiri had been expected to get mad and yell, like all other McTiernay wives. Some had begun to wonder if her and Conan’s relationship was not one of passion, but more one of convenience. The craziest rumor following that night had been that she was afraid of Conan.
Then, yesterday, all those rumors, thoughts, and concerns had been put to rest. Mhàiri had not been looking for a reason to fight with Conan, and yet that was exactly what had happened.
She had gone to her old room in the Warden’s Tower to get one of her hemp books and discovered that every last book was missing. She had charged into Conan’s room and found them safely among his things. Unfortunately, he had not been there to explain why he had had them moved . . . but he had been in the courtyard.
“Of course I moved the damn things!” he had yelled back. “Do you know who is sleeping in your chambers? Donald and Brighid and their three sons.” He had waved three fingers in her face.
Mhàiri had forgotten this, but felt it did not matter if Conan had a good reason to move her things. He had done so without telling her; therefore, he should have expected she would be angry. “And what would your reaction be if you suddenly found all your things gone from where you knew them to be just because someone got it in their head that they weren’t safe?”
“But they weren’t safe!”
“They were mine to move!”
“Aye, and that’s why I did it! But trust me, I won’t make that mistake again!”
All throughout the argument, more and more people had surrounded them. Those from McTiernay Castle had stopped for a moment because it had been something new to watch Conan and Mhàiri raise their voices, but after a few minutes they’d realized it was no different from Laurel and Conor. The others, however, had been intrigued and their eyes had been completely glued on the two of them. As a result, it had been impossible to make up after their argument, which was doubly upsetting because she had won.
Rowena patted her knee with a smile, bringing Mhàiri’s attention back to the women surrounding her. “Cyric told me to tell you that Laird MacInnes’s group has been spotted and is less than a day away. He will be here in the morning.”
Laurel clapped her hands together. “Mhàiri, he is my grandfather and Conan’s godfather. Once he is here, there is no reason to wait any longer.” She leveled her gaze on Mhàiri, whose heart started rapidly beating. “Tomorrow afternoon at sunset, we are going to have a wedding.”