Chapter Sixteen
Mhàiri stood beside the great oak looking at Conan as they took their vows. The weather was perfect. Not a cloud was in the sky. The rain from the previous afternoon had passed on in the early hours, and since Neal’s back was no longer hurting, the rain was not going to return for the rest of the day.
The massive crowd of onlookers was indescribable. Mhàiri had been told hundreds had come in, and she had seen many of them in and around the castle. The great hall had been filled with lairds and ladies from clans all over Scotland. The lower hall had been more than full with their elite guards. Tents were everywhere. When she had gone to bathe in the morning, the loch had been crowded with women. And yet she still had no idea exactly how many people had come to watch her and Conan marry until she had stood on that hill and looked out. One could not see hills or grass. Only people. It was incredible, astonishing, and almost beyond comprehension. It was also beautiful.
The only ones missing were Conan’s brother Clyde and her sister, Shinae. She was too new to her vows to be free to travel, and no one knew where Clyde was. Last they had heard from him was almost three years ago. He had been among King Robert’s forces who had invaded Ireland in 1315 to free the country from English rule. Both Clyde and Shinae were missed, but Conan and Mhàiri refused to let their absence rob them of any joy.
Conan had seen many beautiful women in his life. His brother Conor had married one of the most stunning females he had ever seen. Laurel with her light blond hair and blue-and-green-colored eyes could captivate a man’s soul with just a look. But never had Conan seen anything or anyone who could compare with his Mhàiri.
He had seen her radiant in the past, but her beauty shined for all to see. The afternoon sun created a halo effect around her flower-bedecked figure. Mhàiri looked ethereal, almost surreal. Her dress was of the palest lavender satin, with a cream tulle overskirt—simple, elegant, and unadorned except at its hem and scooped neckline, where hundreds of seed pearls and lilac glass beads seemed to shimmer. She carried a small posy of violets and cream roses, mirroring the flowers in her hair.
Mhàiri looked at him, and Conan could feel his heart melt. Her smile could light up an area on a moonless night for miles. And today, he was the reason behind her smile. It humbled him. This beautiful, perfect creature loved him enough to be his wife. He was not worthy of her. He never would be. But then, no one ever would be.
Mhàiri’s cheeks hurt. She could not stop smiling, and she did not want to. The McTiernay nobody had thought would ever marry was pledging himself to her. She had actually found a man to love. A man who loved her fully and completely. Who knew who she was, what she needed, and how to make her truly happy.
Conan was not perfect, but he was perfect for her. They would argue and challenge each other probably daily, but they would also open each other’s minds in ways no one else could. She suspected one lifetime with this man was not going to be enough.
* * *
The happy couple waved to the crowd and headed to where several large bonfires had been erected and were waiting to be lit, signifying the wedding celebration was to begin. Tonight, there would be no restrictions on the meat, the bread, or the ale. All were to feast and be merry until there was not a drop left to drink or a morsel left to eat.
Maegan had been standing near Mhàiri, along with her other closest friends up on the hill. She had been paying attention to the ceremony and the vows, but she had also been scanning the crowd as well.
A week ago, Seamus had said they were going to talk directly after the wedding ceremony, whenever it took place. The comment had left her anxious because she knew what he was going to demand. Seamus wanted a future. He wanted a wife. He wanted her to be that wife. And he wanted to know if that was a dream he needed to let go of or one she was willing to share with him.
All week, Maegan had struggled with the answer.
Her heart wanted two men. It was impossible for her to choose, but Mhàiri had pointed out an inconvenient truth. Seamus was not forcing her to choose; her heart had forced that choice upon her when it had fallen for Seamus. Because if Clyde had returned, would she not have to make a choice then? Would she give up a man she had loved for years for Seamus? Or would she choose a man she probably no longer knew over Seamus, who knew and loved her for who she was today?
Maegan was honestly not sure. She loved Clyde. She had loved him, body and soul, for so long she wondered if it was even possible to split him from her hopes, her dreams . . . her heart. She was not sure she could. And would it be fair to love Seamus, but not in the same way?
It had been a week, and all Maegan had were questions. She still lacked answers. But to Seamus, no response would be an answer.
She could not reject her love for Clyde. And yet, she could not lose Seamus. Just the thought of Seamus not being in her life made her tremble with fear and ache that physically hurt.
Maegan scanned the crowd again, looking for Seamus’s tall frame and dark blond hair. Her eyes were moving from one person to the next when they landed on one face that she would always recognize she had dreamed of it so many times. It was one that, until that very moment, she had never truly believed she would see again.
Clyde.
All the McTiernay brothers had the same dark brown hair, but only two had gray eyes. The first—Conor—and the last—Clyde.
Clyde had come home.
He was here. And yet he was not, for it was clear he did not want anyone to know he was here.
He looked different. So different that people who stood right next to him, who knew him and should have recognized him by sight, had no idea Clyde McTiernay was in their presence.
He was much larger than she remembered and he wore a full beard. His youthful lankiness had disappeared and had been replaced with a man’s body. Muscles rippled underneath his leine. His arms were massive, and his hands looked calloused from hours wielding a weapon. He appeared relaxed, and yet his stance made her think he was always ready for an attack. His gaze was on the happy couple saying their vows and held a strangely detached quality that was disturbing. What had happened to him?
Then, without warning, his eyes shifted to hers. Nothing else about him moved, but in those few seconds of mutual recognition, Maegan saw it. Love. Pain. Defeat. Despair. And then it was gone. But it was too late. She had seen the truth.
In that moment, she made up her mind. She loved Seamus. She did. He was her best friend, her confidant, her support. But he was not her soul mate. Her heart was seared with anguish seeing Clyde hurting so much.
As soon as the ceremony was at a point she could move, Maegan started running. But Clyde had started moving too, and he was unnaturally adept at maneuvering through crowds. Maegan refused to give up and kept charging through, fighting a crowd that wanted to go the opposite direction she was headed in. But finally she spotted him once more and started picking up speed.
She knew that Clyde thought that he had lost her because he did not increase his gait once he was alone. She followed him as he made his way through all the tents and temporary stable setups until he reached one. He stopped, untied the reins of a horse, and was leading the animal out of the penned area when he saw Maegan.
His jaw tightened and his body froze.
Maegan, however, was not inclined to stare and launched herself at him, hugging him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re home. Clyde, you’re home,” she whispered into his chest. Nothing felt better than when his arms curved around her and held her close.
Maegan felt his mouth in her hair. She absorbed the trembles that went through his frame. She inhaled the one scent that could only be described as Clyde. He was home.
“I’ve waited for so long for you to come back to me.” Her face was pressed into him, muffling her voice. “But I knew you would. I knew it.”
And then it happened.
Clyde changed. Maegan could feel it. It was as if someone had poured ice water into his veins. He released her, gripped her shoulders, and pushed her away from him. “I did not return to you, and I am not home. I came simply to see my brother marry. Now that I have, I am leaving and I do not intend to return again.”
Maegan’s breath caught in her throat. “I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “You love me.” She reached out and grabbed his forearm. She stared into mercury eyes and saw the truth. “I can see it. You can say what you want to leave, but you cannot deny that you still love me.”
Clyde stood for what seemed like an eternity, quiet and not moving, before he spoke. “Aye. I loved you. And you loved me at one time.” His eyes swept down her frame and back up. “But I am not who I was. You no longer know me. If you did, you would know that I don’t have the power to love anymore. That emotion was stripped from me long ago so, if you have been waiting for my return, don’t. This is no longer my home.”
Maegan’s hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes were wide with shock and pain. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I’m not coming back, Maegan,” he said in a resolute voice. “And I am not coming back to you.”
Maegan stumbled back. She had felt the impact of Clyde’s words as if he had struck her physically.
She had loved him. The forever kind of love. The kind of love that could not be destroyed or killed. The kind that inspired a person to travel great distances to be reunited. The kind that one seized onto and did not let go of. She had felt that for him, and she had known Clyde had felt that way about her. She had known it. There had been no doubt. That was why there had never been another.
But it had all been a lie.
“You don’t love me,” she said.
“I don’t even know you.”
“You don’t want me.”
“I don’t want anyone.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes once more. She could see Clyde’s pain. Hear it in every syllable. It was buried deep. So deep that it was one with him. “Are you happy, Clyde?”
Clyde’s jaw twitched. “Irrelevant question, Maegan.”
She closed her eyes and tilted her chin upward, hearing her name on his lips. “It isn’t. I need to know that you are happy.”
He looked up and refused to look her in the eye for nearly a minute. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t want you. Find a man who does.” Using his chin, he gestured behind her.
Maegan glanced over her shoulder, knowing whom she would see. Seamus. He was standing there. Watching. Listening. Waiting. Pain was etched on his face. He knew she loved Clyde. He knew her heart was breaking. He knew that she did not love him the same way. It was killing him. And yet he remained. For her. He was there because he knew she might need him.
“Go and live your life, Maegan. You only get one. Don’t waste it on me.” Clyde gave a tug on the reins and led his horse to where he could jump on. Then, without another word, without looking back even once, he left.
Maegan had known Clyde almost as far back as she could remember. She knew him. She knew the truth. Clyde still loved her as much as he ever had. He was hurting. He was in pain. Something was haunting him, eating away at him, making him believe he could not make her happy. So he had set her free in the only way he knew how.
Clyde was wrong. But it did not matter.
Just as her heart had known he had loved her as much as she had loved him, her heart knew the awful truth now. Clyde was not ever coming back.
Wooden legs took her to Seamus. He said nothing. He only opened his arms and enveloped Maegan the moment her body melted into his. He had been so afraid. He had known he loved her but had not known the depth of his feelings until he had seen her running through the crowd. He had chased her to see whom she was after and had been shocked to see that it had been Clyde.
He had been hugging Maegan in a way that left no doubt to anyone who saw them about his feelings. Clyde’s love was just as deep, just as sure, as Maegan’s. But when Clyde had let go, Seamus had seen something else in the man’s eyes. He had seen it before, though not in one as young as Clyde, but Seamus knew that look.
War ate at a man. It hollowed him in ways that someone who had never taken a life, had never stood in the middle of a bloody field after fighting to the death, at first for a cause and then just survival, would understand. It did something. It changed a person. Doing it for years either hardened hearts or turned men into shells. Clyde was a bit of both. He had been right to push Maegan away. He loved her, but he could not love her in the way she needed or deserved.
So when Clyde looked up and stared him in the eye, making Seamus promise to love her enough for the both of them, Seamus had nodded and prayed that Maegan would let him.
And then a miracle had happened. She had run into his arms. She had sought him out and clung to him, sobbing her pain and grief for another man. But she had come to him.
He had been so afraid that she wouldn’t. That she would run away and curl into herself, blocking out anything and everyone in an effort to get away from the pain. That she wouldn’t let him help her.
But Maegan had come to him.
She loved him.
Maybe not the same way she had loved Clyde, but maybe that was a good thing. It had not let her see the truth. That she had lost Clyde a long time ago when he had failed to return, opting to fight, rather than seeking happiness and the love of a good woman. Seamus had almost made that same mistake. But then he had met Maegan.
She did not know it, but she had saved him. And now it was his turn to save her.
* * *
Conan carried Mhàiri up three flights of stairs before he let her down. He wanted to carry her all seven flights to the solar, and he had intended to, but that had been a foolish ambition. Especially if he wanted to do anything tonight other than recover and pass out.
Mhàiri smiled up at him and then laughed. “I guess Hagatha won.” She giggled.
He frowned. “Won what?”
She reached up on her tippy-toes and gave him a light kiss. “You didn’t think men were the only ones who gambled on ridiculous things? When you announced that you were carrying me up to the solar, we all knew that was never going to happen. We all picked a level that you would stop at. Hagatha had three.”
Conan pursed his lips together, and he contemplated picking Mhàiri back up and carrying her the rest of the way. Three seemed like a very embarrassing number. “What number did you have? And you better not say one.”
Mhàiri grinned. “Seven.” When he reached down to pick her up, she scooted back. “While I have no doubt that you could carry me all seven flights, I have other plans for our last night in a real bed.”
Conan had nearly toppled over in shock when Laurel had said that she and Conor wanted them to have the solar for their wedding night, especially as it would be some time before the couple slept in comfort again. Then Conan had seen Conor’s face and realized his brother had not been so generous and was not happy that his wife had given away their bedchambers, even if it was for only one night. But Conan was not interested in making Conor happy. He only cared about Mhàiri’s happiness and there was no doubt she would love sleeping in the solar. And after he got to explore every inch of her body a few times, they would take a break, go to the top of the tower, and enjoy the view. Just thinking about it made Conan salivate.
He tapped Mhàiri’s bottom. “Hurry up, woman. For weeks, my body has been racked with pain without its only cure—you.”
Mhàiri had started her ascent but stopped and turned around. She was on a higher step and it almost brought them face to face. She curled her arms around his neck and said in a husky voice, “I ache for you too.”
“Murt!” he muttered. His hands were on her hips and then her bottom, squeezing her tightly against him so she could feel the evidence of his desire.
Mhàiri’s eyes grew large with excitement. She gave him a quick peck, turned around, and dashed up the remaining four stories to the solar. The room was massive and very masculine, and in the middle was an enormous bed. “How did they ever get that up here?”
Conan came behind her and pulled her back to his chest. He nuzzled her neck and murmured, “They didn’t. My father had it built in this room.”
Mhàiri pulled free and went to look out the window. She had had no idea she would be able to see so far from this high up. She could see the tents and the campfires lit in the distance. The bonfires were mostly obstructed by the curtain wall, but she could see that the crowds had not begun to die down. The party would last for several more hours. Mhàiri was glad she did not have to wait until everyone else was ready to sleep for her and Conan to finally be together. Then, as the world decided to at last sleep, she and Conan would awake and leave. They wanted to be gone by sunrise, embarking on their life and future at last.
Conan took off his shoes, belt, and tartan and tossed them to the side. He then walked up to Mhàiri and hugged her from behind. Slowly, he began to pull pins out of her hair and then tugged free the last ties that kept the intricate weave in place. Plunging his fingers into the thick mass, he gently pulled until the dark locks hung free. Next, very lightly, he slid her gown off her shoulder, revealing skin for him to savor and kiss. “You happy?”
“I am now,” she sighed, leaning back into him. “At first, planning the wedding was fun, but the last couple of weeks have been wearing.” She turned around in his arms. “Pregnant women are emotional, Conan. Like really emotional. Probably the scariest people on earth. They are impossible to talk to or reason with. And there were so many of them.”
Conan chuckled. It was deep in his chest, and Mhàiri could feel the slight vibration run throughout his body. “My brothers love their wives, and I suspect when you are large with our child, I will love you as well.”
Mhàiri wrinkled her nose at the idea. “Let’s wait. Like a long time. And if we ever decide to have a child, let’s visit someone who has lots of them and is pregnant. I’m sure that will change our minds quite quickly.”
Conan did laugh then. It was deep, warm, rich, and catching. Mhàiri could not help but join him. He held her close. Other men only thought they understood why he had broken down and asked her to marry him for Mhàiri was indeed beautiful and smart. But she was so much more—a great lover, a beautiful person, and gifted artist who possessed a razor-sharp intelligent wit. Even more importantly, Mhàiri was his best friend. Life was so much more than the shallow things of beauty and sex—though making love to Mhàiri was one of the best things he had ever experienced. But what he could not live without was her. Her friendship. Her ability to make him laugh.
He finally understood his brothers.
He finally understood what it was to have a sonuachar. A soul mate.
Mhàiri closed her eyes as she felt his lips brush her ear, then slide to her neck. She could feel Conan’s body and how it was strung tight. He wanted to go slow for her. It had been weeks, and he wanted to make things perfect. But in her mind, perfect did not involve slow. Maybe later, but right now, slow and gentle was not what she had in mind. “Conan. I need you. Now.”
Her body arched toward him as his mouth slid down her neck again. His hand was on her breast, teasing her nipple through the material. She writhed and mewled as his fingers teased, pinched, massaged, and stroked her. “What do you need, a ruin? Tell me your fantasies, and I’ll make them come true.”
“You,” she whispered. “You are my fantasy. My complete fantasy. I just need you.”
Conan’s control snapped. His lower body hardened to the point of pain. He needed to touch her, all of her, to join with her and feel her all around him.
He stepped back and stripped off his leine. Then she was back in his arms. His mouth descended as he went to work, undoing the laces of her dress. He pushed the garment off her shoulders so that it fell to her waist and then pulled her close. With a groan, he claimed her mouth and then traced the contours of her lips with his own. Immediately, her lips softened and then opened for him.
The feel of skin against skin caused Mhàiri’s thighs to tighten, trying to bring him even closer. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders and the tender kiss became demanding. She quivered, and Conan pulled her up into his arms and carried her directly to the bed.
Slowly, Conan lowered her onto the blanket and worked the rest of her clothes off. She was beautiful and strong, yet still fragile against his strength. After seven weeks, his need for her was almost all consuming. He needed to regain control, prepare her, or risk hurting her with his lust.
Breaking off the kiss, he eased back, looking at her lying naked in a bed. This would be the last night for a while either of them delighted in such comfort, and he intended for them both to enjoy it. Running large, rough hands up Mhàiri’s quivering body, Conan shifted his gaze to her eyes. They were locked with his, and he could read the passion and arousal in those green depths.
Mhàiri was on fire. Conan was gently stroking her skin, and she needed to touch him in return. She ran her hand down his chest, tracing old scars made from mishaps in training and near misses in battle. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered in awe as she followed the silky trail of hair from his navel downward.
“Men are not beautiful,” he rumbled, his voice gravelly, but adoring.
“My eyesight is perfect and so is my perception. You are perfect, which makes you beautiful.”
Kneeling on the bed, Conan braced a massive arm on either side of her head, sinking down for another passionate kiss. “Mhàiri,” he groaned as he rolled, pulling her up and over him.
She moved to straddle him, pulling away from his kiss. Conan looked up at her with blue eyes as she knelt across his body. His gaze said that he wanted her now. His hands curled around her waist and then moved slowly down, kneading her thighs, spreading them wide so she straddled him.
Gripping her hips, he lifted her and then watched her green eyes grow hazy as he slowly lowered her, pressing against her entrance, demanding entry. She was so hot, so wet, his massive arms started to quiver. He didn’t want to hurt her.
Mhàiri groaned. Conan was heat sheathed in velvet. Her glazed eyes bore into his. Her hips circled, wanting more.
“Easy,” he groaned, sweat beginning to slick his chest from the strain of holding back. “It’s been a while. We need to go slow. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Mhàiri was past all thought; only need ruled. “Conan,” she whispered and pulled him up into a wild kiss that had her wrapping her tongue around his. Then she impaled herself on him. He filled her.
His hips thrusted deep. He closed his eyes as her tightness surrounded his thick shaft.
Mhàiri rocked against him, pulling him deeper into her. Conan sat up, pressing his face between her breasts. He moaned. The sound vibrated through her chest. Mhàiri let her head loll back. She could feel her hair hanging down her back and across her buttocks. Conan took one of her nipples in his mouth again and brought the pink tip to its crested peak.
He matched her rhythm with gentle tugs of his mouth. The sensation seemed to spiral away from her, pulling her down and lifting her up at the same time. Mhàiri shuddered, rocking against him harder. Then she drew his face up to meet hers and kissed him aggressively. Her tongue explored every hot secret place in his mouth, pulling his ecstatic moans into herself.
Mhàiri dug her fingers into his hair, holding him close to her. Conan’s hands curved around her buttocks, dragging her tighter, faster, and harder. Mhàiri threw her head back with a stunned cry. Freezing, Conan held her still, fearing he had hurt her.
Bringing her head forward, Mhàiri locked passion-filled eyes to his and demanded more while trying to grind her hips into his. “Oh, God, please more!”
Easing his grip, Conan allowed Mhàiri to set the rhythm. Holding on to his shoulders, she circled her hips, building the tension to an unbearable level. Pulling her to his chest, he scraped his teeth along her lower jaw as he made his way to her swollen mouth. Once there, his kiss imitated their bodies.
Mhàiri dug her nails into his shoulders and screamed at the feelings sweeping through her—tumultuous, turbulent, wild, and untamed. She was no longer with Conan in the solar, but soaring, spiraling, and spinning out of control as waves of pleasure coursed through her body.
Mhàiri fell limp in Conan’s arms. Her head dropped onto his shoulder. Conan held her, running a soothing hand up and down her spine. When her breathing settled, she lifted her head and looked at him with dazed eyes. Moving to kiss his lips, she realized he had yet to find his own release.
“Conan,” she whispered, moving her hips slightly. She ran her hands up his sweat-drenched chest and eased herself back. The small movement had him groaning.
Putting her hands on either side of his face, she looked deep into his wild eyes, “Take me, Conan, I’m yours.” She kissed him again and his last bit of control finally broke.
Twisting her under him, he then held himself above her, bracing himself on his knees, pushing her legs further apart. He wanted to watch her face, watch himself as he slid into her, to see how much pleasure he could give her, how much love he could show her. “A ruin, I cannot get my fill of you,” he whispered hoarsely. His hand alighted on her breast, stroking her nipple between his fingers while his tongue feasted on her mouth.
Before long, he was driving into her, encouraged by her eager cries of pleasure. Her legs widened for him. Her back arched, causing her breasts to press against him. Her appetite for pleasure matched his own. Their hips were undulating in unison, their breaths mingling.
Mhàiri could feel it again, the hot pressure, molten lava building and building until her entire body was in danger of imploding. He thrust it deep into her and suckled her at the same time. She froze, her mouth open on a silent scream as she shattered once more. Her body pulsed, hot, around him. At the same time, Conan’s body shook with a fierce tension until, finally, his relief came in abundance, pulsating through him like a hellish heartbeat.
He rested his forehead on hers as he tried to regain his breath. He had never experienced a release like that. Each time got better and better.
Finally, his body slumped beside her though he did not let her go. He pulled her against him, laying kisses on the top of her head and streaking his hand down her spine. She sighed with satisfaction, burrowing deeper into his chest.
“I have a confession,” he murmured into her hair. “I did not change my mind about marrying because you proved you could be happy with the life we are going to live.”
Mhàiri tried to pull back, but his gentle grip was uncompromising so she sank back into his chest. “Why then did you agree?”
“Because of that first night with you. It just took me a while to remember. When I held you in my arms and we made love, it was the first time in my life my mind had ever been calm. With you, like this, is the only way I have ever known true peace and happiness. I need you, Mhàiri.” He eased his grip then to look down into her loving gaze. “I truly cannot live without you. If you were ever to learn how to draw a person’s soul, Mhàiri, and drew mine, you would discover that you were drawing yourself.”
Mhàiri reached up and stroked his cheek. “You are mine, Conan McTiernay. All mine. Forever mine.”
Conan bent down and captured her lips in a soul-searing kiss. Both decided that sleep could wait a little bit longer.
* * *
“Would you stop moving?” Laurel hissed.
Conor squirmed and put his other arm behind his head. “I wouldn’t be moving if we were in our own bed,” he groused.
Laurel poked him in the side. “Do not talk to me about discomfort. You have never carried a McTiernay bairn inside you for nine months.”
Conor huffed. “Women always like to use that excuse. You’ve never been pregnant. You don’t know real pain until you deliver a baby. Back hurts, having to go all the time . . . we husbands are very aware that the end is no fun, but you’ve never run into battle with a blade either.”
“You and I both know that you find the administrative duties of leading a large clan much more tedious than battle.”
“I just hope Conan is appreciating this little present you gave him. I’m not happy that you are out here in a tent that was supposed to be for him. You and my child need to be in a bed. Warm. Protected.”
Laurel snuggled closer. “I am warm next to you. And I am protected when next to you.”
Conor shifted again, and Laurel fought the urge to slap him like she would a puppy and say “Settle!”
“How long do you think it will be before people will start to leave?”
Laurel sighed. Her husband longed for peace and quiet. He wanted his life back. “Fortunately for you, I think it will be rather soon. Your brothers want to get their wives home as quickly as possible. They will not want to risk having a babe during the journey.”
“That wouldn’t happen. None of them are far enough along.”
Laurel smiled and placed a light kiss on Conor’s chest. “Not if they take their time and keep the ride smooth. But all of them insisted on coming. Their wives know what they are and are not capable of. Not a single one would risk their child. I am not worried.”
Conor closed his eyes. “You can keep doing that,” he moaned as she swiped her tongue across his nipple. “And you better be right about everyone leaving. I miss you.”
Laurel suckled and then let her hand drift downward. “Once they leave, others who might have stayed will follow their lead. Especially now that we’ve run out of ale.”
“We didn’t,” he groaned as her fingers lightly caressed his shaft. “I saved some for us.”
Laurel smiled. “Then you deserve a reward.”
Her hand curled around him, and Conor was once again amazed at how much love he felt for his wife. And as soon as she was done with him, he would show her. “If Conan and Mhàiri find even the slightest sliver of the happiness I have found with you, they are destined for a long and wonderful life.”
Laurel could not have agreed more.