Chapter Three
Mhàiri cringed from her seat on the cart. Conor had ridden with them most of the way, but once they had neared the gatehouse, he had urged his horse ahead. As they were still making their way to the gates, Mhàiri could hear him bellow out Laurel’s name, demanding to be told where she was.
Father Lanaghly, who had returned to his cart seat when Conor had rejoined their group, mumbled how it was odd that Laurel was not in the courtyard waiting. “After a lengthy time apart, Lady McTiernay has never not greeted the laird upon his return home. As soon as he is spotted by the watchers on the towers, she goes to the bailey or, if the weather is poor, inside the great hall until he arrives. That she still has not welcomed him home only confirms that something is indeed wrong with her ladyship.”
Mhàiri’s eyes widened, hearing the priest’s concern. She had discerned from the various comments that something was bothering Lady McTiernay. Until now, she had refrained from putting much credence into the supposition that it was serious. When they spoke of her, everything indicated that her ladyship had seemed healthy, but maybe that, too, had been an incorrect assumption. Mhàiri hoped Lady McTiernay was fine, not just because her own temporary well-being and quarters were based on Laurel’s generosity, but because she knew, after spending three days with his lairdship, that if something were seriously wrong with his wife, he would be crushed—physically, mentally, and emotionally. Her father had loved her mother that way and when she had died, he had been lost for a long time.
As they entered the courtyard, the doors of what looked to be the great hall were flung open and again, Mhàiri heard Conor roar for his wife as he exited into the courtyard headed to what looked like a smaller hall.
Mhàiri looked at Conan, who merely shrugged, showing no concern. “Conor really loves his wife,” he said with ease. “Don’t ask me why. She’s pretty to look at, but she’s also mean.”
Mhàiri could not help herself and laughed. “That’s not what Father Lanaghly says.”
“He’s a priest. He has to lie.”
Father Lanaghly narrowed his eyes briefly on Conan and pulled the cart to a stop next to the stables. Conan halted next to him, jumped down, and then helped Mhàiri off the uncomfortable seat.
Mhàiri stretched her limbs, feeling circulation return to them. “So what makes her so mean?” she asked in a hushed but playful tone.
Conan crossed his arms and leaned against the larger cart. “I told you. She is a meddlesome creature who truly enjoys torturing me.”
Mhàiri laughed again. Conan was being earnest, and yet she could tell his comments were also coming from a place of love. He thought of Laurel as Shinae was to her—an older sister. “And you think to convince me that none of this supposed torture is deserved?”
Conan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You haven’t even met Laurel and yet you take her side.” He raised his brows and pointed to his elder brother, who was exiting the lower hall.
“If someone does not tell me where my wife is in the next five seconds, lives are going to be lost!” Conor roared, and for the first time, the people of the courtyard jumped. If they did not think he had meant it before, they did now. For suddenly they were moving, most of them heading somewhere that would take them out of the laird’s sight.
When Mhàiri entered the courtyard, she had expected to see people bustling around, fawning over their laird and attempting to see to his needs, but aside from the stable boy taking his horse, people seemed unfazed by Conor’s presence and his bellowing. They smiled and greeted him as if he had just been out for a ride and acted as if he was cheerful and in a good mood. Now, however, they seemed to realize that their laird was truly not happy and his anger was going to shift to them.
Suddenly, a burly man with red and gray hair and matching frizzy beard ran by them from the direction of the gatehouse they had just entered. He was not very tall, but his large chest and biceps hinted at enormous strength. Conor spied him right after Mhàiri had. “Fallon! Where have you been? Where is Laurel?”
Conan leaned down and whispered in Mhàiri’s ear, “Fallon is Conor’s steward.” Mhàiri’s eyes grew wide and she nodded.
“Calm yourself, Laird McTiernay,” Fallon huffed, trying to catch his breath. He did not look to be out of shape so Mhàiri guessed he had been running some distance to get there. “Lady McTiernay is here and well, and no doubt will be out very soon.”
“Something is wrong,” Conor stated, his voice cold. Gone was the reserved but pleasant laird who had traveled with them. In his stead was a dangerous man. He was not one to be managed or calmed. He wanted one thing, and Mhàiri prayed Fallon realized that because he looked as if he was about to argue with Conor rather than producing his wife.
Fallon shook his head while waving his hands back and forth. Before he could say anything shouts of “Athair!” rang through the air.
Mhàiri swiveled her head to see who was shouting for their father when she spied five people emerging from the massive seven-story tower located on the far side of the courtyard. The first to emerge was a tall, very thin woman with thick, umber-colored hair who looked to be near or about Mhàiri’s age. She was holding the hands of two girls, one with pale tresses and the other with deep brown locks. Both girls were eagerly dragging her toward Conor, who was obviously their father from their shouts to him. Behind them were two lanky boys who were not small, but had several years before they would be men. One of them Mhàiri absolutely knew was Conor’s son by his looks and mannerisms.
Conor had spun around at their shouts. When he knelt down, the two young girls let the woman’s hands go and flew across the courtyard into Conor’s outstretched arms.
“Where is your mother?” he asked each of them.
“We missed you!”
“Brenna got in trouble every day, Papa,” the littlest said.
“You got in trouble too!”
“Not every day,” came the quick and huffy retort, her brown curls flouncing.
“Where is your mother?” Conor asked each of them again, this time a little more strongly.
The eldest gave him another big hug. “She’s coming.”
Mhàiri saw Conor look at the sky as he stood back up. She suspected he was praying. Conor then looked down at the two boys, who had ambled up, refusing to look as eager to say hello as the girls. Their dancing eyes, however, made it clear that they were just as glad to see him.
“Welcome home, Laird,” the tawny-haired boy stated.
“Athair,” said the slightly taller lad with dark brown hair and unusually blue eyes. They were not the bright blue of Conan’s, but that of the sea during a storm.
“Son,” Conor said gruffly and engulfed him in a bear hug the boy readily returned. The amount of affection between Conor and his children was a reminder of how much Mhàiri missed her own father.
“Braeden, where is your mother?” Conor asked, his tone striving to remain patient, but Mhàiri suspected he had very little left.
“Wet,” Braeden replied, laughing, thinking his answer funny. He immediately realized his father was not amused. “Mama, uh, was taking another bath. She told me to tell you that she would be out directly and to, um . . . uh . . . stop all your shouting. That you are scaring everyone, including some visitor.”
Mhàiri bit her lip to keep from smiling. The boy was definitely a McTiernay.
“Your mother is well?” Conor pressed.
Braeden’s brows shot up, as he was clearly baffled by the question. “I . . . think so. She yelled at Gideon and me earlier and we didn’t do anything wrong, so she’s not in a good mood. Is that what you mean?”
“No.” Conor took a deep breath and exhaled. “What visitor? Who is staying here without my knowledge?”
Braeden pulled his head back, and his puzzled look became one of pure confusion. He looked over to the stables and pointed.
Mhàiri’s eyes grew wide seeing the finger was pointed in her direction. She felt as if she were being accused of something. “You look scared.” Conan chuckled under his breath.
“Why would I be scared?” Mhàiri murmured back, hoping she looked calmer than she felt.
“Don’t know. I don’t have access to your thoughts, though I suspect if I did, I’d still be confused as to why you look scared.”
“He’s still pointing at me,” Mhàiri hissed.
“That’s just Braeden. He’s probably doing it because he sees that it unnerves you,” Conan explained blithely. “He thinks because he is tall for a ten-year-old that he is practically a man.”
Conor was about to head toward the tall tower when the sounds of chittering women caught everyone’s attention.
“Finally,” Conan mumbled. “That one is Laurel, Conor’s wife,” he said, pointing to the beautiful woman with pale blond hair. “And in tow are her two best friends. Aileen is the fairly pretty one with the light brown hair. She is Gideon’s mother.” He gestured to the boy who was standing next to Braeden. “And Finn’s wife.” He then angled his thumb to a large man who, along with similarly large soldiers, had mysteriously arrived next to Fallon when Mhàiri had not been looking. “He’s the commander of Conor’s elite guard and someone you really should stay clear of. The man never smiles. And I mean never.” Mhàiri stole a quick peek at him and confirmed Finn’s face completely lacked expression. “I’m serious. The man’s lips have never curled in their life.”
Mhàiri swallowed. The commander was another person she needed to remain in good graces with or else she might find herself suddenly with nowhere to stay.
She glanced around. With the arrival of Laurel, faces of those who worked around the castle were starting to appear once more. In a few minutes, the courtyard would be bustling once again.
“And who is she?” Mhàiri asked when another woman came from the tower and started waddling out to the group. She was built like a cauldron, round in the middle and made of iron. No effort had been made to tame her wild, slightly graying flame-colored hair. She wore a man’s leine underneath her plaid arisaid, which was tied off with a large leather strap. Her expression was a strange combination of a scowl and a smile—something Mhàiri had never seen before and found quite intimidating.
“Is that . . . Fiona?” Mhàiri asked, remembering what Conan had said about the old cook.
“Fiona?” Conan snorted. “At this time of day, she’s in the kitchen. Not even the fight that’s about to happen could drag her out here.”
“You are expecting someone to fight?”
Conan nodded. “Seeing Hagatha here? Absolutely.” He crossed his arms again. “Hagatha’s the midwife, and for some inexplicable reason, the old bat is fond of Laurel and she of her. But the eyesore normally lives north of here—Ow!” He yelped in midsentence when Mhàiri’s elbow collided with his ribs. He rubbed them and frowned. Mhàiri gave him an unapologetic look. Conan rolled his eyes. Maybe “eyesore” had been a little rude, but it was the truth.
“So if Hagatha is around,” he continued, “it almost confirms that things are not as well as Laurel would like them to appear. Conor knows this and will be demanding an explanation. Just wait.”
Mhàiri rolled her eyes, but instead of debating the prediction, she turned to watch the couple and see if Conan was right.
Upon seeing Laurel, Conor pulled her into his arms and gave her the kind of kiss that inspired people to write songs and ballads about love. “A shìorraidh!” Mhàiri said under her breath. She was shocked and just a little bit jealous.
“Aye.” Conan sighed. “Best get used to it. They kiss a lot.”
Mhàiri nudged his arm with her shoulder and, with a triumphant smile, said, “They’re not fighting.”
“Kiss first. Then comes the fight. Then they’ll probably kiss again. It’s a pattern they follow regularly. Sometimes I think they argue just to have a reason to make up.”
Conor and Laurel finally ended their heated embrace and Mhàiri had a good view of Laurel. Beautiful was such a shallow word for the woman. She had long, wavy pale gold hair and fair skin, and her height only made her look ethereal and delicate. She was, in many ways, Mhàiri’s opposite. Where Mhàiri was dark, Laurel was fair. Where Laurel had dark eyes like that of a storm, Mhàiri’s were light green.
Conor framed Laurel’s face in his large hands. “I see circles under your eyes and you are thinner. But what is most disturbing is your presence, Hagatha.” He looked up and stared at the frizzy redhead who was not in the least unsettled by his severe look. “I knew something was wrong when I left,” he said, once again looking at Laurel. “What is it? What don’t I know?”
Laurel just went on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on his cheek. She then popped out of his embrace and scanned the crowd. Her eyes stopped when they hit the carts near the stables. “You must be Mhàiri!” she exclaimed and moved with the aim of giving Mhàiri a warm welcome.
However, Laurel got no more than two steps before Conor stopped her. “Answer my question, woman.”
Mhàiri watched as Laurel stopped and her blue eyes turned a stormy color before facing Conor. “Woman?” Her voice was sharp and the words were clipped. “I’m going to let that go because you have been on the road and are tired, but you know that never ends in success.”
“Answer the question, Laurel.”
She smoothed her bliaut down in an effort to calm her obviously spiked emotions. “There is nothing wrong. I would tell you if there was, but that is not the case so there is nothing to say.” They locked heated gazes for several seconds before she pivoted again toward Mhàiri, her angry face transforming into a welcoming smile.
“Laurel!” Conor shouted so loudly that Mhàiri jumped slightly.
Mhàiri glanced around to see who had noticed, and that was when she saw that people had indeed emerged and were resuming their duties. No one else was flustered or upset by what was transpiring between the laird and his wife. Most were doing their work as if nothing of interest were occurring in the middle of the courtyard. Even the four children were not paying attention. They were playing tag, totally unfazed by their yelling parents. A strange wave of nostalgia came over Mhàiri.
“Welcome, Mhàiri,” Laurel said cheerfully, grasping her hands while ignoring the glares coming from her husband. “We are so glad to have you with us. I love visitors, and we do not have nearly enough of them.”
“We have plenty. Our castle is practically the beacon for strays,” Conor mumbled.
“Ignore him. He loves them as well for it keeps me occupied and less inclined to meddle in things he is interested in.”
Conor’s eyes rolled and he tilted his head back and forth, indicating that he somewhat agreed with his wife’s statement.
Mhàiri could not help herself. She returned Laurel’s smile with a large one of her own. She had forgotten how her parents used to bicker in a similar manner. It was surprising to realize how much she missed this strange dance of love. Many might not understand it, but she did.
“Thank you both for the invitation.”
Conor looked Mhàiri straight in the eye. “You are welcome to stay as long as you need.” He then swung his gaze to the woman about her age who had walked out with the children. “Maegan, how often have you been needed to look after the twins and Bonny?”
Maegan blinked. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, and though she said nothing, they both knew it was too late to deny what he was implying.
Maegan stuck her chin out, walked over to the cart, hooked her arm with Mhàiri’s as if they were lifelong friends, and stated, “Mhàiri and I refuse to be drawn into your argument.”
Mhàiri looked down at their hooked elbows and then up and into the prettiest pale blue eyes she had ever seen. Deep set, they were framed with long lashes several shades darker than her umber-colored hair, which was pulled back into simple, but very attractive, plaits.
Seeing Mhàiri’s shock, Maegan patted her arm. “Trust me. Being a visitor—even a newly arrived one—won’t protect you from getting caught in the fray. But I will.” She leaned close, but kept her eyes on Laurel, who was staring at Conor as she approached him. “I’m Maegan by the way,” she whispered.
Mhàiri was about to inquire what Maegan had meant by fray when the cold tone of Conor’s voice rang out across the ever-quietening courtyard. “I will not be diverted, Laurel. You were out of sorts when I left. Then I return and you are not here to greet me. Next, I find out from my son that you are taking another bath as if you’ve been requesting them daily, and when you finally do leave the tower, Hagatha is in tow. Now, what is wrong?”
Laurel pursed her lips together and Mhàiri could have sworn she also stomped her foot. “Hagatha is my friend. And when I say that I am fine, that is became I am. Aye, I might have been feeling poorly, but I am not any longer. You and I can discuss it later, but right now I want to see to our guest’s needs. Mhàiri—”
“Can wait,” Conor clipped. “I cannot believe you were sick and did not tell me! Or send word! I would have come home immediately!”
Laurel rolled her eyes and turned back to Mhàiri. “I had a room prepared for you in the Warden’s Tower,” she said, pointing to the large stone tower to Mhàiri’s right. “There are several rooms in the North Tower, and that is where most of our guests stay, but when Father Lanaghly requested assistance, he also mentioned that you had a great deal of books and scrolls. He made it sound as if you had enough to rival Conan’s collection.”
Conan scoffed. Laurel leveled a stare at him. “So, to ensure that Conan never accidentally mistakes your room for his, I decided a completely different tower was more appropriate.”
Conan bent down and whispered in Mhàiri’s ear, “That was not the reason.”
“Hagatha!” Conor shouted and Mhàiri realized just what Maegan had meant about being pulled into the argument. She clutched Maegan’s elbow tightly against her side, comforted to know Maegan was doing the same. “I want to know exactly what was wrong with my wife, for how long, and if she is in any danger!”
The voice was loud and angry, but, more than anything, Mhàiri heard terror. She guessed Laurel had finally heard it as well. “Conor,” she said squeezing his arm to gain his attention. “You are ruining my plans for later,” she hissed through tight lips.
“Why later?” Conor pressed. “Why not now?”
“I said I would tell you later! In private!” This time, it was Laurel who was shouting, and Mhàiri absolutely saw her stomp her foot this time.
“Why? Most of our arguments end up in the courtyard with the world listening to them. Why can’t this one?”
“Because this was not supposed to be an argument! It was supposed to be special!” Laurel wailed back at him. “It was supposed to be romantic!”
“How is being sick supposed to—”
“A baby, Conor!” Laurel shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. “I’m going to have a baby! And God help me, you are going to be its father.”
Conor took a step back as if someone had punched him in the gut.
Conan took the opportunity to get a little revenge for the ribbing he had been taking the past few days. “Seems someone else has been wrong about more than his share of things as well, huh, brother?”
Laurel shot a finger at him and then pointed at the Warden’s Tower. “Take Mhàiri’s things to her room, and I better not learn that a single thing from either of those carts ended up in your chambers. In fact, you, Seamus,” she said to a large guard who exuded masculinity and had snuck in with the commander, “keep Conan from losing his way.”
Seamus grimaced and came to stand by Maegan. He had dark blond hair that was a fraction too light to be called brown. His forehead was prominent and tan, his chin was marked with a distinctive cleft, and his hazel eyes were mostly green with chips of gold. Maegan smiled up at him. Then, to Mhàiri, she said, “Seamus, here, is one of the laird’s elite guards and one of Scotland’s deadliest soldiers. So have no fear. Your things are safe.”
“Don’t tease,” Seamus grumbled, but there was no bite to his words. He twisted his perfectly sculpted lips. “It’s bad enough I have to deal with Conan. The least you could do is feel sorry for me.”
Maegan just continued smiling before shifting her focus back to Laurel and Conor. “They did not think they could have more children,” she explained to Mhàiri.
The youngest girl, who had curly dark brown hair and perceptive gray eyes, came running up to Maegan, bubbling with excitement. “Did you hear? Mama is going to have a baby! Do you know what that means?”
Maegan shook her head. “What, Bonny?”
Bonny sighed as if she thought the answer obvious. “Uncle Conan understands.”
Conan bobbed his head up and down. “That I do. I loved the day my brother Clyde was born and I was no longer the baby.” Conan reached down and swung the little girl in his arms. It was evident to anyone looking at them that they both adored each other. The warmth in Conan’s expression softened all his features and, if possible, made him even more appealing. For a brief second, Mhàiri wondered what it would be like to have him look at her in such a way.
Bonny nodded. “People will finally believe I know something. Before, it was only Conan . . . and Mama, but that was only sometimes. I will be so glad not to be the baby.” She then assessed Mhàiri. “I’m Bonny.”
“Um, I’m Mhàiri.”
“I know. I know lots of things.” Bonny looked at the carts. “Did you read all of those?”
Mhàiri nodded, but before she could say anything, the word “How?” echoed in the courtyard.
Conor’s question recaptured Mhàiri’s attention, and she swung back to see what was happening between Laird McTiernay and his wife.
Conan snorted. “After three children, you should know by now.” Mhàiri glanced over her shoulder and gave him a cold look and mouthed for him to be quiet. Conan shrugged his shoulders, but seeing her continued glare, he gestured that he would try.
Thank goodness Conor did not appear to have even heard his younger brother. “But I thought . . . we tried for years and nothing . . . never . . . not once. You said that we couldn’t have any more.”
Laurel nodded. Tears starting to emerge. “I thought so too. I thought I would never conceive again. That my childbearing years were over. Then, during the party when Craig and Meriel were visiting, I got so sick. I was not able to keep anything down.”
“That was two months ago!” Conor roared. “You’ve been keeping our baby a secret this whole time!”
“Aye!” Laurel shouted back, getting so close that they were nearly touching. “And it was far from easy, but I’d do it again! Guess why? For you! That’s why!”
That brought several chuckles from the crowd, and unfortunately for Conan and Seamus, theirs were the loudest. “Seamus! Conan!” Laurel barked. Both immediately stopped laughing, but only Seamus had the good sense to look contrite. “I am glad to see that you are in such good moods as you are now also going to help Mhàiri unpack all her things.”
“You kept silent for me?” Conor asked. “But why?”
Laurel took a deep breath and sighed. “Remember what happened after that party? You had to visit the Schelldens about which soldiers of his you were going to train during the winter months. That took longer than expected. You were gone nearly three weeks. Then, the very night you came home, word came that things were happening with Cole that demanded your immediate attention. You had to go, but I knew that if you thought for a moment that I was sick—especially pregnant and sick—you would refuse to go, even though there was nothing you could do here except drive me crazy with your concern!”
Conor’s jaw tightened. Mhàiri did not know either of them, but after watching Conor the past few days and hearing his anger and concern during their fight, she had no doubt that Laurel was right. Conor would not have left no matter how important it was that he meet with his brother.
“I might remind you that I almost lost you twice and both times were when you were pregnant.”
Hearing that, Mhàiri’s eyes widened.
“What I’m experiencing is common for many women. We get sick! Hagatha says that sometimes it lasts until the baby is born. Thankfully, for me, it is getting better. The last couple of days I have felt only tired. Not ill in the least.”
Conor softly clutched Laurel’s upper arms. “So you really are fine.”
“Aye. I am well. Crabby due to lack of food, but other than that, I am very well.” Laurel’s voice went soft as her arms slid around Conor’s stomach.
“Truly?”
“Completely fine.”
Conor grinned. “Not feeling ill at all?”
Laurel’s blue eyes twinkled. “Aside from arguing with you, I’m feeling perfectly well.”
“Good.” Then, with a big grin, Conor swept her into his arms and headed straight for the massive tower across the courtyard. “And remind me to tell you later about when Conan and Mhàiri met.”
Laurel’s face lit up with anticipation. Then she looked over her husband’s shoulder and shouted, “Maegan! You’re responsible for Bonny and the twins!”
Maegan uncoupled her and Mhàiri’s arms. “Guess that is over! Glad this one ended on a happy note. They usually do, but you can never tell.” Maegan’s eyes grew wide as saucers as she realized how shocking everything must be to someone who had been living in a priory. “Oich is oich! I hope that that didn’t alarm you any. I can only imagine how a laird and lady publicly fighting might come across to someone with the church.”
Mhàiri sighed with a smile. “My sister was with the Culdees, not I. I stayed in a cottage next to the priory and helped them where and when I could.” Mhàiri used her chin to point at the spot where the argument had taken place. “As for the laird and lady fighting, I was surprised at first, but truthfully, they reminded me of my own parents. They, too, shared an intense passion for each other. It is something to be envied, not shunned. That is what love was supposed to be. Passionate, intense, and honest. Nothing held in reserve. If I ever fell in love, that is how I would want it to be.”
Maegan chuckled. “You will get along fine here then, but you’re wrong about the love part. Love doesn’t need to be intense. What I have with Clyde is just as strong but thankfully without all the volatile sparks.”
“Clyde? Isn’t he Conan’s younger brother?”
Maegan nodded and got a dreamy look in her eye. “He’s my true love, and we are getting married the moment he returns.”
“If you two are going to stand around and gab, then I’m leaving. I have other things to do,” Seamus grumbled.
Conan snorted. “The sooner you learn to ignore women and their constant nattering about every little thing, the happier you will become.”
Mhàiri ignored him.
Maegan whispered, “Conan is not, um, comfortable with people.”
“I don’t know,” Mhàiri countered with a sly smile. “Maybe everyone else is not comfortable with Conan.”
Maegan pulled her chin back and looked at Mhàiri strangely. Then after a few seconds, she shrugged her shoulders. “You’re both smart and into books. Guess it makes sense that you would like him too. All women do . . . at least for a while.”
“Conan and I have discussed his appeal, and he knows that I’ve become immune to his charms,” Mhàiri said, glancing over her shoulder to see both Seamus and Conan shamelessly listening to their conversation. “Unfortunately for him, he is not yet immune to mine.”
Conan guffawed. “See? Nattering. Even when you think maybe by chance it just might be something worth listening to—” Conan cut his hand through the air. “It turns out to be nothing.”
Maegan closed her eyes and sighed. “The only female who can put up with that one is Bonny.”
Fallon clapped his hands and the steward successfully got everyone’s attention. “I want these carts out of the courtyard before the sun sets.”
Seamus crossed his arms and leveled a steady stare at Fallon. “I’m not carrying a damn thing. It’s Conan’s responsibility to get all this up to her room.” He gestured to Conan with his thumb. “Not mine. I was just supposed to make sure it all arrived there. And while Conan is many, many irritating things, he is not a liar or a thief. So my job is done.”
Conan looked at Mhàiri and gave her a wicked grin.
Mhàiri took a step closer to him and, jabbing a finger at the large chests in the cart, said, “Every scrap that is in these carts will be moved into my chambers.” Then she looked at Seamus. “And if it isn’t, you’ll be the one responsible.”
Seamus cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Don’t worry. Conan won’t dare defy Lady McTiernay.”
“I just might, knowing you would join me in my misery,” Conan warned, hinting that it might be worth the price to see Seamus squirm. “Now help me with these chests.”
Seamus clearly thought the threat an empty one. “You hate to wear itchy clothing too much.”
“I’ve got the horses, but I refuse to deal with the carts.” Mhàiri searched for the face that went with the gruff voice. A second later, she could see an old, thin man with little hair and a hump on his back yanking on one of the harnesses.
Before Fallon could respond to the old man, Hagatha, the wild-haired friend of Laurel’s, approached and said, “Ye heard Lady McTiernay, ye old man. Those two are taking care of it.” She waved to Conan and Seamus. “Just unhitch the animals, Neal, and the lads will take care of the cart when they’re done. Won’t ye, lads?”
Both made a “humph” sound but did not argue as they finally started to lift things out of the cart. “Which room, Fallon?” Conan grunted.
“Main room on the second floor.”
Mhàiri had been to several castles when she had been young, but only briefly and mostly on market days when merchants were selling their goods. She used to envision what it would be like to live in such a grand place, and the McTiernay Castle was definitely one of the grander ones she had seen.
Just passing through the gates would make a person nervous if unsure they had a right to be there. The long and broad entry was guarded by a single well-sized barbican tower fortifying the guard gate. Six round towers and the curtain wall formed a D that housed a substantially large courtyard. Most were three stories, one was four, but the massive tower on the northwest wall had to be seven stories at least.
Only a rich laird of a very large and powerful clan could afford a castle of this size. And with such wealth, Mhàiri would have thought that all the staff would act meek and in fear of those they serve. But that was not the case at McTiernay Castle. Throughout Conor and Laurel’s fight, the courtyard had remained busy, giving them no privacy. Even those who had a place to go to like Maegan, Conan, and Laurel’s friends Aileen and Hagatha had just stood around and waited until it was over. In Mhàiri’s experience, stable masters did not declare what they would and would not do, and midwives did not remind a laird’s brother and elite guard what their duties were. It was starting to be too much.
“I can tell you need to sit down and have something to drink,” offered the pretty tawny-haired woman named Aileen. “We can probably persuade Fiona into giving us some scraps of food. She seemed to be in a good mood during the midday meal.”
Mhàiri furrowed her brow, remembering Conan’s alarming comments about the McTiernay cook. She was not sure she wanted to raise the woman’s ire.
Hagatha nodded. “Aye, ale sounds good.” Then she turned and headed toward two large doors that led to what had to be the castle’s great hall. She was the strangest midwife Mhàiri had ever seen. She was large and visually abrasive with wild red hair, but despite that, Mhàiri found the woman comforting. She suspected Hagatha, when riled, could cause the exact opposite feeling, but right now she was offering friendship and Mhàiri was eager to have as many friends as possible during her hopefully short stay at McTiernay Castle.
Aileen called out to the children to behave, avoid the Star Tower until the evening meal, and stay out of trouble lest they suffer her wrath. Mhàiri could not envision Aileen mad, but all four of the children obviously could and immediately nodded their heads. She then rushed to follow Hagatha into the great hall.
Maegan grabbed Mhàiri’s arm, forcing her to come along. “Don’t worry. Seamus will make sure all your things get to your room.” Then she looked back at the cart and murmured, “A shaoghail! You do have a lot of things.”
Mhàiri quickly fell into step. “I . . . uh . . . really don’t,” she said, feeling awkward for the first time about the substantial load she had insisted come with her. Of course, they probably thought the majority of it was dresses and clothes, although that would have weighed a lot less and wouldn’t have been as difficult to transport. Mhàiri was not even sure how her father was going to manage adding the chests to his things when he came for her. He did own a very large wagon that was incredibly sturdy, but just the three large chests were a lot. “I don’t really have a lot of personal items, such as clothes and things. Only the small chest has my other dress and undergarments.”
They were inside the hall and her words echoed in the empty chamber. The massive hall was a large, open room, and grandly decorated, but it had a warm, inviting feel as well. The ceiling was covered by a high stone vault, and against the east far wall was a canopied fireplace. Behind her, another fireplace was situated to allow for heating on both sides of the room when partitioned. At the far end of the room sat the high table, which was lit by a large window set in the north wall. All sounds were amplified because the floor was made of timber instead of ground earth.
Aileen waved them to come join her near the fire. After everyone was seated, she made introductions. “This is Hagatha, which you probably gathered from Conor’s comments outside. She is our midwife and healer. She’s crusty and outspoken, but we love her.” Hagatha was about to interject, but Aileen cut her off. “I’m Aileen and consider Laurel my closest friend. My husband is Finn, who is the commander of Conor’s guard. You cannot miss him. He has a constant scowl on his face that he thinks makes him look fierce. And it looks like you and Maegan are already on the way to becoming friends.”
“Did I hear you say you have only one spare dress?” Maegan asked, clearly saddened at the concept.
Hagatha huffed and gestured for some food and drink to a servant who was hovering near the timber partition that screened the hall from the service area. “An arisaid and a spare is enough for me and most everyone else. To hear Maegan now, you would never know that she grew up running around this place acting more like a boy than a lass, but no one could make that mistake now. Our Maegan believes no woman can have enough gowns and shoes to go with them. And Laurel indulges such whimsy.”
Aileen smiled. “You know that Maegan more than earns those gowns, Hagatha, helping out with Laurel’s three children. Even Braeden listens to her, and with the baby coming, Laurel will need Maegan’s help even more.”
Maegan gave Mhàiri a grin and then shrugged. “I do like clothes. They are the secret to happiness.”
“I thought Clyde was your secret to happiness,” Aileen teased.
“What about baths? Yesterday, a hot bath was your secret to happiness,” Hagatha added as she turned to help the servant put the drinks and food on the table.
“And . . .”
“Enough! You will make Mhàiri think that I am hopelessly spoiled and ungrateful. Besides, I intend to give some of my gowns to Mhàiri just like her ladyship did for me.” She leaned over to Mhàiri and explained, “When my grandmother passed away, Lady Laurel took me in and now I live at the castle. I was here practically all the time anyway, with Clyde and his friend Kam. That was before he left to help King Robert fight the Irish. And since we are getting married when he returns, it only makes sense that I stay here and help with the children.”
Aileen laid a soft hand on Mhàiri’s arm. “Do you know who Clyde is?”
Mhàiri nodded, pulling off a piece of bread. The delicious smell made her realize she was famished. “Conan told me all about his brothers.”
Hagatha spurted out her ale. “Conan talked to you? As in you had an actual conversation during your journey here.”
Mhàiri swallowed and then grinned. “Aye. I get the feeling he doesn’t get the chance to talk to many people because, once we started, we rarely stopped.”
Hagatha put her mug down on the table with a thump. “You’re saying you talked with Conan and he did not insult you, or make you angry?”
“Of course Conan insulted me,” Mhàiri replied with a wave of her hand. “But that only made it more fun to point out when he was in the wrong.” She chuckled seeing the three sets of shocked, unblinking eyes staring back at her. “It’s been a long time since I had the chance to really debate with someone who could adequately argue his point. Plus, Conan didn’t mind when I yelled back and insulted him. It was rather fun,” she concluded with a shrug. She did not add that it was only the last day did they get to such a point.
Hagatha, Aileen, and Maegan all shifted their stares from her to one another. “It cannot be that shocking,” Mhàiri finally stated.
Maegan looked at her and bobbed her head. “Oh, but it is.”
“How? I saw everyone’s reaction while Laird and Lady McTiernay argued. No one was worried or cared, so why is it so surprising that Conan and I verbally sparred a little as well?”
Aileen’s eyes grew even larger. She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Well, uh . . .”
Maegan licked her lips. “It’s only that no one likes talking to Conan, and I am certain that he does not like talking to us either. And when I say us, I mean us women.”
“It’s more than that,” Hagatha said with her mouth full and jabbed the piece of bread she was holding at Mhàiri. “She enjoyed it. Just wait until Laurel hears that!”
Aileen bit her bottom lip. “Aye, but you know what Laurel said last summer. She swore that she would never assist Conan in matters of the heart. She doesn’t want to be responsible for the resulting heartache she is certain would eventually come.”
Mhàiri wrinkled her nose. “Conan warned me that Laurel was a matchmaker and to be careful of her. That she had sworn off helping him, which meant I was going to be her next target.”
Again, all three heads looked at her in astonishment. Mhàiri grimaced. “I told you. We talked.”
Aileen shook her head in disbelief. “After Laurel meets you, she just might change her mind about Conan.”
Hagatha jogged her head in agreement.
Seeing their eyes grow large with excitement, Mhàiri quickly spoke to halt the speedy direction of their thoughts. “Laurel can change her mind right back then because I have no intentions of getting married. Laird McTiernay promised that he would send runners south to get word to my father of my situation and where I am. As soon as he arrives, I am leaving. I can imagine nothing worse than marrying a man and taking care of him, his home, and his children all my life.”
Aileen blinked. Mhàiri had just described her life, which she loved. “If you don’t want marriage, then what do you plan to do?”
“My father is a successful merchant and goes everywhere, seeing new sights and meeting interesting people. I cannot wait to travel with him once again. The priory was a safe environment and the Culdees are a wonderful group of people, but there has been no adventure in my life. Nothing exciting to look forward to. The past few years have made me realize I could never settle down, no matter how wonderful the place or the man. And believe it or not, Conan is the first man I have met who understood and supported my desire to remain unmarried.”
Aileen was about to say something when the doors swung open and a young girl with pale curly locks and gray eyes who was about the age of ten came running in. “Miss Aileen! It’s Gideon! I told him and Braeden not to throw rocks at each other, but they never listen. And now he’s bleeding everywhere!”
Aileen took a deep breath and slowly let it go. Mhàiri guessed this was a common occurrence from her lack of concern. “Go tell him I’m coming, and make sure Braeden knows that I want to speak with him as well.” She looked at Hagatha, who was already rising to her feet. “If he’s bleeding, then I might need your help. And, Maegan, don’t worry about the children tonight. I’ll keep them with me and if Finn doesn’t like it, he can sleep with the soldiers. It’s unlikely we will see Conor or Laurel until the morning.”
Hagatha huffed. “Unlikely? It might be noon tomorrow before they emerge based on the look Conor had in his eye when he swept Laurel into his arms.”
“So, Maegan, would you help Mhàiri and ensure she is settled? Best tell Fiona about the situation as well. It would not be good if she were surprised.”
The doors opened again. This time it was Bonny. “Brenna told me to tell you to hurry. But you don’t really have to. He and Braeden are arguing over whose cut is the worst so it can’t be that bad.”
“Braeden is also injured?” Aileen asked crisply, more than a little perturbed.
Bonny nodded. “But it’s his arm, not like Gideon’s head, so it isn’t bleeding as much.”
“Good Lord,” Aileen muttered and followed the young girl out the door along with Hagatha, leaving Mhàiri and Maegan alone in the huge room.
“Thank goodness the boys got hurt,” Maegan murmured and then, realizing what she had said, rushed to explain. “It’s just if Aileen and Hagatha were here much longer, there would have been no stopping them. Now that they have decided that you and Conan like each other, those two are about to conspire and take over your lives.”
“But . . . but I don’t like Conan!”
“Aye, you do,” Maegan stated flatly. “But it’s understandable. He’s good looking, and I’ve seen him charm many a woman.”
“Trust me when I say that Conan was not charming.”
“I believe you, but you can’t argue that he couldn’t take his eyes off you outside and you yourself stated that he was enjoyable to talk to.”
Mhàiri opened and closed her mouth several times before opting for closed. Denying the truth was senseless, just as much as denying that Maegan was one of those few people you met in life that you knew right away that you liked and could trust.
“I don’t like him, at least not in the way you are implying. Seriously, I don’t,” Mhàiri reiterated. Then she leaned in close and, in a whisper, added, “But I will admit to wondering what it would be like to kiss him.”
Maegan opened her mouth, then closed it into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed and then, without saying a word, she stood up slowly and then ran to the servants’ entrance. A second later, she reemerged, holding the arms of two little girls. “Meet Brenna and Bonny. Lady McTiernay’s daughters and our clan’s most pervasive eavesdroppers.”
Brenna squirmed, but Maegan held fast. “We didn’t hear anything, did we, Bonny?” she grumbled.
Bonny shook her head. “Only the part about Mhàiri wanting to kiss Uncle Conan.”
Brenna finally wriggled free and rushed to sit right beside Mhàiri. “We want to help. We like Uncle Conan, and it’s his turn to fall in love. Mama won’t help him so that leaves us,” she said proudly, pointing to herself and then her sister.
Mhàiri looked at Brenna and then Bonny, who had come to stand by her older sister. Their wide, innocent eyes looked at her with so much hope and unsuppressed excitement. Mhàiri let her head flop onto her arms that were crossed on the table. She closed her eyes.
“Papa,” she whispered, “you cannot get here soon enough.”
* * *
Conan laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Once again, sleep was evading him, but not for the usual reasons. He had always been attracted to pretty women. The few truly smart females he had encountered had been either married to the church or to one of his brothers. But even the prettiest of women had never created a physical need in him that kept him lying awake at night. But then never could he remember a woman defending him. And that was what Mhàiri had done.
Maybe everyone else just is not comfortable with Conan, she had said.
Did Mhàiri really believe that? He had a feeling she did, for in the last few days he had come to know that she was almost as forthright as he was. Mhàiri was not one to mince words to spare someone’s feelings, and she was uncommonly open and honest about her own. She held nothing back and found it insulting when others did. That was probably why she had interpreted Conor and Laurel’s fight as romantic.
Very few saw their squabbles as a declaration of love. He always had though, and when Mhàiri had told Maegan that a similar passion-filled relationship was the kind she desired as well, it had shaken him to his core. He could not stop thinking about it long enough to fall asleep.
Simply put, the combination of characteristics and opinions that made up Mhàiri Mayboill was so unusual, so unique, he had not believed someone like her existed.
It would have helped if she had been painful to look at, but Conan could stare at her for hours and then willingly stare at her some more. But it was more than her physical beauty. Her voice soothed something in his soul. Its low pitch drew him in versus the high-pitched sounds many females had, which grated on his nerves. And her scent! God, the woman smelled phenomenal. Every time he got even a whiff of her, his body became aroused. His only explanation was that it had been far too long since he had been with a woman. And yet he had no desire to entice someone in his bed. Just the thought of being with another female that way churned his stomach.
The only tresses he wanted to touch were Mhàiri’s long dark locks. He wanted to stare into her pale green eyes and see the hazy look of desire come over them from his kiss. He wanted to press her body into his, knowing it would feel like none before her.
Maybe, if he only physically desired her, he could have found another way to relieve his frustrations, but it was not only her body he craved. He yearned to talk with her, argue with her, ask her questions, and answer hers.
He loved how Mhàiri spoke her mind and offered opinions forthrightly and without hesitation. She understood his desire to leave the home he had always known and explore the world. And though she still did not fully agree with him that all art should have value and have an impact on the world, she did understand and appreciate that what he wanted to do was of great importance and encouraged him to seek his dreams. No woman had ever done that. Not even Laurel. And few men had ever appreciated why he wanted to explore for the rest of his life. But Mhàiri had. She also longed for adventure . . . though of a different type. It enabled her to truly grasp why he was leaving in the spring and how he was not going to let anyone stand in the way of his dreams, for she felt the same about hers.
And that was why he had no choice.
He was going to cut Mhàiri out of his life. She was a distraction. So, much as he could, he would avoid seeing and talking to her until she left.
Thank God her stay would not be long.