Chapter Five
The next day, Conan trudged up the hill toward the large tree where Mhàiri sat. He had known exactly which one she had been referring to when she had told him where to meet her. There were several trees in the area, but one was an enormous oak that stood out amongst the rest. It had been huge when he was a lad, and his father had told him that it had been just as big when he was a small boy. Conan had no idea how old the tree was, but it had to be the oldest tree in the area. And everyone knew of it. If someone said, “Meet me by the tree,” one knew exactly what and where they were talking about.
Conan gritted his teeth. Mhàiri’s back was to him. She was sitting on a blanket drawing, completely unaware of his approach and completely unaware that he was deeply conflicted about meeting her.
He had been in a foul mood all morning. It had begun during the first meal, when Mhàiri had barely acknowledged him. It had not been anger that greeted him but indifference. It had been as if she had forgotten yesterday and had reverted back to ignoring him.
Then, an hour before they were to meet, his mood had gone from sour to irate when Conor had requested his presence in the lower hall. He had barely taken a step in the room when he saw the scrawny piece of redheaded filth that had held a sword on him just over a month ago.
Upon seeing him, Conan had charged in, immediately demanding to know what the maggot was doing on McTiernay lands, and why Conor had not yet removed his head. The answer had startled him to his core. Anger had flooded through every fiber of his being so fiercely that it had taken everything not to pummel the man to unconsciousness. Even now if he closed his eyes, he could see every movement, hear every word.
“What did you say?” Conan asked slowly, his icy tone enough to send shivers through not only the weakling, but his brother.
The redhead narrowed his dark, beady eyes and arrogantly leaned forward. “You McTiernays,” he spat, and Conan could see the man’s rotten teeth despite his young age. “You got my sister pregnant this summer. My father demands you marry her and pledge yourself and the McTiernay armies to him and our family.”
Conor did not say a word, but it was not necessary. Conan knew that it never happened. Even if he had done what the sùibhealtan claimed, his brother would never pledge even a dull blade to a man such as the one before him. “Your sister lies,” Conan snarled.
Fury filled the redhead’s gaze, causing him to start to quiver and sputter. “Do you know who I am?” he finally got out. “My father is the laird of—”
Conan cut him off. “I don’t care! ” he roared, slamming his fist on the table, making the thin man jump in fear. “Go home and tell your sister that she should not have named a man who would never allow himself to be a pawn.”
“Honor demands that—”
“You know nothing about honor, or you wouldn’t be trying to blackmail me into accepting your sister’s bastard bairn. Hard to believe I’m her lover as the first time I journeyed north of the River Carron was around the time I saw you running away from a fight like a bleidire.”
“And why should I believe a McTiernay?” the irksome man snorted, his deep-seated hatred showing.
Conan did not know this man nor did he have even the remotest clue why the man hated McTiernays, but he was beyond caring.
Conor tapped his finger on the table, getting the attention of both Conan and the unwanted visitor. “Perhaps you would trust the word of our priest, Father Lanaghly?” His question sounded calm, but the man was a fool not to understand what that meant. He had no idea how close he was to meeting his death. For that last insult had been lobbed not just at Conan, but at Conor and every McTiernay clansman.
Conan, however, was done. He slammed his fists down on the table and leaned over it, his heated glare enough to make the man hold his breath. “Nay,” he said, removing the option. “We don’t need to bother the priest. This conversation is over, and the only reason you are leaving here alive is to deliver a message. Go tell your father, the laird, that nothing in this world or in the heavens above could persuade, let alone force, me into marriage with anyone—pregnant or not. My future does not include a wife, and your sister’s future is one of her own making. She should have kept her legs closed.”
Refusing to endure any more lies or insults, Conan had stomped out of the hall and gone directly to his rooms. There, he had found Bonny and shooed her out, making it clear that Brenna best not come near him either. Unable to sit or think, he had paced back and forth, waiting until Conor stopped by. Finally, after what felt like an interminable amount of time, his brother had arrived.
“Did you find out who he was?”
Conor shook his head. “I did not want him to have the satisfaction of telling me. Plus, like you, I didn’t care. I only told him that if he takes a step onto any McTiernay lands, it will mean his painful death.” He glanced out the window. “Finn’s escorting him to our borders with instructions to muzzle him if he utters a single word.”
“That man is full of rage and is a fool. He’ll be back.”
“And if he does, he will die, but I doubt he will return. His sister probably named you because you are the only unwed McTiernay left still in the Highlands.”
“I meant what I said. I don’t care what anyone says or believes. I’ll never take a wife.”
“And I think of all the things that he heard, that is the one he believed. You are not a man who could be coerced into marriage. Hopefully, he can convince his father.” Conor clapped him on the back. “Gather your wits. BonBon told me to remind you that you have a drawing lesson with Mhàiri.”
“Your daughter—”
“Is delightful and, for some reason, adores you!” Conor laughed and paused just as he exited the room to growl, “Don’t cancel or I’ll tell Laurel.”
It was lucky Conor had been across the room when he had made the threat, or Conan might have decked him. But the warning had been enough to get him to leave the tower. Now that he was here, he began to care less and less what Laurel knew or thought.
The oak loomed ahead. Conan took a deep breath and then let it escape slowly. But before he could decide whether or not he was too angry to be fit company, Mhàiri turned and saw him. Her mouth broke out into a large smile as she waved him over. How he wanted to kiss that mouth. He knew with one touch she could make all that had happened today disappear, if only for a while. If only she wanted a kiss too.
He approached cautiously. Mhàiri had not changed since lunch and was still wearing a forest green gown that highlighted and hugged every morsel of her perfect body. The woman was exceptionally pretty. So much so that even if he weren’t in a bad mood, the outing was destined to be a waste of time. He was going to be incapable of learning anything. Each time he saw her, she only looked more desirable and his thoughts grew more lascivious. Even now, a part of his mind was still wondering how Mhàiri would taste if he were to kiss her.
“You are here,” Conan said as he squatted down beside her, hoping to deflect any of his own misgivings onto her. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and savored her scent. It both calmed him and excited him. Surprisingly, the dual effect was exactly what he needed to let go of the previous hour completely and just concentrate on her.
Conan looked over her shoulder. Mhàiri had obviously been there for a little while, for she had already sketched out the basics of the view all the way down to the loch and the mountains beyond.
Mhàiri tilted her head and gave him a questioning look. “Of course I am here,” she said, somewhat offended. “Just as I said I would be. Oh, this morning,” she whispered, suddenly realizing why he might have thought she would not have come. Mhàiri closed her eyes for a brief moment and then looked at him, wincing. “I did not want anyone to know or suspect we were meeting, so I thought it would be best to continue acting the way we have been.”
Conan gave her a crooked smile and shook his head. “Good idea, but it won’t work. Bonny and Brenna overheard our whole conversation yesterday afternoon. It was a chore just to keep them from tagging along today.”
Mhàiri’s jaw dropped open. The whole conversation, she mouthed.
He nodded. “Don’t worry. Brenna loves to know all that is going on, but for someone so young, she is surprisingly circumspect about revealing what she knows. Neither she nor Bonny lean toward gossip.”
Mhàiri pressed her lips together and prayed Conan was correct. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed. “I don’t know why I care. They learned I want to kiss you weeks ago and the one person I wouldn’t want to know that is you, and you, of course, are the one person she went directly to and told.”
Conan bit back the large smile that was invading his soul. Want to kiss you, she had said. Not wanted to kiss you. Mhàiri still desired him.
For that tidbit alone, he was definitely glad he had come. Her claim that she desired him no more had needled him and kept him awake most of the night. He wanted her, but even more, he wanted Mhàiri to want him back.
Conan reached over to pull a wax tablet out of the small bag he had brought with him. Mhàiri looked at what he was holding and cackled. The sound was not a feminine one, and it certainly was not a high-pitched giggle. Seeing his frustrated look, only made Mhàiri laugh harder. Gasping for breath, she clutched at her stomach with one hand and his shoulder for support with her other. He gave her a perturbed look, which did not help. Her laughter renewed and tears began to fall.
After several deep, calming breaths, she finally got out, “What is that?” while only letting go a few chuckles.
“A wax tablet,” he said impatiently, waving it in his hand for her to see.
“I know that, but what are you doing with it?”
“Well, I’m not going to waste more vellum. The stuff is hard and expensive to make, and I need every scrap of it for my journey. Not all of us have access to a private supply of hemp paper,” he said with a hint of a sneer, using his chin to point at the drawing in her hand.
Mhàiri wiped away her tears, then took the wax tablet out of his hand and put it on the ground. “If that is what you practice drawing on, then no wonder you are having difficulties.”
A wax tablet was a reusable and portable writing surface. A piece of flat wood was coated with black or green wax that people could use and then erase by heating the wax through vigorous rubbing. But to make a mark, one had to push hard, and it was impossible to change the direction of a line without lifting the stylus and starting again.
Mhàiri lifted her bag and pulled out a large, flat board. Stretched across was a rectangular piece of off-white linen cloth. “This was something my father made for me when I was young and wanted to draw on everything. I did not have access to a private supply of hemp paper then,” she said with a quick wink, “though even if I had, it would have been too expensive on which to practice. And as you made clear, vellum is costly and not easily come by. So, my father made me this to use over and over again,” Mhàiri said, proudly showing it to him.
Conan just stared at it. “Cloth?” The only thing that would mark it was the ink he used on the vellum, which would stain the material. Linen seemed even less practical a medium than wax. “Maybe we should stick to sticks and dirt,” he grumbled.
Undeterred, Mhàiri laid the cloth board in her lap. She pulled out a small leather bag and then opened it wide. Inside was a dark, wet substance. “I made this from the ash in my fireplace. You just add a little water until you get the right consistency. Now, you can take your stylus, dip it in, and look.” Mhàiri outlined the petals to a flower in the lower right-hand corner. “At night, you untie it, wash it, and let it dry. Then you can start all over again the next day.”
Mhàiri beamed him a smile and handed the board to him. For a second, Conan thought he was going to drown in the crystal-clear pools of her green eyes. Then he forced himself to look down at the board. He studied it with renewed appreciation. Bonny had been right. He had already forgotten her reminder that he knew nothing about drawing.
Conan picked up the stylus and looked at Mhàiri. Her excitement ran through him, and he told himself to focus on what she was about to show him. If Mhàiri really could teach him even some of the fundamentals of her style of drawing, it could revolutionize his approach to making maps. They would be more detailed, more readable, and most importantly, more usable than he had ever imagined.
“So where do we begin?”
“We begin with perspective. First, look and study our view. Do you see the tree right in front of us and the snow-topped mountain beyond the loch?” Conan nodded. “Now I want you to draw them on this corner. Just like you see them.”
Conan did so, and when finished, he was both pleased and frustrated with his work. He thought all three well done considering he was not an artist, but they were nothing like Mhàiri’s.
“Each is good, but I did not ask you to draw me a tree and a mountain. I asked you to draw me what you see. You made the mountain as big as the tree.”
Seeing his mistake, Conan grunted and tried again.
“Interesting,” Mhàiri hummed. “It must look different from where you sit because your mountain is bigger than the tree,” Mhàiri said.
“But it is,” Conan argued.
“A mountain may be larger than a tree in life, but I asked you to draw me what you see.” Mhàiri then showed him what she had drawn. “When I look out, the tree is really close. I see so much more of it than I do the mountain. It is actually bigger because of my perspective.”
Conan studied her drawing and then looked back up. The tree was bigger than the mountain. It was even bigger than the loch and the forest beyond, and he said so.
“That’s right! That is the first thing you need to understand about perspective. It is not about how things actually are, but how they are perceived. To truly provide an understanding of something through a drawing, one should consider the object’s size and position in relation to others from a particular point. You still can tell my mountain is larger in life than this tree, but because it is smaller, you also know how far it is from the tree.”
Conan twisted his lips. “It seems so simple an idea. I don’t think I have ever felt more like an idiot.”
Mhàiri jerked back her chin. “Why? Every picture I have ever seen is depicted like what you first drew. Visual depth is never depicted.” She pointed to the canvas. “Now it’s time for you to practice and really start to feel like an idiot. Because nothing is more frustrating to me than knowing what I want to do but not having the skills to do it.” Mhàiri reached into her bag and pulled out three more canvas boards. “For you. When you fill that one, go to these. Just note that you will have to disassemble them and get one of the chambermaids to wash the cloths tonight so that they will be dry tomorrow.”
“You and I are coming back out tomorrow?”
Mhàiri held his gaze. “You think by the end of the day you will be proficient at drawing?”
He scoffed. “Hardly.”
“Then, aye, we should plan to meet each afternoon we can until it turns too cold.”
Afraid that his voice would show his happiness at the suggestion, Conan said nothing but instead picked up his stylus and began sketching the view. After what felt like only a handful of minutes, Mhàiri stretched her arms and then arched her back. She then pushed herself up to her feet and looked down where he stared up at her with a puzzled expression. “I think I’m done for the day, so I’m going to head back to the castle. But don’t let my absence stop you.”
Conan blinked and looked around. The sun had sunk low and was nearing the horizon. The fourth canvas board was in his hands, half full of marginal sketches and the other three were next to him full of ashy markings. He could not believe it. They had been drawing for hours.
When Conan had first sat down, he had thought it was going to be impossible to focus on anything with Mhàiri nearby. Every time the wind caught her hair, a piece would drift over his arm, teasing him. And her wildflower scent wreaked havoc with his ability to focus on anything but her. Knowing this, he had planned to convince her to put her own drawing aside and entertain his first notion of thanking him by means of a kiss.
But that had not happened. What had was akin to a miracle—at least for him.
Never had he been able to work with a pretty woman nearby. Usually, he found the sound of their constant jabbering annoying, but even the silent ones affected his ability to focus, for invariably his mind drifted to lustful thoughts. But, amazingly, he had spent an entire afternoon with Mhàiri and actually worked. And it was not that he did not desire Mhàiri. Just thinking of her created waves of lust inside him. He dreamed about how she would taste and how she would come alive in his arms. He longed to experience her hidden passion exploding in his embrace. And yet, somehow, he had become completely fixated on learning what she had shown him.
A sense of eagerness engulfed him. It had been a long time since he had felt so impatient, but tomorrow afternoon could not arrive fast enough.
* * *
Four days later, Conan paced by the oak tree waiting for Mhàiri to arrive. He had come early in hopes of releasing some of his tension before they met.
When he was around her, he felt incredibly alive, like anything was possible—even more so than he did when he was engrossed in a new map. Unfortunately, his mind was not the only thing that was more alive. Being around her every day was also making it very difficult to keep his desires under control and images of Mhàiri in his arms, passionate and wanting, was invading too many of his thoughts. He knew if his imagination could be put to rest and he could actually just kiss her, much of his angst would disappear. Aye, there would probably be an excellent chance he would want another kiss, but he would at least then know, thereby ending his torment.
However, events like that of the previous night did not help.
On their second outing, Bonny, Brenna, and Maegan had tagged along and the following day the weather had not cooperated. Yesterday had started similarly to their first. Mhàiri had shown him a couple of tricks about how to mentally measure each component before trying to capture it on the cloth. Conan had had every intention on practicing them per her instruction, but he had also intended to take a break at some point and pursue other, more physically pleasurable things. The one thing critical to his plan, however, was the one thing he did not have—Mhàiri’s presence.
Right after she had given her advice, she had instructed him to continue practicing. Then she had risen to her feet, dusted off her gown, grabbed her bag, and begun to head back to the castle.
Conan had jumped up and chased after her. “You are just leaving me here? Alone?”
Amusement had filled Mhàiri’s green eyes as she reached out and squeezed his bicep. “You seem capable enough to handle anything scary that might come along.”
Conan had swallowed. Mhàiri had only briefly touched him, and the lower part of his body had gone hard. Any movement to hide the fact would have only shifted her gaze downward. He should have said good-bye and let her leave, but he had already appeared desperate. And yet, when he had opened his mouth to tell her to be careful, what had actually come out was, “How will I know if I did it right and if I am ready for the next lesson?”
“You can show me tomorrow.”
“But I have to wash the cloths at night.”
“So, you can draw something for me tomorrow.”
“How about tonight?” Conan had pressed, acting completely unlike himself. And yet, part of him had not cared. It had been nearly a week since he had ended his ill-conceived plan to ignore her, and other than their first outing, he had yet to spend any quality time alone with her—and only her.
Mhàiri had sighed and given him a long look. “How about after dinner?” she had suggested. “In the great hall?”
Conan had nodded and waited for her to turn and leave before returning to the blanket and his sketches.
All that afternoon, throughout the entire meal, and right up until the doors opened, he had looked forward to their meeting. He had planned not only to show her the drawings, but what they could have been doing if she had not left their lesson early. Then again, there were several benefits of meeting at night in the great hall—no wind, unexpected passersby, or setting sun forcing an inconvenient end to their time together.
The night should have ended only after Mhàiri had thoroughly and repeatedly been kissed. But when it was finally time for them to meet in the great hall, nothing had gone according to plan.
He had arrived first and his heart had started to pound hearing Mhàiri enter and seeing her wear a huge, welcoming smile. He returned her smile but only briefly for tailing right behind her had been Bonny and Brenna. Upon seeing him, both screeched and ran forward, jabbering about wanting to see what their uncle Conan was learning to do.
Conan could not remember a time either of his nieces had been so chatty or critical. They had pointed out all the flaws in his sketches and what they thought he needed to practice more. Then they’d asked Mhàiri question after question about her drawings. Bonny, who had never been interested in art or maps before, had constantly poked him, telling him to pay attention, which he had pointedly refused to do. Instead, he had sat there, stretched out, moping as he downed several mugs of ale. He had not cared that he was being rude and immature. He had not cared about Bonny or Brenna either.
It had not been until this morning, when he had awoken to a huge headache and the memories of his boorish behavior, that he’d had a few pangs of regret that resulted in an illuminating conclusion. He needed to end his pointless pursuit of kissing Mhàiri. If it happened, it happened, but the effort of trying to make it happen was—if possible—driving him even more insane.
Conan had missed the morning meal and had persuaded Fiona to let him take some food to his room. He had remained there through the noon meal so he had yet to see anyone. He had no idea of just how mad Mhàiri was. Any other woman, Conan would not have had to wonder. He would already know. She would have reamed him out that night before retiring, and most likely he would have woken up to something just as bitter being shouted from the bailey. But that was not Mhàiri’s style. All he could remember was her whispering to the girls that the next time they all decided to meet with Uncle Conan, they should warn him first. That they were lucky he had stayed with them and had not left, especially when he was not having any fun.
Had she meant it? Or had Mhàiri only offered the words to comfort his two nieces?
Conan spotted Mhàiri approaching and stopped his pacing. He shielded his eyes from the bright overhead sun and tried to detect her mood from her expression, but he could not tell anything other than she was not smiling.
He swallowed. “You angry about last night?”
Mhàiri tilted her head slightly and looked at him quizzically. “I thought you were mad at me,” she said, fanning herself with her hand. “Laurel insisted Brenna and Bonny come with me, and I know you don’t like surprises.”
She was right. He didn’t. And Laurel knew it as well.
He had wondered what his sister-in-law’s reaction would be if she suspected his desire for Mhàiri. Now he had his answer. Unlike with his brothers, Laurel was not going to ease his path toward true love. Which was good, because he did not want true love or any of the burdens that came with it. He only wanted a kiss. Laurel must have realized it, and unfortunately, she saw kissing him as a woman’s first step to heartache.
“I was still kind of a thòin last night.”
“You were.” Mhàiri laughed at the memory. “That was why annoying you was so much fun. You only got grumpier. We took score at who could get you to growl the loudest.”
Conan pursed his lips. Once again, Mhàiri was discombobulating him to the point where he lacked for words. “Who won?” he finally asked.
Mhàiri bit her lower lip in an effort to hide her smile. “We promised each other not to tell.” She then fanned herself again. “It is strangely hot for this time of year. If it continues, we may need to meet after first meal before the sun is blazing overhead.”
Conan shook his head. “I can’t then. I train in the mornings.”
“Do you have to train then? Couldn’t you, um, take a break for a few weeks?”
Conan flexed the muscle in his arm that she had touched the prior day. “If I didn’t, I would be a twig like Maegan. And wielding a sword is a skill that must be regularly practiced to be maintained.”
“Then what are you going to do when you leave in the spring? The image of you waving a sword around in the air each morning is not very flattering.”
Conan chortled at the idea. “There will be plenty of opportunities for me to keep up my skills. It’s not like I’m going to be sleeping outside under the stars all the time. I’m traveling and mapping the land at the request of King Robert. So, most nights, I will be staying as guest to a laird, much like you are to my brother. While I’m there, I’ll train with their men as I can. Once I’m done, I’ll move to the next clan and map their lands.”
Mhàiri stared at him for several seconds in disbelief. She knew that Conan thought when they left in the spring and went their separate ways that his travels were going to be far more severe and uncomfortable. He had intimated as much several times. And she had believed him, thinking him hunting each night for his food, sleeping on the ground with only a blanket to shield him from the cold or the rain. Now she just wanted to laugh.
Aye, Conan was going to have to forage for his food periodically. But from what he described, most nights he would be served a delicious meal that consisted of a wide variety of foods. Merchants rarely experienced such luxuries, even wealthy ones like her father. Unlike her, Conan was going to be nestled on a mattress in a cozy bed with a large hearth fire to warm him. Her blanket-cushioned bed was going to be inside their wagon and was going to be put together and dismantled each night.
If their two futures were reversed, Conan would have a much harder time surviving hers. An opinion she decided was best kept to herself. Still, she could not help but say, “Based on last night and today, you have a lot of work to do on perspective. Yours is definitely skewed.”
Conan looked down at the canvas in his hands and realized it was blank from being cleaned. He sighed heavily. He had thought he had been improving.
“You can practice trees and mountains later,” Mhàiri said, gesturing for him to bring everything and follow her. “Today we are going to learn how to draw an object that is both near and far.”
Mhàiri started walking, coming to a stop about half way down a sloping hill. She pointed to a thick rock wall that was about waist high. She sat down and said, “Try drawing the rock wall.”
Conan sat next to her and attempted to sketch the wall. The result was a wall, but it looked nothing like the rock wall in front of them. It no longer bothered him that it was wrong. He actually liked Mhàiri’s style of instruction. Instead of teaching as she, herself, drew things, Mhàiri preferred to use his efforts as a starting point. “That’s good, but remember to draw what you see, not what you know. Aye, the wall is the same height and width its whole length, but it doesn’t look that way from here. It starts out very small and narrow and then gets wider and taller the closer it gets.”
Conan stared at the scene she wanted him to capture and realized that the wall did look like it was “shrinking” as it stretched into the distance. He tried again to draw it and with a frustrated grunt, handed the stylus to Mhàiri. She scrunched her nose and he almost thought she was going to refuse his non-verbal request.
“Fine,” Mhàiri playfully grumbled. “One time, but I have my own drawing to focus on.”
Mhàiri quickly sketched it. Conan watched carefully how she started, using basic shapes to outline the primary features. “Next you add features in layers, beginning with the most distant thing and ending with the closest.”
When Mhàiri leaned over to grab her bag, Conan panicked. “You leaving me again?”
“Not today,” she answered with a brief shake of her head. “I love Brenna and Bonny, even Maegan, but I’m not used to having noise around me all the time. I like to have quiet when I read or draw. Normally, I would come out here by myself, but during your first lesson, I realized we had something else in common. When we get started on a project, our focus consumes us to the point an army could be marching by and we would never know.”
Mhàiri was right, but the idea that she would come this far away from the castle by herself was disturbing. There were wild animals in the area, some of them vicious. In the colder months when prey was less easy to find, it was not unthinkable for a wildcat to attack a lone female. “Promise me you will never come out here without someone, preferably skilled in weaponry, accompanying you.”
“Why?” Mhàiri asked, nudging his arm with her shoulder. “Worried about me?”
With a serious look, he answered, “Aye. Promise me, Mhàiri.”
“I’ll have you know that I can take care of myself and am not scared of wild animals. You need not worry about me. I did survive alone for nearly two weeks in my cottage before you arrived.”
“Promise me, Mhàiri, or I’ll order the guards at the gate not to let you pass.”
Mhàiri blinked. Conan was being deadly serious. She had been earnest about being capable of taking care of herself, but she was not sure how to convince Conan of that without killing and skinning a wildcat to prove it. “I already promised Laurel that I would not venture out alone, so you do not have to worry so.”
Conan swallowed and nodded, relief relaxing his tense features. “Good. Make sure you keep that promise.”
* * *
For the next couple of weeks, they kept to their routine. They would meet for a few hours in the afternoon before Conan returned to help Conor with clan needs or work on things in preparation for his journey. Mhàiri was certain that Conan had either forgotten or was delaying building her shelves, but she found herself to be caring less and less each day. She was getting used to dealing with the cluttered mess in her room, and Mhàiri truly enjoyed spending time with Conan. Though she would never admit it; she preferred his company more than anyone else’s.
That did not mean she did not enjoy being around others. Mhàiri liked Maegan enormously and felt fortunate to have found in her an unexpected friend. They could and did talk about almost anything. Even discussing clothes with Maegan could be entertaining. She had the most hilarious stories about Bonny and Brenna as well as Gideon and Braeden, but mostly they would chatter about the soldiers and the silly things men did for attention. Maegan teased her about Conan, and Mhàiri teased her back about Seamus, for Mhàiri was positive Maegan liked the large soldier despite her constant assurances that she was in love with the absent Clyde. And while they got along very well, there was still only so much time the two of them could spend together before they ran out of things to say. Luckily, both had become fairly good at recognizing the precursors to such awkward moments and would go their separate ways before only silence was between them.
Mhàiri would have thought she would experience the same desire for space after several hours in Conan’s company, and yet she didn’t.
Sometimes they congenially talked almost the entire time they were together. Other times, their conversation ended up in a heated debate with voices raised. But just as often, they found themselves laughing together at a story one remembered, a funny thought, or something random one of them saw. And then were the times that neither said anything at all. Never before had she been able to sit with someone quietly without her silence being questioned. Even her father had had trouble with that one.
Spending time with Conan had felt so natural that Mhàiri had not realized just how unusual their relationship had become. At least not until Maegan had commented that some of the soldiers were betting on who was going to break first—her or Conan. That was when Mhàiri had learned that she held the record for the most days a woman had spent in Conan’s company without some kind of public eruption. Most did not even make it a week before they accosted him in the courtyard, calling him heartless, selfish, and other unflattering things at the top of their lungs.
When Mhàiri had mentioned it to Conan, he had asked her what she had thought, and her answer had been the same as what she had told Maegan. “It’s not your fault they lost their hearts to you. You probably even warned them against doing so.”
Conan had flashed her a grin. “You know, I actually did.”
“Then again, those dimples are an unfair advantage. I told you that they are lethal to a woman’s good sense.”
“Good thing they do not work on you,” he said with a chortle as he continued practicing the lesson of the day.
That was when Mhàiri had known that it was not going to happen. Conan was never going to kiss her. He may have thought about it at one time, but that desire had been replaced with simple friendship.
Deep down, Mhàiri knew it was a good thing. She most likely was going to be staying at McTiernay Castle for another four months and that time would be far more pleasant if she and Conan continued as they were. While she truly believed she could keep the emotional aspect of kissing away from her heart, it was a risk to test that belief.
“How’s it going?” Mhàiri asked, leaning over to see how Conan was progressing. They had moved on to how to draw lochs, rivers, and they’d even figured out a way to make it small enough to be depicted on a map. It was clear Conan understood the concepts she was teaching him, but skilled execution of them would take time and a lot of practice.
“I’m still trying to figure out how to capture the right amount of detail to show the features of an area but capture enough land mass to make the map of value. I don’t expect King Robert to piece together hundreds of these things on his hall wall just to see all of Scotland. It needs to be smaller. Something that could be bound in a book and transported.”
Mhàiri sighed and put her own stylus down. She leaned back on her hands and closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of the sun. “We should enjoy these warm afternoons. Did you feel how cold it got last night?”
“Aye,” he murmured, concentrating on his drawing. The temperature was not truly warm like it was in the summer, but the sun was bright and the wind was slight, making the day enjoyable when dressed in warm clothes. “I think I understand this enough for now. Let’s work on castles tomorrow. I know that there is not a large call for it on maps, but it might be useful and I want to learn all I can while I have the chance.”
Mhàiri took in a deep breath and exhaled, completely relaxed. “I can show you castles next if you want, but not tomorrow. I promised to go on an afternoon picnic with Loman while the warm weather still permitted.”
Conan froze, glad that Mhàiri’s eyes were still closed.
He knew several of the soldiers liked Mhàiri. It was to be expected. She was beautiful and aggravatingly friendly. Of course, she had admirers. But he had not thought Mhàiri returned their regard. And Loman was the worst. Practically the day after Seamus had introduced them, he had taken every opportunity to say some overly sweet hello, trap her into talking with him, or compel her to laugh at some story that was, in essence, boring and trite. Conan had thought Mhàiri felt the same.
They were so alike in their attitudes and opinions . . . about so many things, he had just assumed that she viewed Loman’s machinations the same way he did. Contrived and unwanted. But if she was going on an afternoon picnic with Loman, he had been wrong. Very wrong. And about a lot.
A whole afternoon together. If Loman’s attraction to Mhàiri was anything similar to Conan’s, the honey-haired soldier was not going to return to the castle with only a full belly and some conversation to get him through the night.
“You know Loman is going to try and kiss you,” he gritted out.
“Probably,” Mhàiri answered, eyes still closed, unperturbed at the idea.
“And are you going to let him?”
Conan’s clipped tone caused Mhàiri to open her eyes. She held his gaze steady and answered, “Of course, I am. I told you that I wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man. All the farmers I met while at the priory wanted to marry me. To kiss them would have been like accepting a marriage proposal. Now I finally have the chance, and I am going to take it.”
Conan could feel his jaw clench. The logic was there. Mhàiri did not sound as if she desired Loman, and yet the idea of that man’s lips against hers was turning his stomach into knots. “And you don’t think that Loman wants to marry you?”
Mhàiri thought for a moment and then, with a shrug, shook her head. She leaned back again, closed her eyes, and continued enjoying the sun. “He knows I plan to leave McTiernay Castle and travel with my father. And I don’t see Loman suddenly wanting to become a merchant. So no, I don’t think he has any thoughts toward marriage and a kiss certainly isn’t going to create them. We just enjoy each other’s company.”
Conan stood up abruptly. Mhàiri reopened her eyes to see that he was packing his things. “We’re leaving?” she asked, rising to her feet as well.
“Aye,” he said, clearly disgruntled.
“I promise we will get together again in two days and I will show you how to draw buildings, castles, or whatever you want.”
Conan dropped his things to the ground. “You think that’s what I care about right now?” He reached out and his hands gripped her arms, not painfully, but with enough force Mhàiri could feel the tension raging in his body. “If you wanted to know what a kiss was like so damn bad, you should have asked me.”
The desire Conan had worked so hard to suppress suddenly erupted and was beyond his control. His mouth came down on hers before Mhàiri could even think of moving. He caught her face between his hands, pulled her close, and kissed her—hard and deliberately—letting her feel the frustration and temper she had aroused in him.
Mhàiri was not sure what was happening until the moment she felt Conan’s mouth close roughly over hers, searing their lips together. Surprised, she at first clutched his forearms and resisted, but Conan did not lessen his hold. The pressure against her mouth was deep and persuasive and undeniable. And before she realized what she was doing, her mouth opened and welcomed him in.
Her first real kiss. It was more than Mhàiri had ever dreamed it could be. She knew there were different types of kisses—those with closed lips and those with an open mouth. And when she had thought about what her first kiss should be, she had always envisioned something soft and sweet, where two pairs of lips met together. The exchange was supposed to be pleasurable—nothing like what she was feeling with Conan. Her body was on fire. She felt as if she were melting and hungry at the same time.
Conan moaned. Mhàiri’s initial resistance was gone, and she was starting to respond. When she finally reached out and tasted him with her tongue, a shudder of need racked him. Something told him to let her go and maybe he would have found the will if Mhàiri’s slim fingers had not slid up his arms and clutched at his shoulders. Ending the kiss now was not a possibility.
A sharp groan escaped his throat and Conan pulled her in closer. His whole body was tight with desire. The full force of his own hunger burned inside him, and he refused to suffer alone. He would fan her own growing desire to such levels that she would never consider kissing another man.
Mhàiri whimpered as Conan invaded the vulnerable warmth behind her lips with an intimate aggression that seared her senses. She had been completely unprepared for the flood of sensations his tongue would create, boldly stroking the inside of her mouth. His arms and body were taut with muscle. He was broader and, excitingly, harder than she. Mhàiri knew she should do something to stop Conan’s passionate assault upon her senses, but she couldn’t muster the will to push him away. Not yet.
If anything, she wanted to be closer to him and leaned into him, unable to rationalize why or what she was doing. His musky scent filled her nostrils and caused an unfamiliar stir in her belly. Her hands ran down over his chest of their own accord and then back up around his neck. He matched her need and pulled her tightly to him, causing her to groan.
Conan reveled in the way her lips moved against his. Mhàiri tasted as good as he had known she would, but instead of quenching his desire for her, her taste only inflamed it. He wanted her more than he had ever thought it possible to want any woman.
Conan’s hands became as undisciplined as his mouth, taming and exciting as he stroked a warm path from her shoulders to the base of her spine.
Mhàiri trembled under his touch. It hardly seemed possible, but his fierce kiss had turned even more wild and ravenous. A shiver rolled through her and she suspected that what she was feeling could not be experienced in the arms of any other man. Conan was masterful, demanding, and all consuming. The hot, sensuous kiss went on and on, suffusing her body with an aching need for more. He was kissing her as though she were a drink of water and he were a man dying of thirst, and part of her hoped he would never be quenched. She moaned and felt her legs begin to quiver.
Conan held her tight so that she did not fall, but he did break off the kiss, giving them a chance to suck in much-needed air.
“Conan,” Mhàiri whispered just before she rocked against him and went up on her tiptoes to seek his mouth again.
He cursed, “Murt,” and then bent his head to kiss her once more, his tongue penetrating, stroking, taking. His body hard and hot with wanting her.
Over and over again, he slanted his mouth over Mhàiri’s. He curved his hand around the nape of her neck, keeping her in place, enjoying the silken feel of her skin while his body raged for something more.
Mhàiri let go another moan, and Conan knew he was at the brink of insanity. He had never shared an embrace that had turned so hot, so consuming, as to be in danger of losing control. But that was where he was at with Mhàiri.
With the last of his strength, he lifted his mouth from hers and looked down into her pale emerald eyes. She stared back at him with a mixture of confusion and vulnerability, but he steeled himself against it. Her chest heaved with the effort it took to breathe. He had never before experienced a need so deep, and it felt . . . threatening.
Suddenly, he needed to protect himself, his heart, and his future. He needed to get away. Now, before it was too late.
Conan held her face in his hands and looked down into the shining depths of her passion-filled eyes.
“There. Now you have something to compare Loman’s kiss to.”
Then he let her go and walked away, knowing those words, when they finally penetrated, would keep her from running after him.