Chapter Six
“Hold it there,” Conan said to Seamus as he shifted the heavy shelf into place.
“So where’s Mhàiri?” Seamus grunted.
“Out on a picnic with Loman.”
Seamus leaned back to look at Conan. His eyebrows were arched high, and a slight smile formed on his lips. “Interesting.”
Conan gave Seamus a quick glare and then went back to focus on securing the board in the panel’s groove. Neither would ever admit they considered each other friends. Both told others they stomached the other’s company, but in truth Conan respected the quiet soldier, and in the past year a surprising, but strong, bond of friendship had grown between them.
And all because of a woman.
Conan never had been attracted to Maegan, though he could see her appeal when he considered the idea objectively. But to him, Maegan would always be the skinny spitfire who had chased after his younger brother for years. He had seen the mutual attachment start to grow between them before Clyde had left. Clyde, in actions more than words, had claimed the girl as his own and probably this more than anything else kept Conan from truly seeing the soft beauty she had become. Her bony arms and body had filled out in the last few years, and her large eyes, the color of a clear winter sky, had begun to mesmerize many a soldier in Clyde’s absence. One of them was Seamus.
With Hamish gone and living in the north, Seamus had taken the man’s place next to Finn as Conor’s second in command. As such, he had been around the castle a lot more than most and routinely crossed paths with Maegan. And each time they had spoken, the more Seamus had grown to like her. And soon he had begun to search for ways to be in her company whenever he was not on duty. Since Maegan was usually watching over Bonny and the little girl preferred to spend time with her uncle, Seamus had found himself in a situation he had never predicted to be in—seeking out Conan’s company.
At first, Conan had thought of Seamus just as another nuisance who clearly was using him to spend time with a woman—something Conan might have respected more if Seamus liked someone other than Maegan. But when Bonny had mentioned how much the soldier had been helping him while he was there in prepping for his travels, Conan had realized she was right. After that, he no longer cared about Seamus’s ulterior motives. Not only did he respect the soldier, but he liked the man. Conan also hoped that Maegan would realize before it was too late that Clyde was never coming back and that she could do no better than a good man who was inexplicably in love with her.
“What’s so interesting about it?” Conan grumbled as he fought with the board. He knew it fit; the frustrating piece of wood just did not know it yet.
“Only that building all these shelves was a lot of work. One typically does not spend a lot of time on a project when there is no personal benefit. You certainly don’t.”
“I was ordered to do it if you recall. I did not have much of a choice.” Finally, the board slid all the way into the groove. Conan put downward pressure on it, testing its strength. Pleased, he went to grab the next shelf. “Why do you care, anyway?”
“I don’t necessarily, but there are several men I know who are very interested in your relationship with Mhàiri.”
Conan felt his jaw tighten. He should have anticipated something like this. Fighting men, especially the unmarried ones, bet all the time and on anything. Mhàiri was something new to wager on. But their relationship? Making bets on that was senseless when he and Mhàiri did not have one. “What kind of wagers are you talking about?”
Seamus grunted when Conan began to push against the panel he was holding in an effort to wedge the next shelf into place. “Just what you would expect. Everyone knows you two are friends and go out each afternoon, so there are wagers on whether you two are going to pair up. But most just bet on when you are going to infuriate Mhàiri to the point that she yells at you like all your other past women. I wonder who won today?”
“She didn’t yell at me today, and if she hasn’t already, I doubt she will.”
Seamus peeked around, and when he caught Conan’s eye, he grinned largely. “I was talking about the bet on Loman being the first to successfully ask Mhàiri out.”
Conan scowled at the hint.
“There will be others.”
“What if there are?” Conan grumbled, frustrated with both the board he was fighting and the revelations Seamus was sharing.
“Why haven’t you tried your charms with Mhàiri? I know it’s been a while since you’ve actually pursued a woman, but I have never seen anyone get a female as quickly as you when you are of the mind to have one.”
“Right now I have more important things to think about. And it’s been a while because I’ve learned that women are the definition of trouble.” Conan heard the popping sound of the second shelf sliding into place. He slapped his hands together. Curiosity forced him to ask, “So which way did you bet?”
“Who says I did?”
“I do.”
Seamus scoffed. “Believe it or not, I bet on you.”
“Bad bet, my friend,” Conan replied, picking up the third and final shelf. Unfortunately, they had two more bookcases to put together.
“Why? Of all the women you have ever encountered—or are likely to encounter—Mhàiri is by far the best suited for someone with your temperament. Her wit, for example. You both have a strange sense of humor, although hers is one others tend to enjoy.” This time it was Conan who peeked around to give Seamus an annoyed look. “What? People laugh when they’re around her. Even you on occasion. She likes pictures just like you do and she also wants to see the world.” Hearing no response from Conan, Seamus added, “And there is the fact that Mhàiri is unquestionably beautiful. I don’t see how even you can resist that combination.”
“You’re resisting it.”
“That’s because my heart has already been claimed and so will Mhàiri’s be if you do not stop pretending you are not interested in her.”
Conan did not like hearing that other men thought Mhàiri beautiful, but to hear Seamus say it really rankled. And Conan had not realized others thought she was so funny. He put the board in place and gave it a forceful shove. “She’d be happier with someone else.”
“Not in the long run. The woman is really smart. She is a female version of yourself,” Seamus continued, waving his hand at all the books and manuscripts scattered around the room. “I’ve seen her challenge you a few times. And want to know what I saw? You liked it.”
“Are you going to talk nonsense the whole afternoon?” Conan asked as he went to start putting together the second bookcase.
Seamus ignored him. “And what is really crazy is that Mhàiri, after spending hours in your company, doesn’t seem to be repelled by you. Hell, I bet if you try, you could convince her to fall in love with you.”
The pit that had been in Conan’s stomach since he and Mhàiri kissed turned over. Love was not a notion he wanted to entertain. And what they had shared yesterday had been more than simple desire.
Kissing women was an act of lust driven by a basic, primal need to mate. But kissing Mhàiri had been different. Once their lips met, Conan had craved her in a way that he could not explain. Such physical desires wane once parted, but with Mhàiri, he did not just want her in his bed, he wanted to be around her. He actually enjoyed her company. Wanting her physically and emotionally—that was a dangerous combination.
“Your five older brothers seem happy to have found someone and be married. Maybe it’s your turn.”
Conan paused to look at Seamus to see if he was serious. “What are you really asking? Because it sounds like you are sizing me up for another bet. If that’s true, I’ll save everyone some money. It is not going to happen. Trust me when I say that Mhàiri is just as much against the idea of being tied down as I am.”
Seamus shrugged disbelievingly and took the side panel Conan handed him. “I’ll remind you that all your brothers said the same thing until Lady McTiernay got involved.”
“Well, then lucky for me my sister-in-law has sworn never to help a woman ruin her life by attaching herself to me. Laurel discourages them from even talking to me, let alone falling in love and all that other nonsense.”
“Then you really don’t mind that a lot of other men are looking at Mhàiri? Wanting to know if she is available?”
Conan kept his focus on the panel in front of him. The first shelf was the hardest, for it secured the vertical panels. Once he was sure his expression was under control, Conan looked at Seamus. The damn man was smiling again. Seamus never smiled, but all afternoon he had had one plastered on his face. His grin was really becoming irritating.
“Listen closely,” Conan said through gritted teeth. “I might like to hear Mhàiri laugh as much as the next man. And I won’t deny I enjoy looking at her, but nothing is going to keep me from leaving in the spring. Alone.”
Conan almost added that if other men wanted her, they were welcome to chase her, but he could not compel himself to say the words. He knew without doubt that come spring, just like him, Mhàiri would be leaving the Highlands happily unwed. Her reasons were as deeply rooted as his. And if she wanted to enjoy herself while she was here, he was not going to act like a lovesick puppy and stop it.
* * *
Loman’s hand brushed Mhàiri’s cheek, and her breath hitched in her throat knowing what was about to happen. Loman tipped her chin up, and his kind eyes stared down at her before narrowing on her lips. Then he leaned forward, cradled her face in his strong hands, and brushed his lips against hers.
Soft and gentle, it was nothing like Conan’s demanding kiss from yesterday. Loman was sweet, smooth, and tender. So different from Conan. Loman’s lips may not be passion-filled, but they were soft and warm and while molded to hers, they were surprisingly pleasant. The long, gradual kiss was not meant to create intense waves of need, but instead was a sweet mixture of patience and hope—quite different from the scorching, primal embrace she had shared with Conan. Today, she was not being branded or seduced. She was being asked.
After Conan had left, it had taken Mhàiri hours to calm her racing heart enough to recall what he had said. His parting words had practically been a dare, and Mhàiri had wondered if it would be possible to enjoy another man’s kiss. Now she knew.
She did like it.
She was kissing Loman and not cringing at his touch, but enjoying the feeling of being desirable. However, Mhàiri knew there was only one mouth she would ever crave. One man who could make her lose all thought and control. And while Loman’s lips were soft, warm, and sweet, they lacked the aggressive passion that made her feel alive and fully as a woman.
Loman pulled away slowly from her lips and smiled. “That was nice.”
Mhàiri stroked his cheek and then leaned back. “It was nice. But I don’t think we should do it again.”
Loman reached out to caress her chin with his thumb. “Why not if we both enjoyed it?”
Mhàiri pulled back further. She licked her lips and held his gaze so that he knew she was not playing games. “Because, Loman, I think if we continued kissing you would eventually believe it would lead to other things.” She swallowed. “And I’m not wanting those . . . things.”
“You could, if you let yourself,” Loman encouraged.
Mhàiri shook her head. “Another kiss is not going to change my mind.”
“What about Conan?” he asked. “Is that why you are with him so much? Because he makes no demands?”
Mhàiri rolled her eyes, hoping to hide any feelings she might have for Conan. “He has nothing to do with what I want. My sister and I made plans to travel throughout Scotland long before I came here, and now I am planning to do so with my father.”
“But plans change,” Loman countered, his lips curled in a boyish smile. “Yours did. They could again.” His tone was light, good-humoredly hopeful, despite knowing that they were not meant to be.
Mhàiri bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Fine, persistent one. Let’s say we kissed again.”
“And again,” Loman added with a cheeky smile that was aimed to wear her down.
“And even again,” Mhàiri capitulated. “Then what is going to happen this spring when my father comes? Because no matter how much I was in love, there is one thing that will never change. I could never live in one place for the rest of my life. The idea of a small home to care for is beyond unappealing.” She shuddered. “Cooking and cleaning every day would make me miserable and then I would make you miserable.” Seeing she had his attention, she did not stop. “And knowing this, are you saying that you would agree to leave with my father and me? Live a merchant’s way of life? Travel on the road all the time, meeting new people? The daily challenge would not be wielding a sword but outthinking the buyer, trying to convince him to give up some of his hard-earned coin for some quality goods.”
Loman swallowed and straightened his shoulders, his smile gone. Though he did not say anything, but Mhàiri knew his answer. “You and I both know you would never be happy as a merchant.”
“No,” Loman agreed. “I have no desire to be anything like a merchant. I don’t mind periodically visiting other places, but I have a home here. And the idea of coming home to a welcoming family is what I want. I just haven’t found anyone who wants to have it with me.”
Mhàiri found that hard to believe, but then Loman was not simply looking for a wife. He wanted a woman to love and who would love him in return. “She will come. Give her time,” she encouraged.
Loman took a deep breath and exhaled. “Still friends?”
Mhàiri laughed. “Of course we are! One little kiss doesn’t have the power to end a friendship.” But she knew that was a lie. One little kiss just might have done that very thing with her and Conan, and their bond had been much stronger, far more compelling. Yet the power of a single kiss might have snapped it.
Mhàiri shifted and began to look around at the remnants of the lovely meal they had enjoyed. “Shall I start to pack up?”
Loman laid back and crossed his feet at the ankles. He hooked his hands behind his head and said, “Why? Finn gave me the whole afternoon to do what I please, and what pleases me most right now is spending time with you. Mostly because I know that every moment you and I are out here together is another moment I’m making Conan squirm.”
Mhàiri looked to the heavens and shook her head. “You are awful,” she said, chuckling, hoping that Loman was right. “Well, until the wind grows too cold.”
Loman let go a loud laugh and slapped his thighs. “It’s settled then. We let Conan squirm for as long as we can.”
* * *
“Say that again,” Maegan demanded.
“I kissed Loman,” Mhàiri repeated, lying on Maegan’s bed, staring at the ceiling. “Well, I guess he kissed me, but I let him.”
Maegan got up and went to the large window that looked outside the castle walls. Below was a large ravine, but beyond that were rolling hills. It was still a couple of hours before sunset, but dark clouds were coming in, making it seem later than it was. It did not help that her bedroom was on the first floor of the Star Tower and did not allow for some of the great views on the upper floors. McTiernay Castle was large, but there were several that were bigger in Scotland. What made it notable was its great hall and the Star Tower. Seven stories tall, it was one of the biggest in the country.
The tower was where the laird and his family lived. Maegan knew she was fortunate that Conor and Laurel felt she was part of theirs. They considered her family and she considered them hers.
“Did you want to kiss Loman?”
Mhàiri shrugged noncommittedly. “I was curious to know if it would be different from Conan’s.”
“You did what?” Maegan screeched in shock as she spun around from her bedroom window.
“You heard me.”
“You actually kissed Conan.”
Mhàiri sighed. “I did not want to kiss him, and I’m not sure he wanted to kiss me either. He and I were arguing and then suddenly we were grasping onto each other as if some force were preventing us from letting go. That was why I kissed Loman.”
Maegan shook her head. “I am not following.”
“To see if it would be different. Until yesterday I had never kissed anyone before. I was not sure if they were all the same. But they aren’t.”
“They aren’t?”
Realizing what Maegan was implying, Mhàiri got up on her elbows. “Are you saying that in your twenty years, you’ve never kissed anyone?”
“You’re twenty too!”
“But I lived in a priory,” Mhàiri protested. “Even then I had opportunities. What about Clyde?”
“I was not really old enough for kissing before he left,” Maegan whispered, somewhat embarrassed by the admission. It was easy to say that you loved someone and that they loved you. She had repeated it enough that everyone believed her, but if she let it be known that she and Clyde had never even kissed, her assertions of love would not be taken as seriously.
“You know you can kiss a man without being in love with them. I’ve done it twice this week.”
“I know, but . . .”
“But what?” Mhàiri pressed. “What about Seamus? The man is completely besotted. Don’t you find him good looking?”
Maegan flopped down on the bed beside Mhàiri and sighed. “Seamus is more than good looking. I watch him train with the men for hours and never get bored looking at him. But looking is one thing. Kissing? I couldn’t do that to Clyde.”
Mhàiri studied the rafters on the ceiling of the room. She had not had very many female friends in her life, living on the road and then in a priory. She treasured her friendship with Maegan and did not want to say anything that might jeopardize theirs, which meant she couldn’t tell her what she thought about Clyde.
Mhàiri knew Maegan earnestly believed she was in love with the youngest McTiernay brother, but she also used that belief as a way to protect herself. Mhàiri suspected that on some level Maegan knew it as well. She was scared of love just like everyone else. Maegan had found a way of shielding her heart from pain, and Mhàiri was not going to strip it from her. But that did not mean she wouldn’t from time to time try to nudge it a little.
“So are you going to kiss him again?” Maegan asked.
“Loman? No. He knows that I am not the one for him.”
“I was talking about Conan,” Maegan said with an exasperated sigh.
Mhàiri bit the inside of her cheek. She had asked herself that very question multiple times. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you want to kiss anyone else?”
Mhàiri scrunched up her nose at the idea. “I don’t know. Why?”
Maegan rolled over and looked at Mhàiri. “Because Christmastide is almost here and there will be a lot of opportunities. Laurel has already invited the Schelldens so Callum will be coming, and though I still think Seamus is better looking, Callum does come close.”
Mhàiri pursed her lips at the idea. “Maybe I don’t want to kiss anyone else,” she admitted.
Maegan looked at Mhàiri and began to shake her head. She sat up and crossed her arms. “Do not fall for Conan.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mhàiri said and went to roll off the bed and look out the window.
“I’m not. I know love. I’m an expert on it, and it starts just this way.”
Mhàiri’s back stiffened. “I am—”
The sudden opening of the bedchamber door stopped her from finishing her thought. “Brenna! I thought you were with your mother.”
“I was. The baby was moving, but only Bonny got to feel it. It must be a boy. Boys never do what I want them to,” Brenna grumbled.
“Where’s Bonny? She still with your mother?”
Brenna shook her head. “She left to go check on Seamus and Uncle Conan. They are in Mhàiri’s room putting together her shelves.”
Mhàiri turned around abruptly. She had gone straight to see Maegan when she had returned. She’d had no idea that Conan had been installing her shelves.
Maegan gleefully clapped her hands together. “Are they still there?”
Brenna bobbed her shoulders. “I think so. Why?”
“Because I’m curious to know what they are doing and saying.”
Brenna twirled around in a circle, a smile erupting on her face. “I know the best way to learn what people are thinking. Follow me!”
Fifteen minutes later, Mhàiri was scrunched down, sitting on a cold floor next to Maegan and Brenna. The back passageway was narrow, and she could only see a little through the slits in the stone to the activities taking place in her room, but she could hear everything that was said perfectly.
* * *
“That’s it. The last shelf is in,” Conan said, glad he was almost done.
Seamus wiped his brow. The air had turned humid, foretelling that storms were on the way. Though it was not hot, it still made indoor physical labor uncomfortable. “Great. Time for some ale.”
Conan snorted and then pointed to all the manuscripts. “Laurel told me that we must also unpack everything.”
“We?” Seamus challenged.
“Aye, we,” Conan replied. In fact, Laurel had included Seamus in the request, but only after Conan had twisted things to ensure she did so.
Seamus studied Conan, who just returned his stare with an arched brow. “Fine. I’ll help,” Seamus groused, “but I don’t know where to put anything.”
“Anywhere it won’t roll or fall off. Mhàiri can figure out how she wants things arranged later when we are gone.” Conan moved to the first of the three large chests. “I’ll unpack these. Once we are done, ale it is.”
Seamus picked up the medical book that Mhàiri had taken away from Brenna. “I may not know how to read, but I can look at pictures just fine. And these”—he opened the book to show Conan pictures of the male anatomy—“are not what I would expect to see in a young woman’s library. I now see why you find abbeys so interesting.”
Conan grabbed the book to see what Seamus was waving about. “It’s a medical book about surgery.” He handed it back. “There are drawings of the female body in there as well.”
Seamus pulled in his chin, furrowed his brow with increased curiosity, and skimmed through the book again. Stopping at a page, he turned it to view at different angles. “I’m starting to understand the appeal of being a scholar.”
Conan ignored him and opened the first large chest. He pulled out several books and manuscripts and put them on the shelves.
Seamus sighed and placed the medical book on the nearest bookcase. He then went to the smaller chest and lifted the lid. He stood up holding a blue gown with small seed pearls along the hem up to his chest. “What do you think?”
Conan glanced at him. “I think it just might be what you need to get Maegan to finally take notice of you.”
“Go n-ithe an cat thú is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat,” Seamus growled. He hastily rolled up the dress and put it back down to see what else was in the trunk. “Do you think that women like wearing all these things?”
Conan shrugged and shoved some scrolled manuscripts on the top shelf. “If they didn’t, then I suspect they wouldn’t wear them.” Then he realized what Seamus was doing. “Close that up. Mhàiri wouldn’t be dumb enough to pack gowns with her books.”
Seamus closed the lid with a thunk. “How was I to know? I’ve been around you brilliant people enough to see you do an awful lot of dumb things.”
Conan ignored his friend and pulled out one very large volume with a thin leather cover. The binding was not a permanent one. Instead, lace pulled the front and back slats of wood tightly together. When it was loosened, someone could take sheets out individually and then bind them again to keep them protected. He did not need to open it to see that it was not vellum within the leather bindings, but hemp paper.
Conan placed the book on the shelf and then went to see if there was another. There was. Exactly the same. Wondering how many more hemp books there were, Conan began opening the lids to the second and third chests. There were twelve large hemp books in total.
“What has you so enamored?” Seamus asked, looking over Conan’s shoulder, watching him stroke the cover.
Slowly Conan opened the book and was not surprised by what he saw. Mhàiri’s drawings. He flipped through the pages and saw lochs, flowers, buildings, people—the last few years of her life was staring back at him.
Conan put the book down and reached out for another. This time, only blank pages stared back at him.
Conan swallowed and began going through all the books, his breathing becoming more rapid as he began to realize exactly what he was seeing—and why Mhàiri had kept it hidden within the heavy chests. Nearly half of the books were blank. She had literally hundreds of sheets of blank hemp paper. And she had kept it a secret.
“I cannot believe it,” Conan whispered. “All this paper.”
Seamus looked at it. “What of it? It’s blank.”
“Touch it,” Conan ordered.
Seamus complied. “What is it?” he asked, realizing that it was different.
“This is hemp.” Conan pointed at all the large bound volumes. “All of this hemp. Probably the best thing to write on. And it’s here. Can you imagine the maps I could make using this?”
Seamus might have spent a good deal of time with Conan over the past year, but he did not know anything about making maps. Mostly because he did not want to know about them. What little he did know was that it required vellum, the making of which was tedious. He knew that because Conan had roped him to helping with the chore often enough.
“I expect Mhàiri looks at this and imagines all the pictures she could create.”
Conan lightly touched the smooth surface. “It’s so light. I bet I could carry a dozen sheets for every one of vellum. Using hemp would increase my output tenfold,” he said, more to himself than to Seamus. He knew it was impossible, but it was hard not to imagine, seeing so much blank hemp within reach.
“Too bad it’s not yours,” Seamus reiterated, taking the book from Conan’s hands. Seeing his friend’s crushed expression, he added, “But maybe it could be. I mean, her father is the one who got it for her and Mhàiri will be with him again this spring. She might give you them if you asked.”
Conan squeezed his eyes shut. “Maybe two days ago it would have been a possibility, but after yesterday, I do not see it happening.”
Seamus grimaced and wagged his finger at him before grabbing a set of rolls. “That’s right. The kiss,” he said with a shake of his head.
“We already agreed it wasn’t my best idea,” Conan muttered.
“Hey! You could buy them from her. Her father is a merchant, and she wants to live that life. Mhàiri might be willing to trade or accept coin for the paper.”
Conan sighed. It was clear Seamus did not understand the value of what he was looking at. And Mhàiri was using the hemp paper herself. She used it all the time. It was just as important and valuable to her as it would be to him. “I don’t think that is an option either.”
“Well, there has to be a way,” Seamus said under his breath, trying to think. “Is it stealing if you charm Mhàiri into giving them to you?”
Conan furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s like I was saying earlier. I haven’t seen a woman yet who could resist you when you aim to have her. And we already know that Mhàiri is susceptible to your kisses. . . .”
Conan stroked his chin. Seamus was right. It might be possible to gain Mhàiri’s affections. She might deny wanting him, but he could use that to his advantage. He would never consider fully seducing Mhàiri—that crossed a line. Just the idea of any man taking such advantage of her sent a surge of anger through him. If it ever actually happened, he would not be responsible for his actions. But wooing her enough so that she would be willing to share a hemp book or two? That he could do.
It wouldn’t be a lie either, for he actually liked Mhàiri. And it was not like he would be teasing her with the possibility of a future that was never going to happen, for she, too, was soundly against the idea of marriage.
Seamus tapped the bookcase’s panel, looking at all the filigree Conan had carved into the wood. That was what had taken him so long. “You and I know that you could have built bookshelves that would have been sufficient in a day or two, but instead you spent weeks making this furniture fancy.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Aye,” Seamus said dismissively. “But think about this. Most women, when they get gifts, they want to give something in return.”
Conan grinned, seeing where Seamus was heading. “And the nicer the gift, the more they want to reciprocate.”
“Aye,” Seamus said, nodding his head. “And these bookshelves? They are a very nice gift. Don’t you agree?”
Conan crossed his arms and assessed his work. He proudly bobbed his head. “I certainly do.” Hopefully Mhàiri thought they were nice enough for a book, maybe even two as well. “Help me put all these books back in the chests.”
“Back in the chests? We just got them out.”
“Aye. But I don’t want Mhàiri to realize I know about the hemp paper. She needs to tell me about them. That way, when she offers them to me, she’ll believe it is all her idea.”
* * *
Mhàiri stomped to the hearth in Maegan’s bedchambers, turned, and then headed to the window. Reaching it, she turned around and made the round again . . . and again. Pacing was the only thing that was keeping her from screaming the anger raging through her body.
To think that at one time she had considered giving Conan one of her prized hemp books as a surprise gift for his journey. She had known it would be too much of a burden on her father to bring all her manuscripts, scrolls, and things with them on their travels. She had already planned to offer what was to remain behind to Laurel or Father Lanaghly and the church. But her hemp paper? That had been coming with her.
“And he knew,” Mhàiri hissed. “Conan knew they were a gift from my father!”
Maegan bit her bottom lip and winced. “That does make it worse somehow.”
“What a buthaigir duine.”
Maegan’s eyes grew wide. She glanced at Brenna, who played with a loose thread on the bed’s blanket and then back at Mhàiri. The term was not a nice one, but Maegan could not disagree. What Conan was planning did make him a complete and total bastard. It also made Seamus one. “I guess it was a good thing I was wrong and that you weren’t falling for him.”
Mhàiri groaned. She may not have fallen in love with Conan, but she had liked him. A lot. And she had thought he had liked her as well, and more than just as some female who amused him, but as someone he respected. How could she have been so wrong?
“Conan is exactly what you first said he was. A menace to women.”
Maegan was not sure she had actually said those words, but she was not about to argue with Mhàiri right now. Especially as she was just as angry as her friend. Maegan could not believe Seamus—a man she had thought so honorable and genuinely nice—could devise such a plan. And it was his plan. Conan might have agreed to it, but it was Seamus’s diabolical idea.
“We should go tell Laurel,” Maegan put forth, tapping her foot. “If she knew . . . oh . . . no one is better at making men miserable when they deserve it. Let’s go.”
Mhàiri put up her hand, halting Maegan before she reached the door. “No. I’m going to handle this. Conan thought he could outsmart me. He has no idea what I am capable of, but he is going to learn. I’m not some simple village baoit he was trying to take advantage of. I am Iain Mayboill’s daughter, and Conan McTiernay is about to find out exactly what that means.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Brenna, who had been discreetly listening to every word spoken. Earlier, she had told Mhàiri that she knew the best way to learn what people were thinking, but she had forgotten to warn her that she might not like what she heard.
Mhàiri tapped her chin and then said, “First, I’m not going to let Conan know that I know about his little plan.”
“You’re going to let Conan charm you into giving away your books?” Maegan asked, shocked.
“That is never going to happen,” Mhàiri stated. “But he won’t know that. I’ll even pretend to resist his charms at first so that he has to work even harder to win me over.”
Maegan let go a sinister giggle. “I like it.”
“And then, when Conan thinks he has me so mesmerized that I would give him anything, I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what?”
Mhàiri waved her hand. “Oh, I don’t know, but I can decide that later.”
Maegan took in a deep breath. “That might work, but only if you don’t fall for Conan’s appeal, because if you do, you’ll end up giving him everything.”
* * *
Mhàiri woke up and stretched, studying the three large bookcases that lined the walls of her room. They were beautiful pieces of art, and if she was not so mad at Conan, they would have been enough for her to hand over one or two of her books. That was why it was so hurtful that he planned to cheat them from her. After all the time they had spent together, she had thought he knew her. And she had thought she knew him.
Mhàiri’s stomach growled. She rolled out of bed and began to dress. Last night, she and Maegan had decided to eat in her bedchambers and were grateful that Laurel had not pressed them too much for explanations. But if she missed this morning, there would be questions.
* * *
Conan sat across the table and returned Mhàiri’s glare. She knew she needed to put aside her anger because there was no way he was going to pursue her when she was shooting him full of daggers with her eyes, but she could not seem to make her eyes cooperate.
Finally, giving up, she put her fork down and made a quick excuse to leave the hall and put some space between her and Conan. It was obviously going to take more than a single night of sleep for her to calm down. Until then, she needed to stay away from him.
Mhàiri was halfway across the courtyard when strong fingers gripped her arm, startling her out of her mental dialogue. “What?” she snapped, not meaning it to sound as harsh as it came out. Then, discovering it was Conan, she no longer felt guilty.
“I asked if you liked the shelves,” Conan said through clenched teeth, clearly frustrated.
“Aye. They work well. I’m glad I was able to spend the afternoon with Loman so you could finally put them together.” Mhàiri knew the comment was unworthy of her, but she could not bring herself to apologize. Not when Conan was planning on using those very shelves as a “gift” to persuade her to give him one in return.
Conan’s eyes narrowed. “And how was your little outing?” His voice increased in volume as his anger grew in intensity.
“Quite pleasurable,” Mhàiri answered, matching his volume.
“What does that mean?”
“Only that I had a lovely time,” she shouted. “I like Loman, and he made it very clear that he likes me.”
Conan towered over her, his blue eyes shooting sparks. “Did Loman kiss you? Did you let him?” he jeered.
“You knew he would, and I must say, I was surprised to enjoy it as much as I did.” It was true. She had enjoyed the kiss more than she had expected, for she had not thought to like it at all. But that did not mean she wanted to kiss Loman again. However, that Conan did not need to know.
Conan clenched his fists as the sudden need to punch something—like Loman’s jaw—coursed through him. He had been a fool to think the passionate embrace they’d shared would deter Mhàiri from seeking attention from other men. Whatever it was he had felt had been an illusion. “So first me, then Loman. I guess we should warn all the other single men that you will be seeking out their attentions. I wonder who will be next? Buzz, Fergus, Gil? Too bad Jaime Ruadh is at Cole’s. He was quite the ladies’ man when he lived here.”
Mhàiri crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. “I was thinking about Callum Schellden. I understand that he is very good looking and will be here in a couple of weeks for the celebrations.”
Conan bent over her and stared down into her eyes. She just glared back. “Don’t you even think about kissing Callum,” he growled loudly. “If I find out that you even talked to that bladaire . . .”
“You’ll what? Yell at me?” Mhàiri bellowed back.
Conan took a step back and fought to lower his voice. “I don’t yell at women. I’m an intellect and don’t need to resort to such means to win a fight. My brothers’ dispositions are to holler, not mine.”
“Really?” Mhàiri countered, uncaring that her voice could still clearly be heard by anyone in the courtyard. “Because I think you are exactly like your brothers. You’ve just never met a woman who will yell back.” She took a finger and poked his chest. “Now you have.”
Conan grabbed the finger and squeezed it. Not enough to cause her pain, but enough so that she could not free it until he let go. “I already have one Laurel in my life. I don’t need two.”
“And I don’t need another arrogant man who thinks he’s always right. But at least my father is an honorable man.”
“Are you saying I’m not an honorable man?”
“How would I know? You could tell me anything and a silly little female like me would probably believe you.”
Conan let go of her finger. “Then believe this. I would never lie to you.”
Without another word, Conan turned and headed for the North Tower, leaving Mhàiri standing in the courtyard with her mouth open.
She wanted to believe him. But then she remembered what he had said when he had not known she was listening.
I would never lie to you.
A false promise made toward an end goal. How Mhàiri wished it were a real one.