Chapter Two #7
“And it is just as clear to me why you are not married.” Conan marched away before he could hear another word.
He hated quarreling with women. It was impossible to reason with someone who countered anything logical with nonsense.
But arguing with smart women? They were the absolute worst. They could twist anything to something that sounded logical to them.
Draw someone’s soul. Laurel was going to love her.
Spring could not come fast enough.
* * *
The next morning, Mhàiri stood staring at the same view that had created such a mixture of strong emotions in her. Hearing someone approach, she glanced to see who it was, relieved to learn that it was Father Lanaghly.
“Good morning, Mhàiri lass. Conan is hitching up the horses now. Conor never returned so he probably rode ahead on his own.”
“Thank you.” Mhàiri knew her voice was still sorrowful, even though she had tried to mask it.
“I knew after a few minutes of our first meeting that you were special. I knew because I have been fortunate to personally know two others who perceive things like you do—Conan and his niece, Bonny. All three of you see the world differently from anyone else.”
“Conan thinks that my seeing the world differently is a crime.”
Father Lanaghly chuckled. “Conan is a man who rarely encounters his intellectual equal. Being different has forced him apart from others. Even when he is surrounded by people—including family—he is alone. So do not let Conan or his abrupt ways bother you.”
“I grew up with gruff manners and direct words. My father is very smart and has an incredibly direct and forthright personality. It aggravates some, but it is also what made him very successful as a merchant. So while I might have wished Conan stated his comments very nicely and sweetly, it would not have mattered.”
“Some people—usually women—have issues with Conan’s approach to things,” Father Lanaghly remarked cautiously.
“Not surprising,” Mhàiri said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Most would rather have someone lie to them.”
Father Lanaghly tipped his head to one side but did not argue. “Even when Conan is completely wrong, he earnestly believes otherwise. I don’t think he knows how often he is wrong when it comes to people.”
“Not this time,” Mhàiri said with a sigh.
Father Lanaghly did not know what it was like to see things the way she and Conan did.
To observe more in a few seconds than what others did after studying something for an hour.
To be able to think through facts and rapidly come to conclusions, which were more often than not correct.
Her father used to tell her that someday she would learn to put all that aside and just see the person.
To stop viewing people as she did a scene, looking for ways to draw them, but actually get to know them.
“Truth is, Conan was telling me things I did not want to hear.”
“Well, remember, Mhàiri lass, Conan may have been accurate about one thing, but it was only one of many pieces that make up the whole of you.” Seeing that Mhàiri was digesting what he had said, he added, “And keep in mind that you have only seen a limited view of who Conan is well. He, too, is very complex and it takes time to truly understand him—even for the unusually gifted.” He winked.
“What I do know is that the more I understand Conan, the more I appreciate him for who he is.”
* * *
Mhàiri sat in the cart staring straight ahead.
Next to her, holding the reins, was Conan, who was just as silent as she was.
Shortly after their conversation, Father Lanaghly had decided that he needed some alone time with God.
While he had been very nice with his suggestion to exchange carts with Conan, it had also been clear that the request was not so much of a request as a statement.
As a result, Mhàiri was now forced to rub shoulders with Conan for the rest of the trip.
It was one thing for Conan to be riding up ahead, but being so silent next to her was going to rob Mhàiri of her sanity.
Apologizing, however, was out of the question.
He had snatched her work and judged it and her.
He should be the one to say “I’m sorry.” And yet, that was not what was bothering her or what had kept her up the rest of the night.
“Do you really think my drawings could be of value? I mean, to other people?” she blurted out.
Conan’s head slightly jerked upright, and then he slowly turned to look at her. “Not as they are, but aye. I have never seen anyone who could do what you can. It is a skill I need to possess, but don’t.”
“Why?” she asked, truly curious. She tilted her head to one side, causing her hair to fall over one shoulder. “Why would anyone need to draw?”
Conan watched as she slid her hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face.
Her tongue then touched her lips, moistening the satin finish.
Conan felt something twisting deep in his gut.
He turned his eyes to the heavens and prayed for help.
“This spring, I leave to make maps of Scotland and its clans,” he finally answered.
“King Robert needs to be able to know all the routes England could use to strike Scotland again and where there is most benefit to fortify against Longshanks’s son. ”
Conan apprehensively stole another glance.
Seeing that Mhàiri was interested in what he was saying, he continued.
“But mostly I want to make maps for the clans. The constant skirmishes about land and resources need to end. Also, while the major clans are known, there are many out there of which King Robert is unaware. Some are growing and some no longer exist. He needs to know who to seek out if we once again need to fight for our freedom.”
“I . . . I, too, was going to embark on my dreams in the spring. And then the priory burnt down.” Mhàiri prayed her father would agree to take her with him now that her plans were no more. If he refused to let her come with him, it would not be from lack of love, but too much of it.
“And what were your dreams, Mhàiri?” Conan said her name, and it sent a shiver through her. He sounded as if he truly wanted to know. Maybe the priest was right. She needed to let Conan see more of who she was so that he could understand her better.
“I have an older sister, Shinae. She is incredibly beautiful. Men used to say that her smile could rob them of breath.”
Conan chuckled. “We men will say anything if we think it might get us the attention of a pretty woman.”
Mhàiri shook her head. “But with Shinae, it’s true.
She is open and friendly, and has a smile for everyone.
When my mother died, she was only fourteen.
My father feared that, her being so beautiful, she would attract attention.
Knowing he could not always protect her, he sent her to live with his sister, who was a member of the priory’s Culdees.
When I turned fourteen, he sent me to join them. ”
“You love your sister.”
“I do. Very much. Everyone does,” Mhàiri said with a sigh.
“You sound like everyone does not feel similarly about you.”
Mhàiri shook her head. “Shinae is outgoing. Friendly. I am not. I’m more comfortable with books or drawing.”
“And is she a nun?”
Mhàiri nodded. “Shinae loved the Culdees’ way of life, but she knew that I did not. For years, various members of the priory would set up introductions with dozens of men looking for a wife. They were not subtle with their strong hints that I should settle down.”
Conan’s mouth formed a thin line. He had known last night his comment about understanding why she wasn’t married a false one, but the idea that dozens of men had been courting Mhàiri did not sit well with him.
“So why didn’t you . . . um, settle down?
” he asked, using her term rather than the word marry.
Mhàiri shrugged her shoulders. “No one ever interested me. Oh, most were nice. A few were surprisingly very good looking,” she added with a chuckle that sent another shiver down Conan’s spine.
“And I have no doubt that they would have given me a comfortable life—if I desired a home and children. But I can think of nothing worse than the idea of waking every day to the same chores that would only expand as the household grew.” Mhàiri shuddered.
Conan felt his shoulders relax and adjusted how he was sitting. There was no man who would be seeking her out. “That’s why you don’t know how to cook.”
Mhàiri faked a grimace but could not hold it and smiled at him. “Probably. Anyway, Shinae knew that I could never be persuaded to settle down and marry—whether it be to the church or a man—and be stuck in one place for the rest of my life.”
“So, in the spring, you and your sister were just going to leave the priory and travel?”
Mhàiri could hear the dubious tone of Conan’s voice. The concept had appeal, but was also unrealistic. “No. Shinae loved being with the Culdees and working in the community, helping the locals whether it be during sickness or in their gardens.”
Conan shifted in his seat again. “Then what was to happen this spring?”
Mhàiri raked her eyes over Conan. He was having trouble sitting still, but he gave her a look that conveyed he earnestly wanted her to continue.
“The Culdees’ way of life is disappearing.
The Catholic church is taking over and slowly displacing them, just like what happened at the priory.
So a handful from the priory, including my sister, had decided to leave and travel to various places to start new missions.
I was to go with them. But then the priory caught fire and two of the main people who were to come with us died in the flames. ”