Chapter Four
“Mhàiri, it looks like you will be with us for more than a few weeks,” Conor announced at dinner three weeks later.
“I received word today from my brother Colin who lives in the Lowlands. He asked those nearby about your father and it seems many know him and he is well liked. Unfortunately, Colin also learned that your father has already left for Spain and is not expected back in Scotland until early spring. Even if somehow your message did reach him and he immediately returned, winter would have set in, making it impossible for him to travel north except by foot or horse.”
Mhàiri shook her head. “Papa would never leave his wagon behind. It’s his life. It holds everything he owns.”
“And nor should he,” Laurel added and reached over to give Mhàiri’s hand a squeeze. “We love having you here with us. Our children adore you, and you and Maegan are becoming good friends. Please say this is not completely unwelcome news.”
“I am sorry that Papa could not come sooner, but I would be dishonest if I said that I was not enjoying being here.” In truth, Mhàiri had initially worried about staying in a castle where she knew no one, but after just a few short weeks, she doubted there was a better place in the world to spend a winter.
“Thank you very much for the invitation. I know my presence was unexpected, and I promise to leave as soon as Papa arrives in the spring.”
“Everyone is leaving in the spring.” Brenna pouted. “No one will be left. Why can’t we go too?”
Maegan leaned over and tickled her until she squealed. “I will still be here, as will Seamus, Aileen, Gideon, and all your friends. Besides, spring is a long way off. Before then, there will be Christmastide and all the holiday festivities.”
“I didn’t think of that!” Brenna exclaimed. “Wait until you experience Twelfth Night at our castle, Mhàiri. It is the best!”
Mhàiri returned the little girl’s infectious smile. “Sounds exciting. We moved around so much when I was young, I never really got to participate in big feasts and celebrations. This will be a first for me.”
“You’ve never experienced Christmastide and all the feasts that come after?
” Laurel asked in astonishment. “Why, I will have to ensure this is the best Epiphany celebration ever had at McTiernay Castle. Tomorrow, I’ll send word to Raelynd and Meriel that we will be hosting this year and a shìorraidh!
It’s almost December. We might have to start planning tonight, Aileen,” she said to her friend, who bobbed her head in agreement.
“You are not going to start planning anything tonight, or tomorrow, or even this week,” Conor grumbled. “Christmastide is more than a month from now, and Fallon has other things to think about in prepping for winter.”
“Fine, fine,” Laurel said in mock agreement. “For the next couple of weeks, whatever planning we do will not affect you or our busy steward. Nor will I subject you to listening to me ramble about it. But I will begin preparations, so it would be best to accept that now.”
Conor brushed his hand over his face, knowing that arguing would be pointless. “Are you settled in enough for an extended stay?” he asked, turning his attention back to Mhàiri.
Mhàiri loved her chambers and knew that staying in the large space until her father was able to come and get her was not going to be an issue. The room was open and had plenty of light, nothing like the dark, confining cottage she had been living in for years.
The only issue regarding a long-term stay was her books.
Despite what Conan thought, she did read them and was actively studying some of the journals her sister had somehow gotten her hands on the past year.
Mhàiri wanted them accessible, not locked away in heavy trunks.
Mentioning her need, however, was not an option, for she knew what the answer would be—put them in Conan’s room, which was littered with shelves specifically made for such items. Or even worse, Conor would ask Conan to build shelves for her room.
Neither solution was acceptable. Anything involving Conan was completely and in all ways intolerable.
The last couple of weeks, the man had made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with her, and Mhàiri was not going to do anything that forced him even to look in her direction.
He had been ignoring her since the morning after they arrived.
At first, she had thought she was imagining things, but then Brenna had let it escape that she had overheard him talking with Seamus.
She had been right. Conan had been intentionally avoiding situations, places, even meals, just to keep from being in her company.
It hurt to learn she had been so wrong about him.
She had thought that their budding relationship special and that she was one of the few women who had been able to break through his brusque demeanor to see the man beneath.
She had been a fool. Thankfully, she had never shared her mistaken beliefs with anyone and had been able to convincingly act as if Conan’s disregard were not at all troubling.
Instead, Mhàiri had decided that indifference was an excellent idea and pointedly began to ignore him as well.
Most mealtimes, Conan was elsewhere, but on nights when they ate in the lower hall with the soldiers on castle duty, or on nights like this one when Laurel invited her close friends, Conan was forced to join.
And each time, Mhàiri acted as if he were not there.
She carried on conversations, laughed, and smiled with those who sat on either side of him, but to Conan himself?
She never glanced his way. Not once. Which is probably why it had been so noticeable.
But rather than being upset by their silent feud, Laurel had verbally applauded Mhàiri’s strength of character.
She had said that only a few women could see beyond Conan’s charm and dimples to the self-serving man underneath without getting hurt first. Mhàiri had felt like a fraud.
She was no different from those other women.
Worse, she was jealous of them. At least they had gotten to experience what it was like to kiss Conan before mutual disregard took place.
“I think Mhàiri needs shelves, Papa, for her books.”
Mhàiri’s brows shot up, and she stared at Bonny, who was sitting across from her.
Laurel looked at her daughter and then Mhàiri. “I never thought about that. You are right, Bonny. Mhàiri must have a place to put her things if she is going to be here for several months.”
“And,” Bonny added, this time with a sly, knowing smile, “Uncle Conan is the best one to make them since he was the one who made the shelves in his room.”
Conor waved his fork at his daughter. “Great idea, BonBon. What do you think, Mhàiri? Do you need shelves?”
Mhàiri gave Bonny a strong look, but the little girl refused to feel shame. Instead, Bonny winked back, leaving no doubt that she had intentionally created a situation that would force Mhàiri and Conan to interact.
Bonny’s older twin siblings could be very amusing, and Brenna was indeed a consummate eavesdropper, but more and more Mhàiri was seeing that Bonny was the most astute of the two, despite being the youngest. Her ability to perceive the truth behind a look or an action was astounding, a skill that would only grow more accurate with age.
And she watched anything or anyone associated with Conan.
Mhàiri had little doubt that her and Conan’s obvious efforts to ignore each other had led Bonny to believe that there was something far more than disinterest fueling their odd behavior.
It certainly did not help that Bonny had overheard Mhàiri admit to wanting to kiss her uncle, and despite her best efforts, Mhàiri had not convinced Brenna or Bonny that she had only been teasing.
Mhàiri turned to Conan and was surprised to find him not just looking directly at her, but smiling. Not his normal, charming smile that he used to woo women, but a smug one. His blue eyes twinkled as if he knew that Mhàiri would never accept.
A slow smile curved Mhàiri’s soft mouth.
Conan’s twinkle faded and was replaced with discomfort.
She raised a single brow and debated about accepting his challenge.
Conan held her gaze until she turned to Conor and said, “Thank you for the offer, and I think I will accept. For you are right, Bonny,” she said, glancing back to the grinning seven-year-old, “there is no one better to build my shelves than your uncle. Especially as I will be very particular about their strength, size, and placement.”
Bonny elbowed Brenna, whispering loudly enough for the whole table to hear, “See? I told you it would work.”
Brenna then leaned over and cupped her hand over Bonny’s ear. “Not yet, but it will.”
* * *
“Which one are you looking at now?” Mhàiri asked Brenna, who was lying across her bed flipping through one of her bound books.
“A really interesting one,” the ten-year-old replied. “Bonny never said these things had pictures. I always thought they were just full of boring words.”
That captured Mhàiri’s attention, and she put down the newest gown Maegan had left for her so that she could see exactly what Brenna had picked up.
Medical texts had been around for more than a thousand years.
Most described plants and their healing qualities, but she had a couple books that went far beyond herbs.