Chapter Four #2
Mhàiri plucked the book out of Brenna’s grasp, ignoring her squeal of protest. It was what she had feared.
The Compendium Medicinae by Gilbertus Anglicus.
It had been written by an English physician who had documented a great deal on the practice of medicine, including surgery, with some eye-catching illustrations.
She knew because it had caught her eye as a thirteen-year-old.
If her father had known exactly what she had convinced him to get for her, he would have exploded.
Just as Conor would do if he discovered Mhàiri had allowed his daughter to stare at drawings of naked men—even if most were just of their bones or muscles. “I think not.”
“Mama says books expand your mind,” Brenna said as she blinked her eyes innocently, but not convincingly.
“Aye, they do, but yours does not need to be expanded in that direction.” Mhàiri pointed to some of her favorite manuscripts that contained poems. “Try those.”
Brenna shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “Those have no pictures.”
“If you want pictures, you should draw some.”
Brenna scoffed and flipped over to her back. “Mine wouldn’t be nearly so interesting.”
Before Mhàiri could respond, there was a knock on her bedroom door.
She called out for the person to enter, and Maegan peeked in wearing a large smile.
She came in, closed the door, and leaned against it.
“Oh, good, you are looking at the dress. It is too long for me, and gold is not my color, but it is so pretty and when Laurel said she prefers her other gold gowns to this one, I just couldn’t let it sit in a dusty trunk never being appreciated.
With your dark hair and green eyes, it would look ravishing on you.
More importantly, I happen to know a certain soldier who would definitely appreciate it. ”
Brenna abruptly sat up. “Who?”
Maegan blinked and scanned the room. “Where is Bonny?”
Brenna shrugged. “Where else? With Uncle Conan.”
“And why aren’t you spying on them?” Maegan asked suspiciously as she went over and poured some water in a mug.
Brenna fell back onto the bed with a bounce. “Bonny will tell me anything interesting later. And Mhàiri needs me.”
Mhàiri swiveled her head and narrowed her gaze. Brenna’s tone was too playful to be ignored. When Conan had warned Mhàiri about Laurel and her meddlesome matchmaking habits, he had forgotten to mention that her daughters were not only like her—but worse. “And how is it that I need you?”
“I’ve known Uncle Conan longer than you so I can help you figure out what you can do to thank him for the shelves.”
Maegan sputtered and she began to cough. Mhàiri came over to thump her back. When Maegan caught her breath again, she muttered, “Sorry about that. I thought for a moment Brenna said something about thanking Conan.”
Brenna looked over and nodded, her expression an earnest one. Maegan turned to Mhàiri. “You aren’t, are you? I mean that is just begging for . . . well, I don’t know what. But it’s begging for it all the same.”
Mhàiri bit her bottom lip. “I . . . I probably should thank him.” Then, upon seeing Brenna sit up with an enthusiastic gleam in her eye, she hastily added, “But to do something to show my appreciation? I mean, I have no idea what that could be.”
Maegan threw up her hands. “Don’t look at me! I’ve never heard of anyone thanking Conan for anything before. That’s probably because I’ve never heard of him doing anything for anyone before that was not because of some family obligation. Even then, he complains.”
“That’s why you will need to thank him,” Brenna said with a large smile. “And Bonny and I can help you figure out how.”
Maegan arched her brows and collapsed into one of the hearth chairs. “Beware, you are about to be manipulated.”
Mhàiri pursed her lips and then let go a large sigh. “Without a doubt, and yet Brenna does have a point. Maybe I can give him something to show my appreciation.”
Brenna nodded, bouncing on her knees. “Your paper! Uncle Conan needs a bunch for his maps when he leaves this spring. And you have plenty!”
“I do not have plenty,” Mhàiri refuted. Although to some it might look like it.
She did have several books of blank hemp pages, but there was a reason she had them after so many years.
She rationed their use. “It might look like a lot, Brenna, but my father bought that paper for me some time ago. The only reason I have any left now is that I have been very careful to make it last.”
“Oh,” Brenna said, disappointed, for she knew how much her uncle would have really liked having some hemp. She had heard him telling Seamus about it. “How long have you had those books?”
“Two years,” Mhàiri quickly answered, glad the young girl seemed to understand how hard it had been to make them last this long. But suddenly Brenna jumped to her feet, excited once anew.
“I thought you said your father was going to be here in the spring.”
“He is,” Mhàiri confirmed apprehensively.
Brenna began to pace. “And he is coming from Spain and that is where Uncle Conan said the hemp paper was made. So if all this,” she said with great exaggeration, waving her hand at the three large chests, all of which were open, “lasted two years, then you must have enough to share some. Especially if you are going to get more in a few months.”
Maegan stood up and went over to grab the dizzying Brenna by the shoulders. Using her most authoritarian tone, she asked, “Did Conan tell you to ask for Mhàiri’s paper? Or even hint?”
Brenna looked disgusted and pulled free. “If Uncle Conan told me to do that, then how would it be a surprise when Mhàiri gives him the paper?”
Maegan turned around and looked at Mhàiri. She shrugged and went to sit back down. “Well, then what should Mhàiri give Seamus? He is also going to help build them so shouldn’t he get something?”
Brenna giggled. “The only thing he wants is . . .” She wiggled her finger in Maegan’s direction.
“We are just good friends.”
“Then you must be really good friends from the amount of time you spend together,” Brenna chortled and fell back on the bed once again.
Maegan raised her chin defensively. “We are. We have a lot in common, including your uncle Clyde, whom I love very much. And guess who else we have in common?” Maegan quickly asked Mhàiri, hoping to change the direction of the conversation.
“Loman,” she answered and unsuccessfully bit back a smile.
“He’s the reason I came to see you. Seamus says that he introduced you to him and that Loman has spoken about little else since. ”
Mhàiri bit the inside of her lip. Loman had light-colored hair and brown eyes and, like all McTiernay elite soldiers, he was incredibly well built.
And unlike some of the soldiers, who chose to wear the same austere face as their commander, Finn, Loman was good-humored and easy to talk to. “He did? What did he say?”
Behind her, Brenna gave a soft snort and scooted off the bed. She crossed her arms and her eyes flickered between Maegan and Mhàiri. Something was suddenly bothering her, and she was doing nothing to hide the fact.
“Is something wrong?” Mhàiri finally asked.
Brenna stood staring for several seconds before she shook her head. “I need to find Bonny,” she announced, then left without further explanation.
Mhàiri’s jaw dropped. “What did I do?”
“Who knows?” Maegan replied, completely unconcerned at the sudden change in the youth’s attitude. “But I’ve seen that look enough to know that, whatever it is, you are part of her plans. So be careful.”
Mhàiri swallowed. She wanted to ignore the warning, and told herself that Brenna was only ten years old. A child. But another inner voice reminded her that Brenna was no ordinary little girl.
Mhàiri suspected the havoc Brenna could create was more than most could imagine.
* * *
Mhàiri lifted her hand, curled her fingers in preparation to knock, and then paused for the second time. Did she really want to do this? See Conan? Offer him some paper in a show of thanks for making her some shelves? The answer was both yes and no.
She did want to thank him, and offering him some sheets of hemp paper was not really a hardship on her and would be greatly appreciated by him.
She knew that. But it was the fact that she wanted to see him and talk to him, and was actually excited about having a reason to do so that made Mhàiri think this was not such a good idea.
“Murt! Either knock on the damn door and come in or leave. The sound of heavy breathing is not endearing me to be agreeable to whatever brings you here.” The curt order came from the other side of the door.
For a second, Mhàiri was mortified, but the feeling was quickly displaced with irritation.
She knew she had not been breathing loud enough for him to hear.
He must have heard her approach. Without waiting for an invitation, she opened the door.
“Rumors have it that you happen to like a woman when she is breathing heavily.”
Conan’s head jerked up as he jumped to his feet. His blue eyes were large as saucers, and suddenly Mhàiri felt a lot better. He had known that somebody had been outside his door, but not that it had been her.
Conan’s shocked expression quickly morphed into an improper one. “Aye. I do like it, but in my ear.”
Mhàiri chuckled, not insulted in the least. “Who did you think I was?”
“Seamus,” Conan readily answered. “The man is a menace.”
Mhàiri knew he was not serious. From what she had seen since her arrival, Seamus was one of the few Conan tolerated. Even more of a miracle, Seamus seemed indifferent to Conan’s surly attitude.