Chapter Six #3
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?”