Chapter Six #4
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.