Chapter Nine #2
Mhàiri licked her lips. Our Conan. It was too much.
To think that his most ardent admirers were old women.
“I must say, ladies, your view of Conan is much different from the one a lot of women have.” Hearing Mhàiri’s voice, Conan’s gaze immediately shifted to lock with hers once again.
“I understand that he is a regular insulter of our gender and incapable of apologizing, even when he is in the wrong.”
Gavina clucked her tongue. “Of course we’ve heard how our Conan is quite fond of the ladies,” she began, “but do not be fooled by idle gossip.”
“Aye,” Leane interjected. “Those women who caused a stir were just silly enough to believe they could turn his head. It is their fault they gave their heart away before our Conan was ready to ask for it.”
A single brow formed a perfect arch on his forehead. How Mhàiri wanted to erase that smirk.
“Maybe he can teach the rest of Conor’s soldiers to be like him, for I recently had a horrid experience,” Mhàiri stated.
Gavina perked up. “Really? Please tell us, my dear. What happened? Did he say something unpleasant?”
“Did he try to kiss you?” Almeda asked. She had laid her sewing in her lap and leaned forward, her blue eyes twinkling with interest.
Mhàiri nodded. “He did, but I learned that he was doing it just so that he could trick me out of the paper I use to draw on.”
“Well, that is strange,” Minna acknowledged. “Why would a man want your drawings?”
“Maybe he wanted it to prove to you that he was interested in what you do,” Almeda chimed in.
“Men have a hard time expressing themselves. Did you know that it took nearly three years before my man would even look at me? I thought he didn’t like me at all when all the while the reason he wouldn’t speak to me was because he didn’t think that I would ever like him back. ”
Gavina nodded. “Perhaps he likes you, Mhàiri. Conan, dear, maybe you can help Maegan’s friend Mhàiri find out just what this man is thinking and then explain it to her.”
Mhàiri smiled and squeezed the old woman’s hand. “Why, I would appreciate that very much. And if you could find out why he refuses to apologize for his behavior even though he knows he was in the wrong, that, too, would be very helpful.”
Conan sat up and placed his hands on his knees. “I can answer that last one for you now. Some men don’t mind saying and doing anything to make a woman happy. Men like me do.”
Mhàiri gritted her teeth and then forced herself to smile. “I’ll be sure to mention that to Laird McTiernay next time we speak. I wonder what category he will think you put him in.”
* * *
Brenna twirled around in the bedchambers, encouraged by the feeling of success. “You know, Bonny, kindness was not nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be. And I don’t think we need to prove he’s honest. Everyone knows Uncle Conan never lies, even to save a person’s feelings.”
Bonny toed off her slippers and began to yank on the ties on the left side of her gown. “You think today worked?”
“Absolutely! They had to have called Uncle Conan kind at least a dozen times!”
“But he and Mhàiri didn’t seem very happy in the end.”
Brenna stopped spinning. She began to sway from being dizzy. “That’s because she doesn’t believe Uncle Conan’s being honorable. We just need to prove he is not going to hurt her.”
Bonny attacked the other side of her bliaut.
“Well, I thought of what to do for kindness. You have to do honorable,” she said and shimmied out of her bliaut before diving under the covers of her bed.
It would be another hour before evening dinner would be ready, but Bonny was freezing.
Two days ago, the weather had turned and while it had not been raining, there had been no sun for warmth.
It had been very cold outside listening to the old women talk, but it had been worth it.
Brenna was right. Mhàiri might not love Uncle Conan yet, but she could no longer say he wasn’t kind.
“I think we should wait for proving he’s heroic. ”
Brenna moved to stand close to the fire. “Maybe we can do something at Christmastide for that one.”
Another shiver went through Bonny, and she wondered why her sister was not as cold as she was from their escapade. “That’s next week. So how are we going to show that he is honorable before then?”
Brenna shook her head, thinking. “We need something to show that Uncle Conan is trustworthy and loyal.” She swayed back and forth on her toes with her back to the fire.
Her hands were behind her, absorbing the warmth, when suddenly, she snapped her fingers.
Her gray eyes, huge with excitement, locked onto Bonny’s smoky ones.
“I know what to do,” she said giddily. “We need to learn how to draw.”
“Draw?” Bonny asked dubiously.
“It will be perfect. You will be out with Conan learning how to make maps . . .”
“But I don’t want to know how to make maps.”
“Shh! Listen. You will be out with him, and at the same time I will be with Mhàiri on an outing. Then, we will just happen to run into each other.”
Bonny shuddered just thinking of going back outside again. “It’s cold outside. I don’t think Mhàiri is going to want to go if it is going to be outside. I know Uncle Conan won’t.”
Brenna waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll wait for a sunny day, and then she will want to go. Everyone is preparing for Christmastide and getting all the rooms ready for guests to arrive. Uncle Conan will want a reason to escape, and Mhàiri is always happy to draw.”
“That’s because she’s like you and doesn’t get cold,” Bonny groused. “And I’m not sure how this is going to prove Uncle Conan’s honorable.”
Brenna’s eyes were sparkling. “Don’t worry. It will.”
Bonny lifted the blanket and covered her head. “Let me guess. You have an idea.”
Brenna’s laughter reached under the covers. “And it’s a good one, Bonny! You are going to love it!”
* * *
Conan knelt down beside Bonny and leaned back against the large boulder his niece had selected as the perfect place to practice drawing. He looked over Bonny’s shoulder to see what she was creating. It looked to be a hill with a sun shining over it.
Next to her was Nairne, another little girl about Bonny’s age whom he had seen periodically while walking through the village.
Her curly bright red hair made her hard to miss.
She was the spitting image of her mother, who often helped Laurel design some of her more intricate tapestries.
Nairne had inherited both her mother’s hair and her soft freckles, which were scattered all over her face, but her large dark brown eyes and unusual height she got from her father, who was one of the McTiernay clan’s more successful farmers.
“How are you doing, Nairne?” he asked.
“I’m well,” she said, concentrating.
Conan could see why both girls got along so well.
Neither was a great talker, and it was not in Nairne’s nature to accept another’s opinion as her own.
She did not care if Bonny knew more or was considered very smart; she had her own thoughts and ideas and was going to keep them until she decided otherwise.
Conan stared at what Nairne was sketching. It was surprisingly detailed for being created in dirt using a stick. “What are you drawing?” he asked.
“Today,” she replied, and with that answer, the image started to make sense. The left side indicated daylight, but it quickly morphed into what was nighttime, which was the majority of the picture. It did indeed represent the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year.
“Well, let me know if you get cold,” he said. The day was bright and sunny, which kept the cold wind from being unbearable.
Nairne never looked up, but answered, “Bonny gets cold. Not me. You should ask her.”
“I’m fine,” Bonny replied, half-heartedly stabbing at her sketch. Conan wondered what was going on, for it was clear his niece was not there to learn about maps as she had said.
For days, Bonny had been hounding him to take her out and show her what he would be doing when he left.
At first, the weather had not cooperated and he had been busy helping with gathering the necessary logs for the many bonfires that would be erected over the next several days.
But Conan had made a promise to Bonny and would chop off his arm before he let her down.
So today, when he had seen the sun was high in the sky without a cloud in sight, bringing much warmer temperatures, he had told his eldest brother that he was busy and would not be available.
Thankfully, Conor had been too occupied to give more than just a hrmph, forgoing his lecture on familial responsibilities.
Conan had been looking forward to spending time with his niece.
It was the first time Bonny had shown interest in what he would be doing come this spring.
He had only a few months left with her and he would cherish every memory they shared.
So, when he had announced that today was the day of their outing and learned that they would be taking one of her new friends, Nairne, with them, he had been highly disappointed.
Now, he was glad the little girl had come, for she was the only one actually interested in drawing anything.
Bonny tossed her stick on the ground. She pulled up her knees with her arms and rested her chin upon them. “I really don’t like to draw,” she admitted.
Nairne stopped working on her dirt picture and studied it, obviously not happy with how it had turned out. She picked up the stick to erase the evidence of her inability to execute what was in her mind but was stopped before she could.
Conan took Nairne’s stick from her hand. “Why would you want to wipe all your hard work when it is so good?”
Bonny leaned over and nodded. “You draw like Mhàiri.”
Nairne took the stick back and used it to smudge part of her work and try again. “It’s just a silly drawing,” she answered.