Chapter Eleven #2
Each night, she and Seamus had huddled together and talked about the best way to approach Mhàiri, what he could say, and how to best entice her away from the crowd.
Once he approached Mhàiri, Maegan was to give a signal to Brenna, who would be responsible for convincing Conan to come out and intervene.
But there had never been a perfect time, and tonight, Seamus had admitted that he just could not do it.
“I can’t, Maegan. I know I said I would, but it feels wrong. It’s a lie. I cannot do that to either Conan or Mhàiri. You and she are close, but I also like her and don’t want to lose our friendship, not to mention Conan’s. There are other ways to deal with Brenna.”
Maegan had leaned into Seamus and buried her face in his chest with his admission, relief flooding her every limb.
She had pushed those same feelings aside, trying to stay focused on the positives, but that first night, when they had looked at Mhàiri with the intention of trying to deceive her, she had known deep down it was wrong.
Seamus had wrapped his arms around her, and it had felt so good and surprisingly right.
Maegan had not wanted to move, to ever leave their haven, and would not have if Seamus had not gently separated them.
“But I do have an idea.” Using his chin, he had pointed to Callum, who was once again talking and laughing with Mhàiri. “What about Callum?”
Maegan had leaned back. “Callum?”
“Aye, he wouldn’t be pretending to have an interest in Mhàiri. It’s real, and it would not be a surprise either. I bet if an opportunity arose, he would take advantage. I know I would.”
That had really got Maegan’s attention, and she had stepped totally out of his embrace. “You would?”
He had reached out and clutched her hand and said, “If it were the right woman and I thought for a moment that it would be welcomed.”
Maegan had not known what to say and only swallowed. Then, with a brief glance at Callum and Mhàiri, she had asked, “So what do you propose?”
Maegan briefly explained Seamus’s idea to Brenna and Bonny and waited as the two girls mulled it over. If Brenna agreed Callum was a suitable substitute, she was still going to hold the ten-year-old to her promise of privacy.
Brenna finally nodded. It was probably more from lack of options, but she agreed. “Use the same signal to let us know when we need to get Uncle Conan.”
* * *
Conan stood impassively as Mhàiri sashayed up to him, her luscious pink lips wearing a large smile. Once again, she was more beautiful than any woman had a right to look, in his opinion.
A natural blush shaded her high cheekbones, made only more attractive with her olive complexion.
Pale green eyes framed with dark lashes were full of mirth as she looked at him.
Then the smell of sunshine and grass, mixed with the sweetness of flowers, washed over him, and he felt his lower body grow painfully hard as the feeling of her in his arms flooded his memory.
Mhàiri had not even said a word, and yet once again he was trying to quash the rush of sexual desire that stirred in him whenever she was near.
Could one kiss really ruin a person’s life?
Conan feared that was what had happened to him.
Never had he thought it possible to desire a woman so much.
Beautiful women were dangerous creatures, and this time it was he who had fallen prey to Mhàiri’s charms. It was getting so he dreaded going to sleep.
Not a night went by that he did not dream of her. And during the day, it was no better.
The very first night of Christmastide, when Mhàiri had arrived with Maegan, his stomach had turned completely sour.
She had worn a deep blue ankle-length chainse with a rich gold-colored bliaut over it.
A band of intricate needlework circled the long sleeves, hem, and belt of the tunic.
The ensemble clung to her breasts like honey.
The gold intensified her exotic features and brought out the rich dark brown of her hair, which was styled mostly in a soft updo, with the rest hanging in a single curl off to one side.
When Mhàiri had entered the hall, he had seen all the heads swivel to see who was causing a stir.
But Schellden’s guard, whom women had declared the ideal man for years, had been the most enamored and taken with her beauty.
Mhàiri, however, had not immediately returned his admiration, which had only fueled Callum’s efforts to get her attention.
Conan had told himself that he did not care.
Mhàiri was not his to claim. She was not even his to court.
There was no room for a woman in his future.
So he had rebuffed her encouragement to join the fun, electing instead to stand and watch as men drooled all over themselves to spend some time with her.
How he wished he could just forgo attending, but this was the last Christmastide he would spend at his home with his brothers for probably several years. If he was to disappear, they would find him, drag him back, and pepper him with questions until he admitted being troubled because of a woman.
Tonight was Epiphany and marked the end of his suffering, thank God. Watching Mhàiri and Callum together had been torture. As the supposed definition of perfection, Callum could have any woman he wanted . . . and he wanted Mhàiri. Tonight was no different.
She wore an emerald-colored bliaut that once again hugged her figure, leaving little to the imagination. Strings of tiny crystals crisscrossed along the neckline. She was mesmerizing in it, and from across the room, Conan could see the look of blatant desire on Callum’s face.
The man’s appreciation had grown into something much more potent. One only had to look at him to discern what he was thinking and whom he wanted. It was enough to cause Conan to have doubts about facts he knew were true.
Had Mhàiri changed her mind about leaving in the spring? Did she still wish to remain free of commitment? If so, had she told Callum that? Conan believed he knew the answers. Nothing had changed. Mhàiri was still just as determined to avoid the trappings of a home and marriage as he was.
He hoped.
* * *
“It’s the last dance,” Mhàiri pleaded. “Come, Conan. Join us for the sword dance. Craig claims you are awkward and always one of the first to drop out. I know him to be wrong. Prove me right.”
Conan was on the verge of agreeing when Callum approached her side and whispered in her ear that he had their swords ready.
“Thank you,” Mhàiri whispered back. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Callum, taking the hint, left, but he kept his gaze on Mhàiri. She, however, was looking at Conan expectantly. “You coming?”
“Nay. You go entertain your latest beau. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your plans to conquer and discard the hopes of yet another unsuspecting soldier.”
Mhàiri swallowed, clearly hurt by the slight and knowing that it had been intentional.
Conan saw the tears filling her eyes and immediately felt guilty.
He had just wanted her to leave. To take her enticing floral scent and alluring flesh that beckoned him to abandon his dreams, and just go. But he had done more than that.
He had hurt her.
And there was nothing he could do about it now.
* * *
The music started, and suddenly the last thing Mhàiri wanted to do was dance. She just wanted to seek out a place that Conan was not.
Mhàiri cut through the crowd and headed to the Warden’s Tower and her bedchambers—the one place that was not infested with people and their levity.
She knew Conan had said those things not because he actually believed them, but because he had wanted to hurt her. Wanted her to leave. Maybe even wanted her to cry. But what she could not fathom was why.
Mhàiri reached the tower, entered the bottom floor, and was about to head up the stairwell when strong fingers curled around her upper arm. She stopped and turned around. She was surprised to see Callum there looking concerned.
“I heard what Conan said, Mhàiri. He was a thòin to cause you pain when you have done nothing wrong.”
“But I have if I made you think that I wanted something more than friendship.”
Callum took a step closer so that he stood in front of her.
If she took in a deep breath, her chest would touch his.
“Is it Conan?” he asked, tucking away a stray lock of her hair.
“Sounds as if he might have designs on marrying you himself, even though I know at one time he was against the idea of permanently tying himself to anyone. But a woman like you can make a man change his mind.”
Mhàiri stared up into Callum’s sea-colored eyes. “You’re wrong,” she whispered.
Callum cupped her cheek. “You are so beautiful.”
Mhàiri swallowed. “Thank you.”
“I want to kiss you, Mhàiri, and make you happy again.”
“Callum, I like you and I’ve enjoyed our time together, but I’m not looking for a husband.”
His thumb moved along her cheekbone. The soft caress was so tender she could barely find her breath. “That’s fine, Mhàiri. I’m not ready for a wife. But your lips have been tempting me since the first moment I saw you, and I can think of no more pleasurable way to end Christmastide.”
Mhàiri had known Callum had been waiting for such an opportunity for the last few nights, and she had intentionally made sure to avoid circumstances that would give him one.
Conan’s kisses had left her with absolutely zero interest in another man’s touch.
But after his cutting remark, she needed kindness.
She needed to feel desired, and Callum was offering both without the pressure of something more.
So when he put his hands to her cheeks, held her face, and drew her mouth to his, she let him.
The kiss, like Loman’s, was pleasant, but that was all. Once again, it stirred nothing in her, and Mhàiri knew she would not long for another. For the moment their lips touched, she knew. She had not been certain before, but she knew now.
She loved Conan.
And there would never be another man for her.