Chapter Twelve #2
But it was not Maegan who was at the door.
“Lady McTiernay!” Mhàiri gasped in surprise. “I . . . I was not aware that you knew I had left.”
Laurel offered her an apologetic smile and entered the room when Mhàiri stepped aside and held open the door.
“I saw you leave after speaking with Conan. He has been in a foul mood lately, and seeing your face, I knew he had taken his sullenness out on you, for which I apologize. I should have made him disappear until he could be of good humor, but I had thought the entertainment would pull him from his gloominess and into good cheer. It seems I was wrong.”
“I hope I did not alarm you, but I am well,” Mhàiri replied, closing the door and reluctantly letting go of the handle.
She hoped Laurel was not planning to stay and keep her company.
“Conan did say something unpleasant, but I promise that is not the reason I decided to retire early. It was . . . other events that took place this evening that proved to be a little overwhelming. Perhaps I am not used to so many of these types of celebrations.”
“Then it is good I came to see you for another reason. One that is sure to bring you some needed cheer to end this Epiphany. News came this evening about your father. He knows you are here and will arrive as soon as the weather permits safe travel. Until then, he has been invited to stay with Conor’s brother Colin, who is a laird in the Lowlands. ”
The message itself was not startling as it changed nothing from what had been anticipated, and yet Mhàiri felt her chest tighten.
She loved her father, but deep down she did not want the life of a merchant.
It was still limiting. They traveled, but to familiar markets or places where his goods could be bought and sold, never to some of the more isolated, wild, and stunning parts of Scotland.
And yet, it was her only alternative outside of becoming a wife and settling down.
Laurel clutched her hands together. “I can tell that you are tired and would like to rest.” She maneuvered around Mhàiri and pulled on the handle to open the door.
Mhàiri jumped a little, realizing that she had been preoccupied with her thoughts. “I, uh, thank you for coming and telling me about my father. And, I wanted to thank you again for letting me stay here for so long. I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t.”
Laurel turned in the doorway and smiled at Mhàiri.
“You would have stayed in your cottage next to the priory until your father could come to you there. It would have been hard, but you are a survivor, Mhàiri. That is why the idea of traveling the world is adventurous to you, whereas to others it would be a terrifying notion.”
“Well, I’m glad staying here and not the priory was my fate.”
Laurel was about to turn around and leave, when she stopped. “Don’t judge Conan too harshly, Mhàiri. Despite what he thinks, I love him very much and only want to see him happy. Unfortunately, he has not a clue what that is.”
“I think he does.”
“I know the look of true fulfillment, and he has never once experienced that feeling. Oh, he loves his maps and is invigorated by the challenge his plans for his future hold, but they will only bring him partial satisfaction. He does not realize that a person needs to seek out what their heart desires—there is more to life than only avoiding what makes one unhappy. Don’t you agree? ”
Mhàiri furrowed her brow, puzzled by the unexpected question. Realizing that Laurel was waiting for an answer, she said, “I never really thought about it.”
“Unhappiness is an odd thing when you think about it. If you are not happy, then you are in fact unhappy. It is impossible to avoid unless you know what it is that fills your soul and makes you truly content. What I fear most for Conan is that he is so fixated on his idea for a future that he won’t seize happiness when he gets the chance because it will mean making a change—one that he promised never to consider.
” Then, pulling the door closed behind her, Laurel said, “Good night, Mhàiri. See you on the morrow.”
Mhàiri did not know how long she stood staring at the door through which Laurel had disappeared. Only her eyes moved, blinking as Laurel’s thoughts on unhappiness churned in her mind.
“Laurel is right,” she breathed aloud. “She’s right.”
Mhàiri yanked open the door to her bedchambers and ran out and then down the stairwell. Not caring who saw her, she headed to the North Tower. She raced up four flights of stairs only to stop and catch her breath once she reached Conan’s door.
Able to breathe again, she knocked. There was no answer to her second knock as well, but Mhàiri knew he was in there. She had sought sanctuary in her chambers; she knew Conan had gone to his. Mhàiri started banging on the door with the outside of her fist, refusing to stop until Conan let her in.
A few seconds later, Conan yanked the door open. Seeing Mhàiri, he choked back the string of curse words he had almost laid on whom he had thought was Seamus. Recovering from his shock, Conan narrowed his gaze. “What do you want?”
Mhàiri did not wait for an invitation to come in, mostly because she was fairly certain that Conan was never going to issue one. “I think it is clear that I want to talk to you,” she replied and went back to his workspace and began to look around.
Conan followed her. “What the hell are you looking for?”
“Bonny? Is she with you? Or even Brenna? Where do they like to hide?”
Conan shook his head. “They are under strict orders to either be in the line of sight of their mother or Aileen until they fall asleep. Brenna may be overly curious, but she won’t openly defy her father.”
Mhàiri closed her eyes and took a deep breath, for she had dashed over without really having a plan. Coming here and visiting a man alone in his bedchambers at night was definitely not wise, and yet she did not care. She had made a decision to seize not just her happiness, but Conan’s.
“You need to leave, Mhàiri. Now.” Conan pointed to the door.
Mhàiri did not move. “We need to talk.”
“Nay, we don’t. If Callum no longer fancies you, then find someone else,” he said, hoping his biting remark would get Mhàiri to leave.
He had lost control tonight, and if she stayed much longer, he was in danger of losing it again.
Her presence was just too much. He needed to distance himself from her and somehow extinguish his feelings.
And there was no way he could do that with her standing twenty feet away from his bed.
“You do not lack for admirers, only time to spend with all of them.”
Mhàiri looked at him but refused to flinch under his icy glare. She knew the truth, and all the coldness rolling off him proved he knew it too. “This is now the third time you have tried to get me to pursue another, and I know that isn’t what you want.”
Conan took a step closer. A fury of emotions was swirling in his blue eyes. “Why are you here, Mhàiri?”
“Because I don’t want to go to anyone but you either.”
Conan’s heart was beating so hard he could hear it pound in his ears.
Mhàiri was in his room, alone, telling him that she wanted him.
She was not a fool. She knew what would happen upon such a declaration, and she also knew that in the end it would change nothing.
Conan knew he should send her away, but his eyes could not break away from her mouth.
She had a great mouth. Perfect. Inviting. Murt, he wanted her mouth.
He made an inarticulate sound, and his hands reached out and pulled at her waist, yanking her to him. The moment she was within reach, his lips were on hers. Without hesitation, Mhàiri wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fervently back.
Conan slanted his mouth across hers, wanting to cease any thought of whether or not she should or should not be in his arms. She was there. Her arms were holding him close as if they never wanted to let him go.
Conan devoured her lips in a desperate claiming to which she submitted willingly, eagerly.
Her fingers explored his hair, and it would not be long before he could not stop at only a kiss.
This was leading down a path of commitment, and he had to make sure Mhàiri understood that fate would not be waiting for her when they woke tomorrow.
He bore the sweet torture for another moment before he stepped away. “Leave now, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Conan’s eyes searched her face, trying to reach into her thoughts. “You’re tempting the devil, and you will get burned. You know how this will end.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Their eyes held, and he saw the truth of her words right there in the depths of her magnificent green pools. “Damn you! I will not feel guilty on the morrow.”
“Neither will I,” Mhàiri declared.
Conan’s eyes blazed. “Then so be it, for you are going to learn what it means to be mine.”
Because that was what Mhàiri was. His.
She would never be his wife, his companion, his sonuachar. But nevertheless she was still his. He would claim her in such a way that she would never belong to anyone else.
His control snapped. Jerking her to him, he slammed his mouth down on hers, taking her lips with an intensity that stunned him. Hot and wet, his tongue found hers. He needed to touch her, all of her, and make her writhe with need for the same.
His kisses moved from her lips to her neck.
One hand held her head, preventing her from ending their embrace and what was to come.
With the fingers of his free hand, he found the ties to her bliaut and freed them.
He then eased the gown down her shoulders and let it pool about her waist. Next, he reached for the bow securing her chemise and, with one tug, it broke free.
His lips followed, leaving a trail of fiery-hot kisses along her collarbone.