Chapter Thirteen
Laurel rubbed her stomach as she studied Mhàiri. The last couple of months since Epiphany, she had started to grow large, and Conor feared she was carrying twins again. Laurel knew she wasn’t. The babe was large, but Hagatha suspected it was because this was her fourth child.
She had forgotten what pregnancy was like. She had remembered it as wonderful, but now that she was in her last couple of months, she realized that it was the baby that made it wonderful. In reality, being pregnant was anything but.
Last week, Aileen revealed that she, too, was pregnant and a happier expectant mother could not be found.
Laurel had been waiting for the announcement for weeks.
Finn had been grinning far too regularly for someone who preferred to frown.
But Laurel had not asked because she knew Aileen was intentionally waiting.
Her best friend had conceived several times over the years, but always lost her children early in her pregnancy.
Aileen no doubt feared it would happen again.
But the weeks passed and she was still carrying.
So on Epiphany she had told Finn, who could not have been more surprised .
. . or thrilled. Now that another two months had gone by, the fear had been replaced with anticipation.
The babes would be only a few months apart, but essentially the same age.
“I asked you to come here today so that I could make a request. I want you to stop bathing in the river.”
Mhàiri’s eyes widened. She had hoped Laurel had seen all that she had been doing for the past several weeks and was finally going to offer her help.
It was Laurel who had made her realize what she wanted and she did not think that had been an accident, but now it seemed Lady McTiernay had changed her mind.
“I don’t mind it, and I have my reasons.”
Laurel inhaled and then sighed. “You are going to get sick. Whatever point you were trying to make has been made.”
Mhàiri’s jaw clenched. Laurel did not understand the situation, for she had never told anyone what had happened between her and Conan—not even Maegan. And she was certain he, too, had kept what happened on Epiphany and their argument afterwards to himself.
For two months, Mhàiri had been trying to prove to Conan that she would not be a burden during their travels, reminding him in whatever ways possible that she wanted to be with him.
However, his ability to avoid her had made it more than just a little difficult.
She was mostly relying on rumors about her accomplishments getting to him, because they had yet to talk since that fateful night.
“I am not sure it has.”
“Well, trekking all the way back to the castle is not the same as immediately sitting by a campfire to get warm, so please stop.”
Mhàiri pursed her lips and rose to her feet. “Fine. Is there anything else you would like me to cease doing?” she challenged.
It had been difficult, but Mhàiri had finally gotten Fiona to agree to a truce, of sorts.
The old cook was a gray-haired, stoutly built woman, and her dark brown eyes were always aware of everything going on in her kitchen.
She loved to cook, but she did not love people.
And she especially did not like anyone coming into the kitchens to bother her, help, or even pinch some of her food before she was ready to serve it.
She had a wicked tongue, and Mhàiri had been frightened by it until she had realized that was all the woman had.
So Mhàiri kept coming in. Every day, she would come and talk to the help and move things around.
Not much, but just enough to be annoying.
Fiona would rant and rave, but it had done no good.
And that was when Mhàiri had offered Fiona a bargain.
Teach her how to cook and she would leave her kitchens.
So Fiona had reluctantly agreed, but refused to do so in her kitchens.
The crotchety woman made it clear that if Mhàiri wanted to learn how to cook over a campfire, then that was where she was going to learn.
So Mhàiri had been yelled at, insulted, criticized, and even injured. But she had also learned.
Mhàiri could now quickly pluck a bird, clean it, and skin a rabbit.
She now recognized what grew wild that could be used to make food tastier.
She was becoming an expert at telling when meat was done and how to keep it from becoming too dry.
Her repertoire of recipes included soup, dried meat, and bread, which she had learned how to bake in a pot over a fire.
And Mhàiri knew for a fact that Conan had eaten and enjoyed a couple of her meals because Fiona had surprised everyone when she came out near the end of one of the dinners and announced to all that Mhàiri had been the one to prepare most of what had been served.
But Mhàiri was not done learning. Fiona still had to teach her about fish, certain pies, and many other things.
Mhàiri did not want Laurel stripping those from her as well.
Laurel shrugged her shoulders. “That you convinced Fiona to teach you how to cook is a miracle and I won’t interfere with it. But if that was going to change anything between you and Conan, it already would have.”
The shock that Laurel had seen and recognized what she was doing rocketed through Mhàiri. She collapsed by Laurel’s feet. “Please help me. Please help me make him see what he is giving up.”
Laurel swept Mhàiri’s hair from her face and cupped her cheek.
“I cannot. For two reasons. First, despite what people think, all I have ever done for anyone is given a little bit of advice. A few words spoken at just the right time often can put things into motion, but all the pieces have to be in place first. I cannot create what isn’t there. ”
Mhàiri still did not understand. “But it is there.”
“And what words would I say that you have not already spoken? When words no longer work, the only thing left is action, and that is the one thing I cannot do for you.”
Alarm overtook Mhàiri’s expression, and Laurel immediately doused the flames that she could see growing. “I do not know what transpired between you and Conan. I only know something did.”
Mhàiri sat back. “Then how do you know I spoke the right words?”
“Because of the second reason I cannot help you.” Laurel paused and waited until Mhàiri was looking at her again. “Conan asked me not to.”
* * *
Mhàiri would have fallen if she had not already been sitting on the floor.
Conan knew. He had known at some point she would be desperate enough to seek out Laurel’s help.
And he had feared she would give it to her because he had feared it would work.
That should have given her hope, for it meant that he was struggling with his feelings, warring with them, and yet it did just the opposite.
Mhàiri felt all her confidence dissipate until she had none left at all.
If Conan was this adamant, she was at a loss.
He feared her changing him, but he was the one who had changed her. And for what? An impossible dream.
Mhàiri rose to her feet and was about to say her good-byes when Bonny came running into the room. “Guess who is here!” she cried. “Your papa! Fallon says you are to come right away!”
Mhàiri swallowed. How did God know? The one person she needed more than ever was her beloved father. He would wrap her in his arms and take her away. Away from the pain and the loss and the heartbreak.
With a cry, she ran past Bonny and down the stairwell.
Entering the courtyard, she spied him and his massive cart.
How he had gotten that thing this far north when winter was only now easing, she did not know.
Nor did she care. All Mhàiri knew was her father was here and somehow he was going to make it all better.
“Athair!” she yelled.
A large man who had been talking to Fallon turned to the voice.
Iain Mayboill had the craggy look of an unfinished sculpture and yet women found him deliciously appealing.
He had a massive, self-confident presence that was so striking, it caused those around him to turn and stare.
Wings of gray hair fanned out at his temples, adding drama and distinction.
With bright green eyes and dark hair, he had a smile that she had heard could cut a man like a knife.
But to Mhàiri, he was just her father. A man who loved her without question.
Upon seeing her, pleasure softened his granite-like face. He opened his arms wide as she collided into his embrace. “Ah, inghean, it is so good to see you so well and bonnie. I have missed you, lass.”
Mhàiri hugged him close and felt a shadow over her shoulder. She glanced back to see Laurel and Conor. “Father, please let me introduce Laird and Lady McTiernay.”
“I’m Iain Mayboill. A great privilege it is to meet you. Not only is your clan’s name well known throughout Scotland, but you took care of my Mhàiri, here, and that means more to me than I can express.”
Laurel gave him her warmest, most welcoming smile. “She was a pleasure.”
Iain wagged his finger at Laurel. “Quite a weapon she has there,” he said to Conor, who was about to take exception to this man pointing at his wife.
“Those stormy eyes, that smile, her beauty. That combination renders you powerless most days, I bet. My wife could do the same to me when she was alive.”
Conor blinked. The man spoke the truth, and Laurel was practically giggling with the idea that she had power over him that she already knew she had. “We were not expecting you so soon. The snow just began to thaw here.”
“It wasn’t so bad, though the last day got to be a little bit of fun in parts. Your brother Colin encouraged me to stay longer, but his three wee ones are a bit like his wife—wild and rambunctious. And before I forget, I was supposed to tell you that they have another on the way.”