Chapter Thirteen #2
Laurel’s fingers rose to her lips. Aislinn was seven, about to turn eight, Machara was almost four, and Connor was not even two yet.
Thinking of stoic Colin chasing all those children around was enough to bring her to laughter.
“Aye,” Iain said to her unspoken words, “I think your brother Colin is actually scared, especially when his wife says that she still plans on having at least six. The man will have to learn how to relax or go stark raving mad, I expect.”
At that, Conor laughed. “Come and tell us of your travels.”
“Where would you like me to put my cart? The man wasn’t pleased I insisted on bringing it inside, but this is my home, my livelihood.”
Laurel wiped the tears from her eyes. “Your livelihood is in no jeopardy outside the walls, and you can stay in the North Tower while you are here. I’ll have Glynis prepare you a room.”
Iain folded his arms and stared down at Laurel and then finally laughed.
“I would argue with you, but I think I would lose. You have that look about you my Mhàiri gets, which she got from her mother. It says the argument would be a long and bloody battle, but you’re willing to wage it and do whatever it takes to come out the victor.
So I shall concede now.” Then he gave a wink to Mhàiri, and nudged her side with his elbow.
“You see that, lass? I’m finally learning to listen.
If only your mother were here to see it. ”
“She still wouldn’t believe it,” Mhàiri said, smiling up at him. “And she enjoyed arguing with you as much as you enjoyed arguing with her.”
“Much like the laird and his lady, I suspect.”
Laurel closed her eyes and shook her head, trying not to grin and failing. “Colin has been talking about me and Conor, I see.”
“Nay!” Iain denied. “I would never listen to such gossip. I just sees what I see. And what I’m seeing is that you need a longer pillow at night to sleep so that you won’t wake with your back hurting.”
Laurel’s mouth dropped in shock. Her back did hurt and she was not sleeping well. “You think a longer pillow is all I need?”
Iain walked to his cart and pulled out a large pillow packed with feathers.
“Aye. Leave the one you have for your head and use this to curl up to. This beast here,” he said, gesturing to Conor, “is all meat and hardness. No doubt a lot of fun and the reason you have a bairn on the way, but for the next couple of months, snuggle up to this here pillow and you will wake refreshed and with more energy.”
Conor was about to strongly object. He liked his wife at his side and most definitely did not want to be replaced by a pillow. But when he saw the look of sheer excitement in Laurel’s face, he knew he could not deny her.
Mhàiri bit her bottom lip. “That’s Father,” she said timidly. “He is very friendly and always seems to know what you need.”
Conor pursed his lips. “Your father is exceptionally shrewd.” He had met men like Iain before.
Laird MacInnes was one of them. He was his father’s best friend who had moved to the south when he had married a woman who’d turned out to be Laurel’s grandmother.
He, too, could within minutes understand those around him as though he had spent a lifetime in their company.
It enabled him to draw one in quickly so they trusted him.
Bonny stood by Mhàiri. She had followed her outside and had been carefully watching the newcomer. “I’ve decided I like you,” she announced, surprising everyone around her.
Iain knelt down to her level. “And why is that?”
“Because you are smart like me.”
Iain peered into Bonny’s gray eyes and what he saw was his own soul staring back at him. Brilliance, with a natural understanding of people. “Why, you are quite smart, aren’t you?” he said and swung her up in his arms. “Do your mama and papa know this?”
Bonny shook her head, to the surprise of both her parents. “Only Uncle Conan,” she replied.
“Come, let us go and get some ale. I’m sure you are parched after your journey,” Conor encouraged Iain.
“Aye, but first let me get a present from my cart before it is sent rolling out of reach.” He went over and shifted some things around before pulling out a large crate.
He pried it open and there inside was a treasure.
Books of hemp paper. “I thought, on your travels, you would need some more. So this is for you.”
Mhàiri gasped, and knelt down to see. At least five books were inside. “Travels? How did you—?”
“Shinae,” her father answered.
“I went to see your sister and she mentioned what you and she had planned to do before the priory had burned down. She explained that you want to see the world and if I know my sweet Mhàiri, she has found a way to do that besides traveling with an old merchant like me.”
Tears filled Mhàiri’s eyes. How right her father was. And how wrong. “How is Shinae? You know she was forced to take her vows.”
“No one can force another to do anything. Shinae is living with that decision, but you know your sister. She always finds a way to locate the sun in every rain cloud.”
Mhàiri nodded. Her sister could do that. She was the kindest of souls, but also the most stubborn, and could be a force unlike any other when pressed.
“Now, let’s go have this drink and you can tell me all about that man hovering over there with a scowl and how he is troubling you, lass. I’m guessing he’s wee Bonny’s Uncle Conan.”
* * *
The fire crackled in the great hall, and Mhàiri studied the flames.
They had gone to enjoy some ale, and soon word had spread of Iain Mayboill’s arrival.
The group grew as Hagatha, then Aileen and Finn, followed by Seamus and Maegan joined them.
Their laughter created curiosity, and soon every nearby soldier not on duty and anyone who was not busy with time-sensitive chores were in the great hall, listening and laughing as Iain regaled them with one story followed by another.
Some Mhàiri knew, some Mhàiri had participated in, and some she had never heard because they had taken place after she had left for the priory.
Now it was quiet. They had all left, letting father and daughter get reacquainted.
“So, inghean, what keeps your heart from smiling? Your lips curl, but there is no light in your eyes. Not even for your old father who traveled all this way to see you. Could it be that I should be arriving to news of a wedding, but I’m not?”
Mhàiri should have known her father would have accurately guessed. Conan had joined them, but only briefly. Her father had asked pointed questions about his plans and Conan had answered them, just as directly. Nothing had been odd about his comments or demeanor, and yet her father had known.
“I wish there to be one. I do. But you heard Conan. He will not change his plans despite all that I’ve done.
” Iain listened quietly as Mhàiri described all of Conan’s arguments and her efforts to thwart them.
“But he cares not. He refuses to change the dreams he has held on to for the chance at something better.”
“And nor should he. I don’t think I would either. You don’t know if you want that life. You’ve never done it, day after day. In three days, you might be so bored and dirty you’ll never want to see Conan again.”
“But I wouldn’t!” Mhàiri insisted.
“Words,” her father said with a shrug. “To ask a man to give up his life for a new one based on only mere words, now that is a lot to ask.”
Anger began to boil once again in Mhàiri.
She could not believe it. First Laurel and now her own father.
No one believed she could be happy with Conan.
That what they shared was not just about love and physical passion—though that was definitely a major incentive—it was much more.
This was her life that she was fighting for.
A life that she very much wanted. To travel and draw with a purpose.
To meet people and see places. To have complete autonomy over where she lived and went.
She would do anything, adjust to anything, and endure anything to have it.
It was no wonder that Conan did not believe her. No one did.
Iain reached over and tapped her knee. “I can tell you are upset and have been for a while. What you need is a way to release some of that aggression.” He rose to his feet. “I heard Finn mention that his men train every morning in some fields outside the castle walls.”
“I know them. I’ve gone to watch a few times.”
“But have you joined them?”
Mhàiri scoffed. “I think Finn would have more than a few words at that idea.”
Iain grinned at his daughter. “Aye. He will be shocked. You should remember his expression on the morrow and sketch it later. Then give it to his wife.” That got Mhàiri to smile. “But I bet I could convince him to let you join for awhile, if only to see what would happen.”
Mhàiri bit the inside of her cheek and then shook her head. “I’m not in the mood to spar, Papa.”
A hard glint entered his eyes. “You’re angry. You’re frustrated. That means you’re in the mood. So tomorrow morning?”
Knowing it would do little good to argue, Mhàiri nodded in agreement. For somehow, someway, she would be there anyway.
* * *
Finn held his hands up, and immediately all the activity halted. Conan looked to see why they’d stopped and spied Iain and Mhàiri. “What brings you here?” Finn asked with impatience.
Iain gripped Mhàiri’s shoulder in one of his large hands and said with a smile, “Mhàiri tells me that she has not trained all winter. I’m a merchant and sometimes that means I encounter people who are not so honest. And Mhàiri is pretty.
I need to make sure she still knows how to protect herself before we leave your lands and are back on our own. ”
Finn looked at Mhàiri, arched a brow, and then coughed into his hand in an effort to hide his laughter. Mhàiri narrowed her gaze. “For that, Finn, your wife is going to get a present from me later today,” she hissed.