Chapter Fifteen
“Tomorrow afternoon! I think not!” Laurel choked out, the sound echoing in the great hall. “That is not nearly enough time!”
“For what?” Conan asked, mystified, as he snuggled Mhàiri closer on his lap. He was wondering how he was going to last tonight without her in his arms and if they had enough time to marry today. Sunset—when all the McTiernays wed—was a little more than an hour away. It was possible.
“There is a considerable amount to do,” Laurel stated in her most authoritative voice.
“I agree with Conan,” Conor chimed in. “Tomorrow is good. The sooner you are wed, the sooner calm reenters my life.”
Laurel took his hand and rubbed her round stomach. “You, my love, are about to have another child. Calm is not something you are going to see again for a long, long time.” Conor grunted. “And as far as a wedding, Conan, yours will not be taking place next week, let alone tomorrow.”
“Next week!” Conan shouted.
“I said not next week. I would guess three weeks. At the very least.”
Hagatha nodded. “And that is only if Conor sends the runners out today. People will need time to prepare.”
Conan stilled. “What people?”
Aileen waved a finger over Mhàiri’s form. “And you need a gown.”
Excited with the idea of a new outfit that was not a hand-me-down, Mhàiri slid off Conan’s lap. “A new dress?”
“Oh, it will be the most beautiful dress ever created,” Maegan sighed. “I’ve some ideas that I want to share with you. And your hair . . . we need to wait a few weeks for the spring flowers to bloom.”
Seamus elbowed Conan. “Looks like your marriage is waiting on flowers, my friend.”
“People?” Conan repeated, this time with a little more force.
“All of us have been looking forward to this happy event for months and nothing”—Laurel paused to look at Conan and then her husband, Conor—“is going to ruin our plans.”
“Just what do you mean by people?” Conan croaked.
“Well, did you think that we are the only ones who are going to want to witness this event?” Laurel huffed.
“Because you could not be more mistaken. I have a feeling when word spreads that you, Conan McTiernay, are not only wanting to get married, but have found a woman who also wants to marry you, our home is going to draw quite a crowd.”
“Then we will marry today. I am not someone people need to come and ogle at.”
Laurel scrunched her nose at the idea. “They won’t be coming to see you . . . they will be coming to see Mhàiri. And when we are done,” she said to her soon-to-be sister-in-law, “you will be the envy of every woman in Scotland.”
Mhàiri’s eyes grew large with excitement. She looked at Conan, who was scowling. She grinned at him and shrugged her shoulders. “We’re waiting,” she said with such happiness he could not say no. “It isn’t every day a girl gets to be the envy of every woman in Scotland.”
* * *
Conan sat brooding in the great hall, drinking ale that was too damn weak.
Ale was always brewing, and too many were working in the buttery that never had before.
When Conor had said they were going to have to ration the ale to only dinner, thank God Rae Schellden—the McTiernays’ closest friend, ally, and neighbor—had not been happy with the decision.
He had ordered his people to begin making ale as well, and after a week they’d begun getting a delivery every day.
Conor maneuvered through the crowd of men who had come in out of the rain and slid into a chair next to Conan.
Immediately, a servant handed him a mug, which was another thing that had run out.
It was fortunate that people brought their own utensils to use on their journeys; otherwise many of them would not have anything to eat on.
Conor took a swig and wrinkled his nose at the weak flavor.
It needed less water and more time. They were just lucky that the last few harvests had been extremely good and there were enough oats for the crush of people who had seized McTiernay Castle and its lands for the last few weeks.
He looked at his brother. “You look in a fouler mood than normal.”
“I’ve decided I hate your wife.”
Conor took another gulp. “That’s not news. You’ve disliked her for various reasons over the years, but the last one, I think, resulted in you getting married.”
“You can seriously say that to me? It’s because of her that I’m not married. I’m ready, Mhàiri is ready, Father Lanaghly is ready, even the damn dress is ready. The only one who isn’t is Laurel. She is now insisting we wait for MacInnes to arrive.”
“He was our father’s best friend. He wants to see you wed.”
“Then he should have gotten his arse up here with the rest of Scotland.” Conan looked at Conor. “It’s been almost six weeks,” he snarled. “That’s long enough, and it’s time you tell Laurel.”
“Tell Laurel what?” The question came from behind Conan. He glanced momentarily over his shoulder. Hamish and Colin, his second-oldest brother from the Lowlands, had come to join them.
“That I don’t care to wait for stragglers like yourself any longer.”
Hamish nodded to Conor, Colin, and Cole, who were sitting at the table, enjoying the frustration of their younger brother. “It’s your fault. We honestly thought the first missive an error. And we were not alone in that assumption either.”
Conan snorted. No one had believed it. No one. Even Rae Schellden, their neighbor and close ally, had doubted the news.
Cole, who had been sitting drinking quietly beside his brother, agreed with Hamish, especially as he too had had doubts the first time he had heard the news.
“I mean would you have believed a herald claiming the great Conan McTiernay had fallen madly in love with a beautiful woman who adored him in return, and was to marry imminently?”
The missive had been more than that. Laurel’s message had also said that all were welcome to come join and witness the event.
They just needed to bring tents, their own servants, and significant contributions to the food and drink.
So, like everyone else, Colin had sent a runner back with a statement asking if the real reason Laurel wanted them to visit was to say good-bye to Conan.
For that, he and Makenna would have liked to have come, but would never have left their homes for such a reason, especially as they were expecting their fourth child.
And because most heralds were not sent to only one clan, but had to make multiple stops, it had taken almost two weeks for the heralds to return to Laurel with words of disbelief, some teasing comments about the insanity of the alleged bride, and requests for proof.
The runners had been dispatched out again.
It had not been until Hamish received a message from Rae Schellden stating that the news was earnest that he had believed it.
Conan was indeed getting married. Then the heralds had returned, all with variations on one theme—the ceremony could not take place until they arrived.
Conan getting married was something that needed to be seen to be believed.
Colin winked at Conan, which rankled him further.
“I think he just misses his woman,” he said playfully, with a massive grin pasted on his face.
Colin was not the sort to smile. The man possessed an unnatural amount of self-control.
He could emotionally wall himself off, which made him a superb strategist, but it seemed that after nearly a decade of being married to Makenna and becoming a father to three children, with a fourth on the way, had changed him.
And not for the better, in Conan’s mind.
It also did not help that Colin was right.
Now that he knew the feel of Mhàiri’s skin, her scent, her passionate response, her greedy need for him, and his insatiable need for her, the idea of not being with her at night was akin to torture.
Sneaking to her room might have been possible the first week, but had become very difficult the second week.
After that, guests had started to arrive in staggering numbers.
The castle had never been so full. Even when Conor had married Laurel, it had not touched this constant influx of people.
As a result, Mhàiri and Maegan had given up their rooms and were now sleeping with Bonny and Brenna, and visiting maids now lined the halls in temporary beds.
So sneaking into Mhàiri’s chambers was not an option.
The torture was not only the loss of having her in his bed; it was far more than that.
He had not seen Mhàiri practically at all these past few weeks.
Dinner did not count, as there were too many people present to make conversation, much less keep one.
People kept asking for her attention, and the numbers of those inquisitive people kept growing every day.
Conan had assumed this would alarm Mhàiri as much as it did him, but he had been wrong.
At dinner, he had groused about how few times he had had a chance to spend time with her, and Mhàiri’s response had been to laugh.
She had laughed, infecting all those around her, and then had reminded him about the two months he had pushed her away, ignoring her.
That if she could wait, then so could he.
When he had returned from an impromptu trip and Mhàiri had still been as inaccessible as before, he had begun to worry. What would she be like when it was only the two of them? There would be no crowds to entertain her. It would be just her and him, sometimes for weeks at a time.
He had been so desperate, he had gone to Brenna and Bonny for help.
Both girls normally loved all the activity, but even for them, it had been too much.
Luckily, Brenna had known Mhàiri’s schedule and when to intercept her so they could have a few minutes.
The only place had been the bottom floor of the Star Tower, which also served as a storage room.
It was the smartest thing he had done in the past six weeks, for Mhàiri’s actions and first words had put his mind at ease.