Chapter Fifteen #3
Conan nodded. He had been packed up and ready to go now for a month.
Initially, he had actually been glad for some more time to prepare.
Mhàiri’s father had traveled all his life with a wagon and had many ideas to make theirs as comfortable and roomy as possible.
As a result, night, storms, and cold weather would not be nearly as difficult to endure.
“Since the day the cart was done and loaded, I have been ready to leave.”
Cole, who had been leaning on his elbows, which were on the table, began to wag his finger as an idea occurred to him. “I’m surprised you did not leave and return in the nick of time.”
“Like you?” Conan chided. “And I did leave. I was gone for a week and had gotten back right when you arrived. I actually thought I had arrived just in time for our wedding. I had no idea that Laurel would insist on waiting for every affirmative answer she received.”
Hamish grinned. So did Colin, Conor, and Cole. Conan looked around. Everyone was smiling. “You all are loving this!” he shouted. “This is all fun for you! Keep it up and I’ll make sure your trip was pointless by sneaking Mhàiri away and getting married alone.”
This only brought more smiles.
* * *
Mhàiri watched the hard rain fall as she sat on one of the padded seats in Laurel’s day room, which, along with Conor’s day room above it and the solar on the top floor, made up the only three rooms in the castle that had not been turned over to guests or extended family.
The rain had been falling steadily now for an hour, and with all the people, the grass in the courtyard had been nearly trampled to death.
Soon it would be a muddy nightmare. Before the wedding, the large bailey would have virtually emptied during such a downpour.
With so many visitors and so much constantly needing to be done as a result, the commotion never ceased.
Another reason the grass had no chance if the wedding was delayed much longer.
At first, Mhàiri had loved all the bustle and commotion.
It reminded her of Christmastide. There were always new faces, and meal times were filled with hilarity as the group got larger.
Her father was not the only one who had the gift of gab, and she found herself doubled over in stitches at least twice each meal before their plates were collected.
The additional time to make a dress had also been necessary.
Laurel and Aileen had enlisted Nairne’s mother, Siùsan, to help with the wedding gown.
It had been beautiful, with a scooped neck, butterfly sleeves, lace, and a sweeping train.
Then Ellenor and Brighid had arrived. Brighid, whose skill with a needle Mhàiri had heard of for months, took a look and insisted it needed more.
And the gown had only become more beautiful.
Unfortunately, during the modifications, the five women had chatted and all concurred that the gown, while beautiful, was not the right style or color. And they had been right.
The luxurious, rich blue bliaut they had made was stunning.
Brighid had created a subtle floral embroidery all over the shimmery material.
The sleeves’ wider openings narrowed down to the elbows, in a shape known as a bell sleeve, separated by lace.
The front and back corset curved to her body, making her look even taller and slimmer.
Mhàiri loved it and felt beautiful in it.
All five had agreed, which was why they’d finished it, but they had also all agreed that it was still not what she should get married in.
The next ensemble had made her feel like a princess.
Created out of the most beautiful material of jet black and purple crushed velvet Mhàiri’s father had acquired when in Europe last fall, the five women had created something truly spectacular.
The dress and outer sleeves had been made with the velvet, and the neckline had been detailed with a black braid that also adorned the arm bands.
The front corset was a stunning purple shade that also lined the inner sleeves.
Mhàiri loved it, but she did not want to wear something so dark. So a final dress had been made, and even if all five had thought it, too, could be outdone, Mhàiri would have stopped them. Nothing could outshine the final lavender gown, and thankfully all agreed. Mhàiri had her wedding dress.
Mhàiri had worried about the other dresses made and that Conor wouldn’t like the waste. But Laurel had assured her that Conor would have no idea, nor would he care, as long as it made all the women happy, especially his wife.
Mhàiri was very appreciative and very glad that it was over.
She had helped a little, but her stitches were not as precise as Siùsan and Brighid’s.
And Maegan had only been able to give her reprieves periodically as she was tasked with overseeing the ever-growing brood.
When Makenna had arrived with her son and two daughters—both of whom looked and acted frightening like their mother—Maegan had threatened to run away.
She had not been serious, but she had told Seamus later that she did not want a large family and hoped that Clyde would be fine with that since he had six brothers.
Seamus had pointed out that he had only one sibling and thought one or two children the perfect number.
Maegan had told her that the last time they had been together.
It had been a week ago, and they had been out watching the Highland games.
Mhàiri had been capturing on paper some of what she saw when archery had begun and she had seen Laurel take aim.
The woman was massively pregnant, but that had not seemed to affect her ability to shoot, for she had soundly beat all who had gone against her.
That had given Mhàiri the courage to join the competition of dagger throwing.
She had been surprised when Laurel, too, had entered.
“Conor’s men always go on about what I can do with a bow and arrow, but they forget what I can do with a dirk.” Then she had looked at what was in Mhàiri’s hand and asked, “Can you throw as well?”
The competition had soon whittled down to just a handful.
That was when Mhàiri had noticed Conan was in the crowd, standing next to a scowling Conor.
Neither of them had looked happy to know their loved ones were so deadly.
Mhàiri had eventually won, and Laurel had said that her pregnancy was throwing her slightly off.
Mhàiri had not thought so, but she would love the chance to challenge Laurel again someday and told Conan that at dinner.
Unfortunately, before he could respond, she had been overheard and the topic had caused quite a stir of questions being aimed at her.
At first, all the attention had been great for her ego and self-confidence, but it had not been long before it had become old—very old.
A month of answering questions about her life, her skills with a knife, her drawing, the languages she spoke, did she think she was smarter than Conan, did she really love him, how could she tolerate his company, and so many more, had made her want to sneak off, grab Conan, tell the priest their promises, leave, and break in their new cart.
She loved the new cart. It was beyond perfect, and she wished she could have joined Conan when he had taken it out for a test run.
She had wanted to be there for its first use, but her man had not been happy with all the delays and she had wanted him to be.
She, on the other hand, was not going to be happy until she stopped sleeping with little Bonny and started sleeping with Conan as his wife.
At least she was not in bed with Brenna, who moved around in her sleep.
She often woke Maegan and nearly pushed her out of the bed, despite its large size.
Maegan was one of the only reasons she had yet to tell Laurel that enough time had passed and the ceremony would be taking place immediately.
Maegan and Seamus loved each other. It was etched all over their faces, but something had happened at Christmastide and they stopped talking to one another.
Thankfully they were speaking again, but both were pretending that things were as they had been before.
Neither wanted to lose their friendship, and neither knew how to move forward without jeopardizing it.
This careful dance they were doing with each other could not be sustained forever, and Mhàiri feared that Maegan would need a friend before long if she made the wrong decision.
Because soon, and Mhàiri feared that her wedding might be the catalyst, Seamus was going to give Maegan an ultimatum.
One he probably did not want to give, but had to.
Giggles were coming from behind her, and Mhàiri glanced back over her shoulder.
There were so many pregnant women around it was overwhelming.
Laurel was due within the month, and Crevan’s wife, Raelynd, who was due either in May or June also looked as if she could have a child at any moment.
Not much further off was Colin’s wife, Makenna, who had been born and raised in the Lowlands, but acted as if she were a Highlander through and through.
Mairead, Hamish’s wife, just beamed when she was not conspiring.
The only wives who were not pregnant were Ellenor, Cole’s wife, her best friend, Brighid, and Meriel, who was married to Craig and had had a child only a year before.
The door opened. In walked a woman whom Mhàiri immediately knew to be both kind and friendly. She had thick reddish brown hair and a smattering of freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. When she smiled, her brown eyes literally twinkled.
Upon seeing who had entered, Laurel gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth just as Raelynd and Meriel squealed with delight. “Rowena! ”
This was immediately followed by “Meriel!” and a “Mo chairde, Raelynd, you are huge!”