Chapter Sixteen #2
She had loved him. The forever kind of love.
The kind of love that could not be destroyed or killed.
The kind that inspired a person to travel great distances to be reunited.
The kind that one seized onto and did not let go of.
She had felt that for him, and she had known Clyde had felt that way about her.
She had known it. There had been no doubt.
That was why there had never been another.
But it had all been a lie.
“You don’t love me,” she said.
“I don’t even know you.”
“You don’t want me.”
“I don’t want anyone.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes once more. She could see Clyde’s pain. Hear it in every syllable. It was buried deep. So deep that it was one with him. “Are you happy, Clyde?”
Clyde’s jaw twitched. “Irrelevant question, Maegan.”
She closed her eyes and tilted her chin upward, hearing her name on his lips. “It isn’t. I need to know that you are happy.”
He looked up and refused to look her in the eye for nearly a minute. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t want you. Find a man who does.” Using his chin, he gestured behind her.
Maegan glanced over her shoulder, knowing whom she would see.
Seamus. He was standing there. Watching.
Listening. Waiting. Pain was etched on his face.
He knew she loved Clyde. He knew her heart was breaking.
He knew that she did not love him the same way.
It was killing him. And yet he remained.
For her. He was there because he knew she might need him.
“Go and live your life, Maegan. You only get one. Don’t waste it on me.” Clyde gave a tug on the reins and led his horse to where he could jump on. Then, without another word, without looking back even once, he left.
Maegan had known Clyde almost as far back as she could remember.
She knew him. She knew the truth. Clyde still loved her as much as he ever had.
He was hurting. He was in pain. Something was haunting him, eating away at him, making him believe he could not make her happy.
So he had set her free in the only way he knew how.
Clyde was wrong. But it did not matter.
Just as her heart had known he had loved her as much as she had loved him, her heart knew the awful truth now. Clyde was not ever coming back.
Wooden legs took her to Seamus. He said nothing.
He only opened his arms and enveloped Maegan the moment her body melted into his.
He had been so afraid. He had known he loved her but had not known the depth of his feelings until he had seen her running through the crowd.
He had chased her to see whom she was after and had been shocked to see that it had been Clyde.
He had been hugging Maegan in a way that left no doubt to anyone who saw them about his feelings.
Clyde’s love was just as deep, just as sure, as Maegan’s.
But when Clyde had let go, Seamus had seen something else in the man’s eyes.
He had seen it before, though not in one as young as Clyde, but Seamus knew that look.
War ate at a man. It hollowed him in ways that someone who had never taken a life, had never stood in the middle of a bloody field after fighting to the death, at first for a cause and then just survival, would understand.
It did something. It changed a person. Doing it for years either hardened hearts or turned men into shells.
Clyde was a bit of both. He had been right to push Maegan away.
He loved her, but he could not love her in the way she needed or deserved.
So when Clyde looked up and stared him in the eye, making Seamus promise to love her enough for the both of them, Seamus had nodded and prayed that Maegan would let him.
And then a miracle had happened. She had run into his arms. She had sought him out and clung to him, sobbing her pain and grief for another man. But she had come to him.
He had been so afraid that she wouldn’t. That she would run away and curl into herself, blocking out anything and everyone in an effort to get away from the pain. That she wouldn’t let him help her.
But Maegan had come to him.
She loved him.
Maybe not the same way she had loved Clyde, but maybe that was a good thing.
It had not let her see the truth. That she had lost Clyde a long time ago when he had failed to return, opting to fight, rather than seeking happiness and the love of a good woman.
Seamus had almost made that same mistake. But then he had met Maegan.
She did not know it, but she had saved him. And now it was his turn to save her.
* * *
Conan carried Mhàiri up three flights of stairs before he let her down. He wanted to carry her all seven flights to the solar, and he had intended to, but that had been a foolish ambition. Especially if he wanted to do anything tonight other than recover and pass out.
Mhàiri smiled up at him and then laughed. “I guess Hagatha won.” She giggled.
He frowned. “Won what?”
She reached up on her tippy-toes and gave him a light kiss.
“You didn’t think men were the only ones who gambled on ridiculous things?
When you announced that you were carrying me up to the solar, we all knew that was never going to happen.
We all picked a level that you would stop at. Hagatha had three.”
Conan pursed his lips together, and he contemplated picking Mhàiri back up and carrying her the rest of the way. Three seemed like a very embarrassing number. “What number did you have? And you better not say one.”
Mhàiri grinned. “Seven.” When he reached down to pick her up, she scooted back. “While I have no doubt that you could carry me all seven flights, I have other plans for our last night in a real bed.”
Conan had nearly toppled over in shock when Laurel had said that she and Conor wanted them to have the solar for their wedding night, especially as it would be some time before the couple slept in comfort again.
Then Conan had seen Conor’s face and realized his brother had not been so generous and was not happy that his wife had given away their bedchambers, even if it was for only one night.
But Conan was not interested in making Conor happy.
He only cared about Mhàiri’s happiness and there was no doubt she would love sleeping in the solar.
And after he got to explore every inch of her body a few times, they would take a break, go to the top of the tower, and enjoy the view.
Just thinking about it made Conan salivate.
He tapped Mhàiri’s bottom. “Hurry up, woman. For weeks, my body has been racked with pain without its only cure—you.”
Mhàiri had started her ascent but stopped and turned around. She was on a higher step and it almost brought them face to face. She curled her arms around his neck and said in a husky voice, “I ache for you too.”
“Murt!” he muttered. His hands were on her hips and then her bottom, squeezing her tightly against him so she could feel the evidence of his desire.
Mhàiri’s eyes grew large with excitement. She gave him a quick peck, turned around, and dashed up the remaining four stories to the solar. The room was massive and very masculine, and in the middle was an enormous bed. “How did they ever get that up here?”
Conan came behind her and pulled her back to his chest. He nuzzled her neck and murmured, “They didn’t. My father had it built in this room.”
Mhàiri pulled free and went to look out the window.
She had had no idea she would be able to see so far from this high up.
She could see the tents and the campfires lit in the distance.
The bonfires were mostly obstructed by the curtain wall, but she could see that the crowds had not begun to die down.
The party would last for several more hours.
Mhàiri was glad she did not have to wait until everyone else was ready to sleep for her and Conan to finally be together.
Then, as the world decided to at last sleep, she and Conan would awake and leave.
They wanted to be gone by sunrise, embarking on their life and future at last.
Conan took off his shoes, belt, and tartan and tossed them to the side.
He then walked up to Mhàiri and hugged her from behind.
Slowly, he began to pull pins out of her hair and then tugged free the last ties that kept the intricate weave in place.
Plunging his fingers into the thick mass, he gently pulled until the dark locks hung free.
Next, very lightly, he slid her gown off her shoulder, revealing skin for him to savor and kiss. “You happy?”
“I am now,” she sighed, leaning back into him.
“At first, planning the wedding was fun, but the last couple of weeks have been wearing.” She turned around in his arms. “Pregnant women are emotional, Conan. Like really emotional. Probably the scariest people on earth. They are impossible to talk to or reason with. And there were so many of them.”
Conan chuckled. It was deep in his chest, and Mhàiri could feel the slight vibration run throughout his body. “My brothers love their wives, and I suspect when you are large with our child, I will love you as well.”
Mhàiri wrinkled her nose at the idea. “Let’s wait. Like a long time. And if we ever decide to have a child, let’s visit someone who has lots of them and is pregnant. I’m sure that will change our minds quite quickly.”