An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two

by Nancy Scanlon

  Emma watched him closely. “Just when I think I’ve figured you out, you surprise me.”

  He led her out of the lists, back to the inner bailey. “I’m a man of many talents.”

  “What else are you good at?” she asked. He gave her a searing look, and she sucked in a breath. “Aidan!”

  “What?” he asked, all innocence.

  “Can you show me the moat?” she asked, changing the subject.

  He pulled a face. “By the saints, why would you ever want to smell such a thing?”

  “Because it’s a real moat!” she replied with glee. “It might be my only chance to ever see one!”

  He grudgingly pulled her through the inner bailey, under the portcullis (which she stared at for well over a minute) and through to the outer bailey. He helped her climb the battlements and she glanced over, her eyes going wide.

  “This is stunning,” she said, awed.

  “It’s wastewater,” Aidan said, disgusted.

  “Not that!” she replied. “That.” She pointed out to the village and sea beyond.

  They stood for a moment, captivated by the view. Before her impromptu trip to Ireland, Emma had never seen such natural beauty before; the closest she ever got to nature was Westchester County.

  A cold wind blew her hair around her, and she shivered. Aidan moved to stand behind her, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

  Before she could voice a complaint, he leaned down, and in a low voice said, “On a full moon, if you were to stand on the battlement and send a wish over its reflection on the sea, legend has it that your wish is carried on the waves until such a time when it can be granted.”

  Emma let the timbre of his voice rumble through her.

  “Others believe that if you cast your wish to the ocean, it holds it safe until your soul mate can retrieve it.”

  “Have you ever sent a wish out into the sea?” she asked. She felt him nod. “Was it ever granted?”

  He tightened his grasp on her as another wind swept across the battlements. “I believe it was.”

  She twisted in his arms and searched the depths of his eyes, which mirrored the darker green patches in the castle fields.

  “You’re a complex man,” she finally said.

  When his lips touched hers, another wind whipped up, and she bridged the distance between their bodies. He slid his tongue into her mouth, tangled it with hers, and she felt herself fall into it. Her heart sped up while everything around her slowed, and he wrapped her in his cloak, creating a cocoon for just the two of them.

  Eventually, he pulled back from the kiss, but Emma refused to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see the emotion swirling in his, but more importantly, she didn’t want to reveal the emotions in hers.

  “Coward,” he whispered, a smile in his voice.

  Chapter 15

  “All finished, my lady.” Camille, one of the chambermaids who spoke a peasant’s form of English, smoothed the silvery gauze over the dress and stepped back to admire her work. “You look lovely. Such golden hair!”

  Emma self-consciously patted the elegant pile atop her head. “Are you sure it’s acceptable to leave it out like this?”

  Camille gathered up various things around the chamber. “Aye. Lady Bri dislikes wimples, so Laird MacWilliam’s given the womenfolk the option to wear them or not, as is our personal preference. Truly, we are blessed to be part of such a happy clan.”

  Emma chewed her thumbnail and glanced out the small window again. “All the women out in the courtyard are wearing them,” she pointed out nervously.

  “Those be the older ones, my lady. If you prefer, I can find you one. It shouldn’t take but a moment.” She pulled open the door to find Bri, poised to knock. “Oh, Lady MacWilliam! I was just going to find a wimple for Lady Perkins. Excuse me.” She bobbed a quick curtsy, but Brianagh stayed her with a hand on her arm,.

  “It’s quite common to wear a wimple only if you wish to,” Bri said, echoing Camille’s statement. “We’re not alone in this practice. It happens more often than you think…or may have read about.”

  Emma took the hint, still uncertain. “Well, if you think it best.”

  “’Tis such a shame to cover such lovely hair,” Camille said circling back around Emma, her cornflower-blue eyes shining. “Truly, I’ve never seen the like of it, all different shades of honey!”

  “That will be all, Camille,” Bri said gently, and the chambermaid dipped another curtsy before taking her leave.

  “Highlights?” Bri noted.

  “Yes. And perhaps not the waste of money I originally thought them to be,” Emma said. “Camille seems to like them, anyway.”

  “I think you’ll make quite an impression tonight,” Bri predicted. “You look lovely.” Emma’s blue dress was made of a light wool. Much like her original dress, its empire waist was trimmed with a thin silver thread, twisted into a rope that circled her rib cage. This dress, however, wasn’t lined; Brianagh had specifically had it made without the extra warmth. Emma would need a cooler fabric, with all the dancing she would be doing after dinner. “I am lucky to have such talented seamstresses here in the castle.”

  “I’m very grateful,” Emma replied, “but, um, I can’t find my shoes. I haven’t been able to find them since I arrived.”

  “Oh, right. I have them locked in my trunk. The laces and metal could be construed as fairy-craft,” Bri said with a wave. “Don’t worry. They’re safe until you need them again. The slippers, if they don’t fit, can be resized.”

  Confused, Emma asked, “Fairy-craft?”

  “Mmhmm. We’re a very supernatural people. When strange things happen, we attribute them to the fairies more than witchcraft or other nonsense. Now come, come. I can’t wait to see what you think of the goings-on downstairs. Tonight’s a big night—it’s the start of the matching!”

  “The beginning stage of the matchmaking process?” Emma asked, hurrying to follow Bri.

  “Yes, the formal part, anyway. In this case, Monaghan’s son, Shane, selected seven ladies from their answers to my questionnaire. I’ve invited those seven ladies, with their families, as well as a few other choices I’d like him to consider. We have dinner and dancing, and tomorrow, after the tournament, Shane makes his decision. The next day, the lairds—or sires—make up the betrothal agreement, and the wedding takes place soon after.”

  “Wow. How long is the process from start to finish?” Emma asked, intrigued.

  “Five days or less. Life is sometimes short here. People don’t hem and haw like they do in our time. They make their decision and stick by it, no matter what.”

  “What happens if the chosen woman doesn’t want to marry Shane?”

  “At that point, it’s out of my hands. It’s up to the woman’s father or laird, Monaghan, and Nioclas to come to an amiable solution.” Brianagh sighed. “It’s only happened a handful of times, when the woman is here against her will. I know history makes us out be property, but we have a lot more power than the books ever gave us. The law states that we are such, but few enforce it. The Irish are a kind people, who love their children and want the best for them. Male or female.”

  “What about what’s best for the clan?” Emma was fascinated. She suspected this, but hearing it—seeing it!—firsthand made her almost dizzy with glee.

  Bri stopped at the top of the winding stairs. “A laird’s daughter holds much the same value as any other daughter in his clan,” she explained. “Very few men want a child-bride, so to ally themselves, they’ll marry someone else within the other clan.”

  “What about handfasting?” Emma asked. The process of declaring to marry at a future date seemed like a good way to sidestep the issue.

  Brianagh shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no. It’s done, but not with any clans we know. That opens doors to all sorts of complications.”

  “Like what?”

  “A rival clan could kidnap the bride-to-be and demand ransom,” Bri said, “or the husband-to-be dies
in an accident and the bride is left without full clanship rights. It can get messy, so we don’t wait.”

  Emma held her remaining questions. She followed Bri down the stairs, where they waited to be announced. Bri clasped her elbow and they walked arm in arm out of the stairwell, into the great hall, which was about half-filled.

  “Tonight, you’ll sit with us as a guest of honor,” Bri murmured as they made their way to the raised dais. “I’ll sit to your right, and Aidan to your left.”

  A large, slightly overweight man with missing teeth, dressed in a dazzling shade of green, intercepted them before they were halfway across the large room. He said something to Brianagh, giving her a low bow. He continued on, shooting looks of interest to Emma. As he spoke, small drops of spittle flew from his mouth, catching in his silver-and-black beard. They shone in a highly distracting manner; Emma kept sneaking glances at them as he conversed with Bri. She noticed the bits of food clinging to the beard as well. She suppressed a shiver of repulsion as he bowed to her, wafting his own special brand of body fragrance in her direction.

  She choked, and Brianagh helpfully clapped her on the back, smiling and saying something that sounded explanatory in Gaelic.

  She turned to Emma and, in perfect Middle English, said, “Lady Emma, may I present Laird Monaghan, of the illustrious Monaghan clan in the east of our fair isle.”

  “A pleasure, my lady. You are the epitome of English beauty. I would be so honored for a dance tonight,” Monaghan said in Middle English, the words choppy.

  Emma gave a false smile. “Um, that’s, um…”

  Brianagh spoke in Gaelic again, and the man grinned. He bowed once more—Emma held her breath this time—and stepped back, so they could continue toward the front of the room.

  “I told him you would be likewise honored, and explained that you were a lady of few words who spoke a language we’re not all that familiar with,” Bri said grimly. “Monaghan’s interest in you is not going to sit well with Aidan.”

  “Why not? We’re not together,” Emma insisted.

  “After tonight, I think you might wish to be,” Bri warned as another, much older man rounded one of the tables to stop them. Bri made the introductions, the man asked for a dance with the Lady Emma, and Bri granted it.

  “Can’t you just tell them I don’t dance or something?” Emma hissed as yet another man gave a bow.

  “Negative,” Bri responded through her teeth as she bestowed a smile upon the man before herding Emma onward. “That was a powerful ally. Nioclas would insist upon that even if you were married to Aidan. Damn, he is going to be so mad at me.”

  Emma felt a fleeting sense of panic. “I’m sure it will be fine. They’re both older men, old enough to be my father, really.”

  “Not this one,” Bri said under her breath. A man about Emma’s age, dressed in the same blazing shade of green Laird Monaghan wore, bent gracefully at the waist. When he stood at full height, he was nearly as tall as Aidan, and he smiled kindly down at Emma, his brown eyes soft. His face, classically beautiful, rivaled any Hollywood movie star, and his manner was relaxed, fully confident. He spoke in fluent Middle English, and Emma had no issues understanding him.

  Unfortunately.

  “Lady Emma, allow me to introduce you to Shane Monaghan, who resides to the east.” Brianagh gave a swift curtsy, and Emma hastily followed.

  “My dear Lady Emma, your beauty and rumored wit have captured my attentions. I know you’ve so promised a dance with my father, but he and I have discussed it at length, and he insisted that I also dance with you, so as to see if we may make a life together.”

  Emma’s jaw dropped in surprise. At length? He was here maybe three minutes ago!

  He continued, “As the generous lady of the castle has most likely explained, I am here to find a wife, so I can begin fully living as a man ought, with something to live and die for.”

  Well, at least he was honest about his intentions.

  “Sorry, Monaghan, but this lady is unavailable,” a familiar voice, undercut with steel, said cheerfully.

  The younger Monaghan frowned. “Are we acquainted?”

  Aidan said something in Gaelic, and the man’s entire countenance changed in an instant. He gave a cordial bow to Brianagh, then kissed Emma’s hand.

  Shane glanced up at Aidan, gave a smile that Emma could only classify as competitive, and said something back in Gaelic before he headed back to where his father stood and began to talk in earnest.

  “Aidan!” Brianagh exclaimed, worried. She glanced nervously at Emma. “You better explain what you just did to her!”

  Emma looked at him questioningly, but all he said was, “I saved you from a night of fools.”

  “I don’t know whether to thank you or not,” Emma replied. “I mean, I would love to dance, absolutely. But those men looked at me like…”

  “A cup of water after a long drought?” Bri supplied helpfully.

  Emma kept a placid expression on her face, aware that Shane Monaghan was staring at her again, and wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “Yes. I’ve never experienced anything like this.”

  “Well, most people from your land haven’t,” Aidan pointed out. She rolled her eyes.

  “Let’s go find Nioclas,” Brianagh said, worry in her tone. She glared at Aidan. “I don’t know if he can fix what you’ve done.” She dragged Emma away, and Aidan turned to clasp hands with someone, not bothering to say goodbye. He winked at Emma.

  “He told Monaghan you’re handfasted to him,” Bri almost growled. “Unbelievable. That’s like dangling a piece of fresh meat in front of a starved dog.”

  “Did you just call me fresh meat?” Emma wondered aloud.

  “Sorry. But the metaphor fits. Shane is a very competitive man. Aidan’s just thrown down the gauntlet in the ultimate game of Win the Fair Maiden.”

  “What did Shane say back?”

  Brianagh’s mouth settled into a grim line. “The same sentiment as: To the victor go the spoils.”

  They reached Nioclas, who was chatting with yet another man dressed in different colors, and Emma realized that the different colors must symbolize the different clans. That explained why her dress matched Brianagh’s, as well as Nioclas and Aidan’s léines.

  She was dressed in MacWilliam colors.

  Brianagh said something, but Nioclas gave a shake of his head and turned back to the man. Brianagh’s arm tightened around Emma’s, and she dragged her off in another direction.

  “The kitchens,” Brianagh said through clenched teeth. “We need to regroup.”

  Emma didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but she did understand she needed to move faster to keep her arm attached to her body. They exited the castle and headed into a small outbuilding.

  The kitchen was bustling, but all the women stopped to curtsy as they entered. Bri led Emma to a small round table in the corner of the kitchen, and they sat. “This is a disaster. I can’t believe he would do this.”

  “I think he was trying to save me from suitors,” Emma interjected, feeling the need to defend Aidan’s actions.

  “I think you understand the term pissing contest,” Bri replied, her eyes narrowing to slits. “I won’t allow Aidan to ruin this match.”

  “Should I return to my chamber?” Emma asked, wishing she were anywhere else. She didn’t want to mess up a medieval matchmaking soiree, especially as she understood what it felt like to be the second-best woman in a man’s life.

  She couldn’t do that to another person.

  “No. If you go there, he’ll seek you out.”

  “Aidan?”

  “No. Monaghan.”

  Emma shook her head. “He just met me. Make him select from his list.”

  Brianagh slammed her hands on the table in frustration, then sighed heavily. “He will want what isn’t his. I seated him with Brigit of the Muskerry clan, his first choice. But you watch. He’ll give his attentions to you tonight, offer you his first dance—whi
ch you’ve already accepted by way of his father—and declare a meeting in the lists tomorrow to show his future bride what he has to offer. He’ll give his favor to you, and Brigit won’t accept him after that. And I, for one, wouldn’t blame the poor girl!”

  Emma chewed her lip. “There’s got to be another way to save this match. Especially as I’m not staying.”

  Nioclas poked his head in the door. “Ah, there you are. Shane just asked me for use of the lists tomorrow. He said he’s excited to announce his choice once he’s shown his warrior prowess.”

  Brianagh dropped her head onto the table in despair.

  Emma explained the situation, and Nioclas’s face darkened. “My brother is the biggest kind of arse,” he growled. “Apologies, Lady Emma. What he’s set you up for is either a kidnapping or a marriage.”

  Emma stood, knocking her stool out from under her knees. “You know that’s impossible. I’m not staying here.”

  Nioclas gave her a steady look. “I wonder how you plan to return, my lady.”

  She paused. “Reilly?”

  “Perhaps,” Nioclas said slowly.

  Emma tried to ignore the uncertainty in his voice.

  • • •

  “Lady Brianagh informs me that we’re handfasted,” Emma said carefully as Aidan placed a piece of bread on their shared trencher.

  “Don’t worry. We won’t actually marry.”

  Her heart twisted at his words. Why not? she found herself thinking. Am I so unlovable, then? Instead, she took a large gulp of her wine before adding, “Right. Of course not.”

  His mouth settled into a grim line, and she wondered at his moodiness.

  “Your brother informs me that I’m now at risk of kidnapping. From Shane.”

  He raised an eyebrow as he placed more food on the trencher. “Shane? You’re on a first-name basis with the man now?”

  “He introduced himself as such, so I suppose we are.”

  He shrugged. “He won’t kidnap you.”

  “Why not?”