“They bring news? They don’t even have her? What are they going to do, lock you in a tower until this mythical daughter appears?” Aidan asked incredulously. He guffawed. “I don’t envy you, brother.”
“Is there aught else?” Nioclas asked tersely.
The messenger cast his eyes heavenward, as if sending up a prayer, and squeaked, “Um, aye.” Clearing his throat, he said, “Lady Brianagh shall be presented for the wedding held here tomorrow.”
“Oh, well, if that’s all,” Nioclas replied, his patience snapping, “then I best get my rest tonight. Be off to the kitchens with you to find your repast.” The messenger’s head snapped up in surprise and he scurried off to the kitchens in haste.
“Before nightfall?” Aidan grinned, scratching his chin with his dirk. “I suspect they’ll be riding up to our gates within the hour.”
“To no end,” Nioclas replied sourly, stalking across the great room toward the staircase. He threw a look over his shoulder. “When they arrive, you may send only Kiernan to my solar. The rest can go to hell.”
Aidan watched his brother stomp up the solid stone steps, then turned and winked at the maid hovering nearby. She blushed to the tips of her toes, bobbed a curtsy, and asked what he needed.
“Ensure a strong dinner is sent to the laird’s solar tonight. Make it for six.”
Chapter 5
If Nioclas thought he could kill his brother without overly mourning his loss, Aidan would most certainly be dead.
Aidan ushered all four of the menacing-looking travelers into the laird’s solar, maids following them with stools and food. The smell of roasted beef with bread assaulted the senses. If Nioclas weren’t so angry that his brother allowed the men up, he’d be angry about the elaborate food now being placed in front of them.
What a waste.
“Leave us,” Nioclas barked to the servants, who scurried out of the room. He glared at Aidan, but said in a measured tone, “Enjoy that meal, O’Rourke, for once it’s done, you’ll be leaving my castle.”
Kiernan O’Rourke ignored him, digging into his meal with a single-mindedness mirrored by the other travelers in his party.
Nioclas took stock as they ate. He did not recognize the travelers Kiernan brought. Two he could guess solely by the stories he knew of the clan. The largest one, with long, midnight-black hair and ice-blue eyes, must be the eldest O’Rourke offspring, Brody. Nioclas approved of him by sight—he was brawny and his eyes held a sharp intelligence. According to Kiernan, the man looked just like his mother, Kathryne. Brody was respected in battle—he was merciful but lethal—and he put his clan above himself. Nioclas could respect a man with those values.
The lad with the shorter, lighter-brown hair also had blue eyes, but his nose was fashioned more like his sire’s, as were his mannerisms. His body had not quite filled out yet. He still looked young, perhaps not quite twenty. He must be Reeve. Kiernan didn’t speak overmuch about him, except to sigh and wish he’d get his head out of the herbs and into the battles.
The last one Nioclas did not recognize. He looked nothing like an O’Rourke. He was as tall as Brody, with dark eyes and hair. He entered the room behind the O’Rourkes, standing straight with a small effort. His garb was finer than most, and a dark bruise marred his right cheek. His right arm appeared stiff, and although he was eating, it was clearly difficult for him to manage with his left. But his presence was more defined than even Kiernan’s. Nioclas wondered if he was a laird in his own right, perhaps from the mainland.
Finally, the men finished their suppers and the trenches were carried away. Nioclas sat back and waited silently.
“I expect my messenger arrived this morning?” Kiernan asked, his eyebrow raised. “I did warn him that you might be all day about getting to him, though. I hope you didn’t throw him in your dungeon while he waited. He’s a nervous sort.”
Nioclas folded his arms. “What do you want?”
“Never one for small talk,” Kiernan noted, nodding his head to Brody. “This is Brody, my eldest son, and Reeve, my youngest. And over there is Reilly O’Malley.”
“What happened to you?” Aidan asked without preamble. “Fall off a horse?”
O’Malley turned his attention to Nioclas. “I was riding for the O’Rourke castle when my horse’s leg was shot with an arrow. He reared, throwing us to the ground.”
“Us?” Aidan asked.
“I twisted so I would take the fall, and she fell on me. I woke up in the forest alone, but I found this on the ground.” He reached into the folds of his léine and withdrew a small silver brooch. He handed it to Nioclas with a nod. “I put it on her before we left. Somehow, it came off when she was taken by Burke’s clansmen.”
Nioclas held the brooch in his hand and his gut tightened. He’d fashioned it after a dream came upon him many nights in a row—a beautiful woman, a lake, and a flying hawk. Not even Aidan understood why he’d chosen the bird for their crest. His fingers constricted around it.
“Where did you get this?” Nioclas demanded.
Reilly’s eyes held Nioclas’s steadily, but he didn’t answer.
Keirnan glanced between the two men before speaking. “We gave the care and keeping of our daughter to O’Malley when she was born and hid her in a place no one could get to her. We trusted in fate that she would be brought back to us at the right time.”
“A day before my wedding to Kildare’s daughter seems to be more convenient than right.” Nioclas’s tension radiated. He ignored the small shot of energy from the brooch. “You say she is in Burke’s hands now?”
Reilly jerked his head in affirmation. “Aye.”
“Willing to risk your life on it?”
Reilly met his eyes. “Is Cosantóir Tiomanta mé.”
I am a sworn Protector.
Nioclas didn’t blink, but his jaw clenched and he swore.
Kiernan nodded briskly. “We knew you’d see it our way. Now, we need a plan to get her back.”
• • •
Brianagh tried to stop shivering, but it was a useless endeavor. She had been in this hole for an interminable amount of time. The dim light filtered through the gate above her, and she heard the whinny and soft stamping of horses.
She woke up in the underground dungeon hours ago. When she realized the floor was soft and moving, she jumped up faster than she ever thought possible and hadn’t sat since. She was filthy and her wrist hurt—perhaps she fell on it when they put her in this place? From when she fell off the horse? She had no idea.
At one point, she gathered enough courage to call out and hope someone above her would have a kind heart and let her out. Her reward was a slew of Gaelic curses, and she became a moving target for the guards above to relieve themselves.
Terrified didn’t do her current state justice.
Night fell around her, and she felt the darkness close in. She became accustomed to the smell after the first few hours, after retching until her stomach hurt. Occasionally, she found a patch of floor that didn’t have a creature of some sort slithering along the bottom, and she stayed in that spot for a while. She dreaded the next thing that would try to climb up her leg.
At some point during the night, she began to bargain with herself. When she got out, she wouldn’t complain about wearing pantyhose ever again. In fact, she would gladly take a pair now as an extra layer between her and the slithery creatures any day of the week, and twice on Sundays. Never again would she complain about having to wear them to meet a client, or during the postdate wrap-up, or—
The bargaining didn’t last too long. As she thought of her life just a day ago, she had a sinking feeling she had lost her mind, mostly because she believed Reilly had spoken the truth when he said he had moved time.
She suspected that Reilly believed her to be the daughter in her family legacy. But her parents died in a car crash. She’d seen the news article.
Distracted again by yet another something trying to make friends with her leg, Brianagh bit back a s
cream. She screwed her eyes shut, kicked the offending creature off, and tried to breathe normally.
In the hours since her captors tossed her into the dark, stinky hell, she gleaned few details about her whereabouts. The men tasked to guard her dropped the name Burke a lot and whoever he was, he seemed intent on kidnapping and keeping her. Apparently he’d been searching for her for years because he believed, like Reilly, that she was the O’Rourke legacy.
She also learned a couple of fun facts about the men who stomped around above her. The first was that her holding cell doubled as a toilet. If she didn’t move, they weren’t going to aim around her.
Lesson learned.
Another fun fact was their inability to get along. They didn’t seem particularly fond of each other, judging by the name-calling and swearing. Some insults led to sword fights, and by her estimation, the death count was two, possibly three, people.
One of the men seemed to have celebrity status, as he claimed to be the one who killed her protector. No one taunted him, as far as she could tell.
Her throat caught at the thought of Reilly. Once again she sent a prayer flying that he was okay and made it back home for help. James would know what to do—he was an ER doctor, for crying out loud. He was a resident at the best trauma unit in Boston. He’d be able to fix Reilly.
Firelight crept into the space, and calls from the guards were cut suspiciously short. She craned her neck to see what was going on, but as she could only see the faint outline of wooden beams and some thatch, she gave up and instead pressed herself against the nearest wall. She hoped she wouldn’t die in a fiery blaze, but at the moment, it seemed like her best option.
She began to cry softly.
Chapter 6
“Brianagh!”
Bri’s eyes snapped up and locked on Reilly, who pushed a ladder into the hole.
“Ry?” Her eyes had trouble adjusting to the bright torchlight coming from above. She scrambled for the ladder, tripping over the slime and sludge, and desperately grasped it. She clumsily made it up two rungs when Reilly reached down, grabbed her arms, and hoisted her up, then pushed her ahead of him toward the open door at the end of a line of horse stalls.
They skidded to a halt when three men stepped into their path. Reilly drew his sword and placed Brianagh behind him.
“One at a time, lads, or all at once?” Reilly asked pleasantly. Two charged him at the same time, and the other went straight for her. Her would-be attacker got a swift sword in the belly from somewhere to Brianagh’s right, and then she was being pulled away from Reilly again.
“Let go!” she cried out.
“Go with him!” was all Reilly managed before swinging his sword again.
She obeyed immediately—after all, whoever had her arm headed toward the door and not the dungeon. She couldn’t see around the warrior, as he was at least a foot taller than her and his shoulders were enormous. He barely paused when they reached the horse; he swung her into the saddle, leapt and landed behind her, and kicked the horse into a gallop before he was fully seated.
He spurred the beast on as a bevy of others surrounded them. Fear choked Brianagh, but the man spoke close to her ear. “The rest will follow. These are my guardsmen and will keep us safe until we get to my castle. Take your ease. O’Malley will meet with us there.”
She stopped breathing. She knew that voice. Half-fearfully, she glanced back into hard, gray eyes, and promptly fainted for the second time in her life.
• • •
When she came to, Brianagh couldn’t see anything in front of her except a horse’s head. And if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, she felt an arm around her waist securing her to a broad, hard chest.
She forced herself to concentrate on staying atop the racing horse instead of thinking about how disconcertingly familiar she was with that chest.
In the fog ahead, she glimpsed a light, then another. Voices called out and torches flared around them as the horses slowed.
Something creaked loudly, and the horses pranced as the sound continued. Awed, Brianagh watched a drawbridge hit the ground in front of them with a dull thud. Her rescue squad crossed and silently entered a long tunnel. The sound of horses’ hooves echoed off the tall, arched, moss-covered stone visible in the flickering torchlight. She peered ahead and saw a courtyard of sorts at the end of the tunnel. Once there, her rescuer dismounted, then held up his arms. She refused to look at his face for fear that her insanity would somehow materialize, so she reached blindly and grasped his forearms.
Recognition shot through her, and her gaze involuntarily snapped to his. Familiar eyes, as gray as the mist that surrounded them in the courtyard of the castle, searched hers.
“It is you,” she breathed.
He didn’t say a word, just looked at her intensely, his eyes reflecting the light from the torches. Easing her away from the horse, he slowly released her and stepped back. Recognition flitted across his face before his expression shuttered.
Brianagh stared. The man from her dreams had become very real, and even more handsome in person. She surreptitiously fanned herself, then choked on her own stink. It occurred to her that he’d been downwind of that same stink as they rode.
Her face flamed. Her dream man saved her from a fate worse than death, only to breathe in her toxic fumes.
At no point in her dreams did Brianagh ever stink, or be anything less than perfect for him. The fact that she stood within arm’s length, covered in slime, urine, and who knew what else, was a brutal slap to her reality.
“Riders approach!” someone called out from high above her.
“Let them through,” the warrior called out. He turned to her. “You are safe now, Lady Brianagh. You may take your ease.”
She nodded numbly, and he walked away without looking back.
“Brianagh!” Reilly called out. He threw himself off his horse and swept her off her feet. “Thank the saints! Are you all right?”
She blinked up at him. “Well…I did just spend a fair bit of time in hell, Reilly. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.”
He laughed, then swung her around again. “Conclusion drawn. I’m so sorry I let them take you.”
“I’m so grateful you’re alive,” she choked out before bursting into tears. “I thought…you were lying there…”
“I knew I was outnumbered.” He pulled her into a hug. “There were more around us. I would’ve pulled my sword if I thought it would do any good, but I knew they would overpower me. So I played dead. I knew Burke wouldn’t want you killed. Just hidden.”
She absorbed that for a moment, then decided she couldn’t do any more today. “I smell,” she announced.
“I believe you have a bath waiting for you in your room.” Reilly smiled. “Shall we?”
“I don’t think there’s really any other choice,” she replied, looking around her in consternation. “Care to fill me in on what’s going on?”
“You said it yourself.” Reilly gave a nonchalant shrug as he guided her to the castle steps. “Just a bit of reenactment.”
“You’re an ass,” she replied succinctly.
“And you’re just about ready to hear what I was trying to tell you before we left.”
She didn’t feel at all bad when she accidentally tripped him on the last step.
• • •
“You’re wearing a trench in your floor,” Aidan said the next morning. “Stop pacing. The battle’s done. I even managed to take one of their cattle.”
Nioclas, while grateful for the extra food his brother had stolen for the clan, ignored him.
The woman from his dreams finally had a name.
She recognized him, and if he had it right, it was the same way he recognized her. But knowing someone from a dream was not possible. And though Nioclas wouldn’t cast aside any form of magic—he did, after all, live in Ireland, where his clan still followed the old ways—seeing someone materialize from his dreams was a bit much for his mind to absorb.
/> When he woke that morning, he resolutely decided his dream occurred only because he had ridden three hours with her lithe form pressed against him last night.
Shaking his thoughts free, Nioclas turned his thoughts to his sire. Burke would seek revenge when he found the O’Rourke lass gone. Nioclas had sent the Kildare lass home to her own sire with a promise of alliance in apology for breaking the troth. The child had cried in relief, but Nioclas knew Kildare would come banging on his door with threats of retribution.
He also knew they would be empty threats unless someone paid the Kildares for their time. They weren’t the most loyal of clansmen.
Someone knocked on the solar door. Nioclas turned to Aidan, but he just shrugged and pointed to his food. “I’m eating.”
“And I’m laird,” Nioclas reminded him. “So get off your arse, show some respect, and open the door.”
“I respect you enough to point out that you’re closer.” He took a drink from his cup.
Nioclas gritted his teeth and shot Aidan a glare that inspired fear in others. Aidan wagged his eyebrows and continued to shove food into his mouth.
Nioclas flung open the door with a barked, “What?”
“Lovely to see you as well, MacWilliam,” Kiernan said cheerfully. “I always love the morning after a skirmish. Nothing makes you feel more alive!”
“I can think of a few things, starting with that feisty maid downstairs—” Aidan started.
“We’ve a lady present,” Kiernan cut in quickly.
“Care to explain that?” Aidan replied, looking him up and down.
Kiernan laughed. “MacWilliam, you and I shall meet in the lists over that. I meant Lady O’Rourke, my wife. She arrived just this morning.”
“My lady.” Nioclas bowed as she entered behind her husband. “I do hope your travels were uneventful.”
“Oh, aye,” she replied with a smile. “But ’tis my understanding that my next few days will be just the opposite.”
The Winter Laird Page 5
