The Winter Laird

by Nancy Scanlon

  “Reilly!” she chided, embarrassed.

  “Just so you know, I told him what you didn’t.”

  “Can we discuss this later?” she asked, uncomfortable with the stares she was receiving from the other three still standing in the doorway.

  “If you value your life, you will remove your hands from her,” Nioclas said in a low voice.

  Reilly kissed the top of her head and released her. “You’ve got yourself a jealous one.” Reilly snorted, amused, as Nioclas moved his hand to the hilt of his sword menacingly.

  Brianagh didn’t know what to say to that, so she turned to Nioclas instead, saying in Gaelic, “I hope you don’t mind that I released your cook.”

  “I believe I understand your reference about your teeth earlier,” Nioclas replied, allowing a small smile to escape. “Did no one warn you to avoid the bread?”

  “Unfortunately, no one did. I’ve brought in a woman from the village. She’s probably already arrived, and she comes highly recommended by the other women in the castle. I’ll have her to come to the kitchens immediately once she’s settled.”

  “I’d recommend a taster,” Donovan muttered darkly.

  Brianagh bristled, but Reilly laid a hand on her arm, ignoring Nioclas’s twitchy fingers. “I’ll do it.”

  “You will?” Bri asked.

  “Aye. It’s probably the only way I’ll be offered a meal.”

  Brianagh burst out laughing. “Please tell me you’re staying?”

  “That’s up to the laird.” Reilly grinned, meeting Nioclas’s stony face. “I’d need a chamber too.” Reilly’s face quickly darkened when Nioclas’s face didn’t change. “I see what you’re thinking, MacWilliam. Put me in your dungeon, and I promise I’ll get out.”

  “Is that a threat?” Nioclas asked as Aidan placed a hand on his own hilt.

  “Absolutely not.” Reilly smiled. “It’s merely a vow.”

  “Okay, enough,” Brianagh said, placing her hand on both Nioclas’s and Reilly’s arms. “Reilly, you will have a room, and if you really want to taste the food, feel free. But you’ll get a meal regardless. But you have to stop goading Laird Nioclas, else I’ll kick you out myself.” Turning to the young woman in the corner, who was chopping potatoes on a wooden board without taking her eyes off the four enormous men standing in the kitchen, Bri informed her, “Our new cook, as well as the Maguire cook, will be along soon. If you could help acquaint ours with the kitchen, I’d be grateful.”

  “Aye, my lady,” the woman said with a quick bob.

  Reilly watched Nioclas observe Brianagh, then grinned. In English, he turned to her and held his arm out. “Take me to my room and tell me about this new cook you found. Nice job on letting Fergus go, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” She laughed, leading him out of the kitchens. “Remember when I had to let Shelly Waters go? That was awful. She was so mad she spit on me.”

  “Well, she couldn’t match anyone to save her life,” Reilly replied. “She tried to match Colin with her brother. And neither were interested in that sort of match.” He laughed at the memory of Colin’s shocked face when Shelly told him she found his perfect mate, and his name was John.

  “Have you seen Colin?” Bri asked suddenly.

  “No.” He turned serious. “I haven’t been back.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to make sure you’re all right first. Even though it seems like I just dropped you here, I haven’t been far.”

  “I still want to go back,” she said softly.

  “To what? You’re meant to be here, Bri.”

  She lowered her voice further. “My life is six hundred years in the future, Ry.”

  “We’re not having this argument again.” Resolved, he quickened his pace.

  She hastened to keep up, noticing Nioclas was only a few feet behind them. The bailey was mostly empty, as the meal bell had already rung. She flashed him a nervous smile, then said to Reilly, “He’s agreed to let me return home after three months.”

  Reilly stopped dead in his tracks, then turned and glared at Nioclas before shaking his head. “You won’t want to.”

  “Yes, I will,” she replied, although she sounded less certain of herself than usual.

  “Must you always have the last word?” Reilly exploded, facing her. “I’m not taking you back!”

  She spun toward him and threw her hands on her hips. “Yes, you will!”

  “God, would you listen to yourself? You sound like a three-year-old who didn’t get a toy from the toy store!” Reilly shouted.

  “And you sound as though you truly want to spend the night in my dungeon,” Nioclas answered in English, his sword suddenly at Reilly’s throat.

  “Nioclas, please don’t,” Brianagh gasped. “Truly, we fight like this all the time. It’s harmless.”

  “Shout at my wife again, and I don’t care what kind of vows you make, you won’t see the light of day until summer.” Nioclas’s face was deadly serious. After a charged moment, he removed his sword. “And you will take her home in three months, if she wishes it.”

  Reilly shot a look of pure disgust at him. “You realize that if you send her away, you’re signing thousands of death certificates.”

  “What are you saying?” Aidan asked in Gaelic. “Nick, do I slay him here, or would you prefer satisfaction in the lists?”

  Nioclas dropped his sword, and without taking his eyes off Reilly, replied to Aidan in Gaelic, “Neither. Have a chamber readied for him on the opposite side of the castle.” Nioclas took Brianagh’s arm and steered her away from Reilly. “Don’t,” he warned when she opened her mouth.

  She promptly closed her mouth, then glanced back at Reilly to see his satisfied smile. She stuck her tongue out at him with all the immaturity she could muster as Nioclas dragged her away.

  Chapter 14

  “You believe you lived…in a time not now,” Nioclas stated more than asked the question.

  Bri was trapped. He understood the words she and Reilly had exchanged outside, but did he really understand what they were talking about? She had no idea. His expression gave nothing away.

  “Do you believe I came from a different time?” she asked evasively, leaning against the alcove in her solar, which looked quite nice now that she and Erin had managed to procure some tapestries for the walls and a few small, embroidered pillows for the stools.

  His smile wasn’t friendly when he responded. “I won’t play your games. Since you did not balk when I even mentioned such an idea, I can only conclude that you do believe it.”

  Bri started to feel the sweat form on her back. She hoped he didn’t think her to be a witch. Witchcraft was an offense punishable by death. She wasn’t exactly sure what Ireland did to witches in the fifteenth century, but she had a feeling it involved the medieval version of s’mores and camp songs in Gaelic.

  “The O’Rourke legacy isn’t a secret, but it isn’t truth, either.”

  Gathering her courage in one hand and her stupidity in the other, she countered, “Are you so certain?”

  Nioclas folded his arms across his chest. She could almost feel the barely leashed intensity he radiated.

  He glowered. “I see you’ve been told you’re the heiress to this tale. A man cannot travel to times not his own. ’Tis unnatural.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “Yet still, you believe it.”

  “What do you do to witches?” she blurted out.

  Her fear must’ve shown on her face, because he immediately relaxed his stance. “Witches? I’ve yet to see any poor soul do anything to warrant the name.” He stepped closer to her, assessing. “Do you believe yourself to be a witch, Brianagh?”

  “No,” she reassured him quickly, pressing herself against the alcove. “I just don’t want anyone else thinking I’m one. I’m not a fan of bonfires.”

  “The MacWilliams do not burn witches, suspected or otherwise,” Nioclas said firmly. “However, there are other clans who do, so be wary with y
our words.”

  “You mean, don’t spread it around that I’m from six hundred years from now? I have no intention of ever mentioning that to anyone. I don’t want to be burned at a stake.”

  “Six hundred years?” he asked. His expression showed incredulity; he believed her to be daft. “You won’t be burned. You’re protected by my name,” Nioclas replied, and Brianagh could sense his patience was nearing its end.

  “Thanks for that. Um, anyway, we should probably make sure Reilly’s all set, and I have to tell our new cook that she’s free to use the kitchen—”

  “Do you ever stop?” he interrupted her. At her confusion, he clarified. “Ever since your arrival, you haven’t stopped working. You are the Lady MacWilliam. You aren’t required to do anything.”

  She shook her head, grateful he let the subject of the future drop. “I have to do something. Since you’ve given me the protection of your name and promised to get me back home, the least I can do is earn some of that.”

  “All I ask is that you act like my wife,” he muttered.

  “I’m trying. I’ve never been a wife, so I’m not really sure what I’m doing.”

  “Tell me what you did before you came to Ireland.” Nioclas placed his large hand over her twisting ones to still them. “O’Malley told me you had your own trade.”

  She felt a flash of anger toward Reilly. If he intended to bring her to medieval Ireland, the least he could have done was prepare her better. Although, in fairness, she did rebuff any attempted lessons at Irish history he tried to teach her. She was much more interested in the island’s love stories—especially William Butler Yeats and Maud Gonne; she felt she could’ve found Yeats someone much more suited to him who would actually accept a proposal—than it’s medieval history.

  Hindsight was 20/20, she supposed. Although she wasn’t really sure if “hind” was the right term, being as she was presently lingering in the past.

  Before giving herself a headache, she said, “My trade is in love. I match people together so they can enter happy marriages.” Mostly, she amended silently. There were quite a few clients who wanted one-nighters, but she always dropped them when she proved it to be true. She was in the business of happily-ever-after, not happily-right-now.

  Nioclas didn’t stifle his skepticism. “Lairds decide who is best suited, based on alliances.”

  “In Ireland, they do,” she agreed.

  “But not in America.” At her surprise, Nioclas said, “O’Malley gave me some information. I’d like the rest from you.”

  “Maybe later,” she placated as she slipped by him. “As your wife, it’s important that I ensure our new cook is settled in her kitchen.”

  “And who, may I ask, is the new MacWilliam cook?” Nioclas asked pointedly.

  She blushed. “In my defense, I tried to find you for a long time before I finally made that decision.”

  “Answer the question, Brianagh.”

  “Keela, from the village,” she finally said.

  Nioclas’s face darkened. “You are obviously very new to clan ways. She is a poor choice. As cook, Keela must live here, yet she cares for her aging mother. Who will take care of—”

  “Aoife?” Brianagh interrupted. “I’ve set that up as well. No need to worry. As we speak, I have two men from the castle helping her gather her belongings. She’s moving into the castle with her daughter, who will make an excellent cook.”

  “I will not have an old woman sleeping on my floor!” Nioclas exclaimed.

  Brianagh threw him a look as though he was the one who was daft. “Of course you won’t. Aoife and Keela will be sharing a chamber nearest the exit to the kitchens.”

  “I don’t have a bed for her,” he pointed out—rather triumphantly, if Brianagh heard it right.

  “That’s why I sent the men,” Bri replied smugly. “So they could gather her belongings. That includes the bed.”

  Nioclas looked taken aback for a moment. “Oh. That was well done of you.”

  “I thought so. Now, truly, I have to see if Keela is set in the kitchen. Donovan’s cook arrived yesterday and I must ensure they get along right from the start. How long are the Maguires staying?”

  “As long as he pleases. There is no limit to our hospitality with the Maguires,” Nioclas replied, looking somewhat bewildered.

  “Excellent. I do enjoy Erin’s company, and I’m sure their cook will have much to add to Keela’s already superb knowledge of food preparation. I’ll see you at dinner, perhaps?” With a wave, she was out the door.

  Nioclas stood in the middle of the empty solar, feeling a bit winded, and suddenly noticed the small throw pillows.

  He shook his head. O’Malley was right. His wife was a force of nature, indeed.

  • • •

  When Nioclas found her the next day, Brianagh was directing the activity in the great hall. Tables were pushed against the wall, and women everywhere swept the rushes into manageable piles. The tapestries that lined the walls were carefully removed and taken outside, and men hauled buckets of ashes from the large fireplaces at either end of the hall.

  “Come and walk with me, Brianagh,” Nioclas said as he approached her.

  She considered, then turned to one of the women. “Mary, would you please ensure the tapestries are free of any dirt before they are hung again? I’m going for a walk with Laird MacWilliam.”

  “Aye, Lady MacWilliam.” Mary bobbed, then continued her duties as Nioclas sent someone to fetch his wife’s cloak.

  “No training today?” Bri asked Nioclas.

  “I’ve finished for the afternoon and thought to take some time in your company,” he replied easily.

  Brianagh’s warning flags rose from orange to red. From everything she’d heard at the castle, on his training days, Nioclas never finished training before dark unless there was a battle. From everything she’d seen, that was the truth—he never put his sword down while there was still some semblance of sunlight.

  Suspicious.

  He helped her fasten her cloak, then led her away from the men outside the door using clubs to beat the soot from the tapestries. Brianagh quickly told them to cover their mouths and noses so as to not breathe it in. They did as she asked without question and continued on with their work.

  “The clan certainly seems to listen to you well,” he said approvingly.

  “They respect my title. But soon they’ll respect me as well,” she replied, side-stepping a muddy puddle in the dirt.

  “Sensible. What was your home like?”

  Bri paused in midstep. “Um…comfortable.”

  “Comfortable in what way?”

  She had a sinking feeling her second inquisition had started. “I felt safe and loved.”

  “Your sire told me you stayed with an uncle. How did he put food on your table?”

  Brianagh watched the blacksmith pound something at his anvil, marveled briefly at his strength, and contemplated her answer. Connor worked for a major passenger train company. She wasn’t sure how to translate that into medieval-speak. Finally, she just said, “Connor ensured we got to and from different places safely.”

  “As a guardsman? A stable master, perhaps?”

  Biting her lip, Brianagh replied, “He made sure the horsepower was safe.”

  Nioclas frowned, not entirely satisfied with her answer, but he seemed to let it go for the moment. He peppered her with more questions as they continued their walk through the castle grounds, past the women beating the laundry with sticks, through the gardens that looked as though they’d be overflowing in spring and summer, and up to the battlements.

  They reached the top of the stairs and immediately Brianagh was hit with an icy wind. She shivered as it went right through her cloak and crept into her bones. The walkway was narrow, about two-and–a-half people wide. The walls were low, measuring at just below her hip, and they were at least three stories above the ground. Risking a glance over the wall, Bri looked straight down into the moat and jumped back as sh
e felt a tug on her cloak.

  Nioclas was standing with his legs braced, one hand fisted in her cloak. He flashed her a wry smile. “Don’t think to escape my questions that way, lass.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not that desperate.”

  “You might be when I’m through.”

  In response, she gave him her back, then promptly forgot all about him as she caught her first glimpse of the land in front of her. The view was all-encompassing and went on for miles. Even in the middle of winter, the varying shades of green were breathtaking. The different fields, separated by low stone walls or even low-lying bushes, were clearly and neatly laid out to the north of the bustling village directly between the castle and the sea, which sparkled in the distance. Within the castle walls, people led horses to the stables while others practiced their swordplay in the lists. In the village, smoke rose from the small holes in the tops of the white thatched cottages, and she could see people in its center—some looked like children, running and chasing each other, while others looked like adults in conversations.

  She wondered briefly what the concerns of a medieval peasant were like, then immediately wished she didn’t. She was fairly certain she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to get too involved. Another blast of icy air swept over her and she shivered violently.

  “We can go back.” Nioclas nodded to a guard as she eased away from the edge.

  “No,” she said quickly, tightening her cloak around her. “I have been stuck in there for days. I need a break.”

  “You can go outside when it’s raining. All that will happen is you’ll get a bit wet.”

  “Yes, I know,” she snapped. “But raining is much different than a deluge.”

  Nioclas shrugged nonchalantly. “In Ireland, it’s all the same. It’s called winter.”

  “I’m well aware of the Irish seasons,” she replied waspishly, then immediately regretted her outburst as his eyebrow shot up.

  “You said earlier that you’d never been here.”

  “I’ve never been to the MacWilliam lands,” she prevaricated. Instead of pressing her further, Nioclas suddenly grasped her cold hand and pulled her back to the stairs leading down to the bailey. She followed—she wasn’t given much choice, really—and once they arrived safely at the bottom, Nioclas glanced around. Noting there was no one save them, he narrowed his eyes, assessing her. “You seem to have vague answers for such simple questions, Brianagh.”