The Winter Laird

by Nancy Scanlon

  “Thanks.” Erin beamed.

  “Do you mind if I invite minstrels to the castle?” Nioclas asked Bri quietly.

  “Oh, of course not,” she replied quickly. “We need them to help Keela decide who she’s interested in marrying.”

  He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “I don’t think I care to know the details.”

  “Probably not, as it involved about fifty men from the clan standing around the door of the kitchens.” Erin smiled at him. “But don’t worry, Nick. Bri cleared them all out so Keela could continue to make our supper, and she got a lot of questions answered about what Keela wants from her husband, so we have plenty with which to work. It’s going to be so fun.”

  “Fun?” he asked.

  “Aye. Bri taught me the word. It means full of merriment and cheer.”

  “Fascinating.” Nioclas turned his eyes on Brianagh. She blushed. “I look forward to this fun. I’ll see to your minstrels, Erin, and perhaps a juggler or two for sport.”

  Erin clapped her hands together. “Thank you, Nick! Donovan, you’ll dance with me?”

  “I’ll be the only one to dance with you,” he growled playfully.

  She giggled, and Bri smiled wistfully at them. It was so cute to watch a grizzled warrior such as Donovan act so in love and not bat an eye at it.

  “Is Reilly planning to join us?” Brianagh asked to no one in particular.

  “He’s making preparations to leave on the morrow,” Aidan replied with a self-satisfied grin. “I think he’s stayed long enough, myself.”

  Brianagh’s eyes widened, and she grabbed Nioclas’s arm. “Did you send him away?”

  He shook his head. “No, Brianagh. He made this decision himself.”

  “Do excuse me,” she said hastily, standing up. “I must go find him.”

  “I’ll escort you.” Nioclas rose after her.

  Bri walked silently beside him. The only sounds once they left the great hall were those of his boots and her slippers on the stone. She felt she should say something, but words escaped her. Nioclas, for his part, remained silent as well.

  Knocking on Reilly’s chamber door, Nioclas opened it at his call and brought Brianagh inside.

  “Were you planning to say goodbye?” she asked without preamble.

  Reilly shoved his hands through his hair. “Brianagh, I can’t stay. I have to go back.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Back where, Reilly? Back to where I came from? Or another time?”

  Reilly shoved the last of his belongings into a satchel on his mattress. “Bri, my duty is done, and no matter how much I wish to see you every day, I can’t. That’s not my destiny.” He glanced at Nioclas. “What I’m about to give her must remain locked in a trunk, never to be seen by any but you and Brianagh. It will get you killed.”

  Nioclas peered at the object. It was a shiny portrait of Brianagh, Reilly, another woman, and three grown men. The garb was most unusual—Brianagh had a skirt that displayed her calves, and deadly looking shoes with spikes. Her arms were also bare.

  He handed it over to her accusingly, and after just a look, she burst into tears.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Nioclas demanded.

  “You see why you can’t show this to anyone,” Reilly replied dryly. “Aside from the fact that your wife’s legs are showing…that’s a photograph. A portrait from the future.”

  “This is my aunt Evelyn, and my uncle Connor. And that’s Colin, and James, and you know Reilly,” Brianagh managed through her sobs. “I miss them so much.”

  “How many portrait painters do you have in the future?” Nioclas wondered aloud. He glanced at his sniffling wife, then sighed. “I’ll let you say your goodbyes in peace.” When the chamber door shut, Reilly grabbed her in a bear hug. “Bri, I’ll explain everything to them. They’ll understand—well, Evelyn will, anyway. And they’ll see it in the history books how well you fared.”

  She couldn’t see through her tears, but as she was pressed against Reilly’s chest, it didn’t really matter. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Reilly’s eyes were suspiciously wet. “Bri, I can’t promise I’ll see you again. But if the Fates allow it, I’ll be back sometime in your future.”

  “I don’t want to stay,” she mumbled into his chest.

  “I know,” Reilly whispered, “and it’s killing me to leave you. But I can’t stay, Brianagh. I can’t.”

  She wept into him for a while longer, then finally pulled back, her nose red and her eyes puffy. “I love you, Ry.”

  “I love you too, Bri.” He kissed her forehead. “This is your home—you belong here. Make the bastard admit his love for you so I don’t have to come back and skewer him on the business end of my sword.”

  “Keep practicing in your garden,” she said with a half-hearted laugh.

  “You knew?” he asked incredulously.

  She nodded, then stepped back. “Of course. I know more than you give me credit for!”

  “As do I, Bri.” He kissed her one more time before opening the door. “As do I.”

  Chapter 22

  It was snowing.

  Brianagh wondered how long the snow would stay on the ground. It was a beautiful sight, looking out over the untouched sea of white. What already covered the ground sparkled, and the flakes that drifted lazily from the sky reminded her of a painting she’d seen in Dublin on her first trip to Ireland when she was just a young girl.

  Bri sat at the alcove window, dressed in her nightgown but wrapped tightly in her fur-lined cloak, the shutters thrown wide. Idly, she wondered if medieval Ireland celebrated Christmas. Surely not in the same way she was used to—presents, Santa Claus, the crowds at the mall—but anything to mark the passing of the holiday. She realized she didn’t know what the precise date was. All she knew was that it was December 1457.

  Suddenly, she very much wanted to know the date.

  Had her days become so blended that she couldn’t keep track? She missed the feeling of productivity. Although she certainly had figured out how to keep herself busy, she hadn’t gotten that same euphoria she experienced after a dedicated search and placing two perfectly matched souls together.

  Happy sighs. That’s what she was missing.

  Stretching, Brianagh closed the shutters and shucked the cloak. She had a chance at both the happy sighs and the productivity today with Keela’s upcoming screening. Phase two of matching: the significant other. Bri opened her trunk to pull out her dress, but what she pulled out was something entirely unexpected.

  The long gown made of deep blue and gold silk rustled as she shook it out. Gold braids lined the seams, and the sleeves were sheer from elbow to wrist. It looked like something Erin wore from her trunk of a thousand dresses. Bri teased her about it almost daily.

  A note fluttered to the ground. Picking up the parchment, she read:

  B – Your sleeves were torn in your old dress, and the hem on another. The third was simply ugly, so I had them all placed in the rag bin. You should dress beautifully every day. – N

  Bri slipped the dress over her head and ran her hands over the fabric. The dress was beautiful on the outside, but the skirt had a light fur lining—deliciously warm and perfect for a snowy day. She pulled out the new shoes and slid them on. They were sturdier than her old slippers, and much warmer too. They also had a fur lining.

  For the first time in a long time, Brianagh felt warm from head to toe. It was a heady feeling.

  Opening the door, she found Nioclas leaning against the wall. He smiled when he saw her, then gave a little bow. “I see you found your new wardrobe.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She grinned, spinning. “But even more, it’s warm. Thank you!”

  “Entirely my pleasure,” Nioclas replied. “I ordered them a few weeks ago, but just received them last night. I’d hoped they would cheer you.”

  “Them? You mean there’s more than one?”

  “Aye, the seamstresses should be bringing them to the castle this mo
rning. I’ve had a few made in colors I thought would suit you. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “Absolutely not. It’s very kind of you, but I admit, I’d be worried about moving tables around in this!”

  “That’s my point,” Nioclas said with a smile. “Shall we eat? I find I’m eager to hear of your plans for the men who are taking up space in my great hall.”

  “Taking up space?” Bri echoed.

  “Aye. O’Malley said it to Aidan last week. I thought it fitting for what’s happening in my castle.”

  Nioclas wasn’t joking. The men were crowded in the great hall, talking loudly in groups. Some were relaxed, others seemed to be practicing verses of poetry—and all turned to them as they descended the stairs.

  “Carry on.” Nioclas waved at them. He winked at Bri. “We aren’t going to eat here. I’ve set us a table in a much quieter locale.”

  Bri was still trying to recover from the wink when he led her outside into the falling snow. She turned her face up and caught a snowflake on her tongue, then blushed when she caught Nioclas staring.

  “I used to do it when I was a girl,” she explained sheepishly. “The first snow of the season, and Colin, James, and I would run outside to see who could catch the first one. Force of habit.”

  “We will need to have speech about that,” Nioclas said quietly, steering her toward the kitchens, “but perhaps not until tomorrow. Today, you have your matching to accomplish.”

  “Matchmaking,” she corrected him. “And yes, you’re right. Did you—”

  “Aye, there were minstrels about last night, and I managed to procure them for an evening of…” Nioclas trailed off, trying to remember the word.

  “Fun,” Bri supplied.

  “Aye. An evening of fun. And tomorrow, we shall have speech.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. At his bemused look, she said, “For giving me today. Speaking of, do you know the day of the month?”

  “It’s two days before the solstice,” he replied, ushering her into the kitchen, where the prep table was set for them. Bri breathed in the scent of freshly baked bread and forced her shoulders to relax. She caught sight of Keela and immediately smiled at her frazzled countenance.

  Squaring her shoulders, Bri sat down and began to outline their plan of attack.

  • • •

  Erin sat next to Brianagh on the raised dais, looking over the fifty-seven candidates they were preparing to question. “This is a wonder,” she whispered. “I can’t believe how many men are here.”

  Bri shuffled her parchment, then smiled. “Keela is young, pretty, and can fill a man’s belly with the best-tasting food in Ireland. The only thing that surprises me is that there aren’t more.”

  She called the first man—she decided to call them alphabetically by first name, to ensure everyone had their chance. A standard set of questions, then, if she thought he might be a potential match, another smaller set of more personal questions.

  Back home, this was Colin’s job. He was fantastic at figuring out how genuine a person was in his or her desire to find a soul mate. Ironic that he couldn’t ever seem to find his own. Brianagh thought his standards might be impossibly high, but he claimed otherwise.

  After explaining the process, Bri began to question Annan. Four questions in, she realized he was more interested in finding a mother for his seven children than love. Understandable, but not for Keela. She quickly concluded his interview and moved on to the next.

  Erin watched with fascination. She saw Brianagh ask the questions, size them up, then make decisions based on she-only-knew what. Some men were looking for a good meal, some were looking for the status she’d bring as the laird’s cook, and still others were looking to start a family of their own. Brianagh treated them all with the same kind, patient smile that would firm when a suitor asked her if he was one of the chosen ones. She refused to give any indication as to who would be in what she called her Top Five, but Erin had a good idea, based upon the amount of writing Brianagh made on her parchment.

  At one point, Erin leaned over and asked, “Did you learn to write in a convent?”

  “No,” Bri whispered back, scribbling furiously. “Kindergarten.”

  Erin nodded as if she understood. Kindergarten sounded like a place of learning. She’d have to see about Donovan taking her there. Erin had never met any woman in Ireland who could read, much less write. Perhaps Kindergarten was the name of Brianagh’s homeland. She was very tight-lipped about it, but Erin figured it caused too much pain for her to speak of it, so Erin didn’t ask.

  Two very long hours later, Brianagh declared them finished and thanked the last man in line. He bowed, then joined the other men at the far end of the great hall.

  “I shall announce the five men we’ve selected tonight at dinner. Those five men will be allowed to dance with our fair Keela during the evening’s entertainments.”

  “When will we find out if we get to marry her?” one of them called out.

  “When Keela determines which one of you she’ll have,” Erin said loftily. “It is, after all, her choice to make. We’re simply helping her.”

  The silence in the room was deafening, then a loud burst of laughter broke out. Brianagh scanned the men and quickly wrote some more. She glanced up at Erin. “Clever.”

  “What?”

  Bri gathered the parchment again and stepped down from the dais. “Those who laughed clearly don’t see her as her own person. More like property.”

  “You realize that we are just that,” Erin pointed out. At Bri’s exasperated stare, she said, “What? It’s true. We’re sold much like cattle, only we are given a single owner. A husband can beat his wife if he so chooses and none could save her.”

  Bri shuddered at that thought.

  “So you see, it could always be worse,” Erin chirped, holding the door of the solar open. “Let’s ensure Keela doesn’t suffer a fate like that.”

  Chapter 23

  “My lady, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful…” Keela began, wincing as the minstrel’s voice cracked in midnote.

  “No,” Brianagh replied. “I understand. Truly.” She searched out Nioclas and saw him holding up the back wall with Donovan and Aidan. She gave him a pleading look, and after saying something to the others, he pushed off and strolled to the minstrel. A moment later, the minstrel snapped his mouth shut, bowed deferentially to Nioclas, and moved into the crowd. Brianagh was certain she wasn’t the only one who breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  “How are we to encourage dancing if there’s no music?” Erin asked, patting Keela’s hand but shooting a worried look to Bri.

  Bri was watching her husband speak to one of the other minstrels. She smiled as she saw what he was about. Turning to Erin and Keela, she replied, “I don’t think we need to worry very much. Our laird is taking care of it now.”

  They watched as a small harp was brought to the center of the floor, and a man carried a stool to it. He sat down, cracked his knuckles, and placed his fingers on the strings. A hauntingly beautiful sound immediately silenced the room.

  Brianagh was so lost in the music she didn’t notice Nioclas come up behind her on the dais, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he placed his hands on her shoulders. She marveled at his rugged masculinity. He was every inch the respected laird. He stood tall, his bearing regal, and he watched the musician without expression.

  But then he glanced down at Bri, caught her staring at him, and bestowed a quick, soft smile for her alone that sent her heart into double-time and parched her throat. She smiled weakly back at him before turning back to the harpist—and realized they were on display for the entire clan.

  Once the song ended, the singing minstrel joined the harpist, but thankfully with a lute in hand. They began another song, and people began to crowd the space, forming lines and couples in a semblance of a dance. One of Keela’s suitors asked her to dance, and she allowed him to lead her to the makeshift dance fl
oor.

  “Care you to dance, my lady?” Nioclas asked, his voice low in her ear so only she could hear.

  “I don’t know the steps,” Brianagh replied breathlessly. The man’s nearness was a danger to her health. Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t catch a proper breath.

  “Allow me to teach you?” Without waiting for a response, he tugged her up and led her onto the floor. The tempo was quick, and all around her, people were dancing and laughing.

  Merriment.

  Bri let herself be led into the slightly chaotic dance, apologizing when she stepped on or bumped into someone and enjoying the fact that no one seemed to care if she had any rhythm. One of the clan elders spun her away from Nioclas, and she was passed from person to person. She attempted to learn each clansman’s own way of dancing, and they loved that she was allowing them to teach her. Nioclas retreated to the outskirts of the dancers, watching her with amusement.

  Brianagh tripped and landed in the arms of Aidan, who was laughing at her breathlessness.

  “I believe it’s my turn to show you how an Irishman dances,” he said, his eyes twinkling as the minstrels changed songs. The tempo was slightly faster, and Aidan led her back to the center of the dancers. The crowd made room for the two of them, and Aidan grinned at her. “As his brother, you realize that my most important duty is to annoy our laird,” he explained. He grabbed her by the hands, spun her in a little circle, then proceeded to dance with her without removing his hands from her own. He urged her to go faster, then slower, then faster again, to the claps and cheers from the clan around them.

  Aidan spun her once more, then started laughing. “My laird,” he said with a barely contained grin.

  “I think she’s had enough of your dancing,” Nioclas replied, unruffled, as he held out his hand to Brianagh.

  She took it without thinking. “I think I’ve had enough dancing in general,” she said. “I need a drink!”

  “Then a drink you shall have,” Nioclas replied, his own smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Come, Bri, and let us get you some wine.”