Page 23 of The Winter Laird

Wordlessly, Brianagh looked at her in shock and a little bit of pity. The woman was so desperate to believe she was her daughter, Bri almost felt guilty. There was no way that small scar was the shape of a hawk. She glanced at it. It was the same scar she’d always had. She remembered how she’d fallen, but she hadn’t needed any stitches or even a trip to the doctor. But the scrape had scarred, and despite every type of cream Evelyn put on it, it never faded.

She looked at the brooch in her hand, then froze. Her gaze flew to the scar, then back to the brooch. Then back to the scar. Surprised, she looked up into the grimly determined face of Nioclas. Her scar was a near-perfect outline of the hawk on the brooch she held.

Nioclas spoke, his voice ringing with finality. “We marry tonight, before Burke has a chance to strike.”

She shook her head, but no sound emitted. This was absolutely not how her day was going to go.

Chapter 7

Somehow Brianagh found her way back to her chamber, where she spent an hour trying to calm herself. She couldn’t be expected to marry someone she’d only just met on the basis of a childhood scar.

She had to figure out a way to get back home, and Reilly clearly wasn’t going to help her. She had to convince him he had the wrong person. She was not a time-traveler—well, not by choice, anyway.

Bri knew if she tried to leave the castle, she’d be stopped. She doubted she’d get past the front door, much less the huge portcullis she spied out her window. She stepped closer to the alcove in her room, watching the bustle of people outside. Her room appeared to be located in the keep, as she was higher than any other building, maybe the fourth floor from the ground. She saw three walls outside: one to her left that seemed connected to the keep, one in front of her that contained the wicked-looking portcullis, and the wall to the right. The courtyard—bailey, as Reilly referred to it—was expansive; people were everywhere. A few women were hanging laundry, children were playing with wooden swords, and horses were being led toward the wall on the right. She watched as the men leading the beasts walked through an archway she hadn’t noticed. Apparently there was more down there than she could see.

Beyond the front wall was another, smaller building of some sort. The portcullis was up and so was the drawbridge. Outside the castle walls was a barbican, and from her vantage point, she could make out helmets and weaponry glinting in the sunlight as guards walked its parapets.

Her shoulders slumped as a feeling of desolation swept over her. There was no way she could make it across the bailey, over the drawbridge, and out of the barbican without someone noticing her.

She couldn’t give up; she had to at leasttry. Brianagh straightened and gave herself a good shake. Someone in this castle had to know where Newgrange was, and once she found out, she’d make her way there. She could find Dowth from what she remembered in her brochure; she couldn’t be too far.

With renewed purpose, Brianagh flung open her door and ran smack into a hard chest. Arms grasped hers, and the touch traveled like lightening up her arms. Bri looked up…and up…and up.

Nioclas MacWilliam was one very, very big man.

The top of her head didn’t quite reach his shoulders. He wore no adornment on the léine wrapped about his chest, and his lower legs were bare except for his boots and the assortment of knives tucked into them. His hair was restrained with a strip of leather, and his eyes were still the intense gray she remembered from her dreams. His hands—big, strong, and calloused—held her arms gently.

The gesture was at odds with his fierce appearance.

He released her, then gave a swift bow. “Perhaps, my lady, you would humor me with a walk in my gardens.”

That wasn’t at all what she expected to hear coming out of his mouth. She stood there, trying to assimilate what he wanted, when he raised an eyebrow at her.

“I won’t bite, I assure you.”

When he offered her a smile, her knees weakened and she repeated to herself,Not going to get involved.At all.

He still stood, his arm outstretched. Really, what else was she going to do? Slam the door in his face and hide in her room? At least this way, she could gauge her best attempt at fleeing.

Finally, she gave a slight nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeated as they walked down the hallway. “I’m unfamiliar with that word.”

“Sorry. I meant, I agree.”

“Ah. Then I won’t complain.” He led her down the circular stairway, then, at the bottom, signaled to a servant. “Bring me a woolen cloak for Lady Brianagh.” He glanced at her. “Rather cold out today. November in Ireland tends to be much colder, but we’re in a warm spell.”

The servant bobbed a curtsey, and a few minutes later, returned with a heavy, light-blue cloak lined with fur. Brianagh allowed Nioclas to fasten it about her shoulders.

The cold blasted Brianagh and she shivered as they stepped outside the castle walls. “This is a warm spell?”

He chuckled. “Oh, aye. In January, sometimes ’tis so bitter I have my clansfolk sleep in the great hall instead of their cottages in the village.”

She had nothing to say to that. Instead she walked next to him, silently observing the hustle and bustle around them. He walked her to the archway she’d noticed earlier. It led to another bailey containing the stables, a blacksmith, and a small building with smoke rising. “The kitchens,” he explained, noticing her concern. “It connects to the main castle in the back. There’s a garden on the other side of it.”

“I had no idea castles were so big,” she murmured.

“Some are. This one is only so large because my grandfather, and his before him, created it and added on to it. I added this bailey when I realized moving the kitchens out of the main building lessened the risk of fire.” He led her around the side of the kitchen to the mostly walled-in garden. Alcoves with small benches carved into them were built into the walls, He led her to one and she was surprised to see the walls were hollow, creating a passageway.

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