Page 25 of The Winter Laird
She would need this man’s help to get home. He was clearly thoughtful, but he was also smart. She had no money, no transportation, and no sense of direction, as James repeatedly pointed out to her whenever she called him, lost on some back road in the suburbs of the city.
She let out a sigh, then nodded. “If you promise to bring me to Dublin, I will agree to this marriage.”
She could see he didn’t understand why she wanted to go there, but all he responded with was, “As you will. And, as we’re to be married…you may call me Nioclas.”
She inclined her head. “I’m Brianagh. But my friends call me Bri.”
“Those closest to me call me Nick.”
“Shall I call you Nick?”
“I prefer Nioclas,” he replied dryly, “but I suppose, as you’ve accepted my hand for the next three months, you may call me whatever you wish, as long as it remains ‘my laird’ in front of any clansmen. Shall I call you Bri?”
“I prefer ‘my lady,’” she said, fighting a smile, “but you may call me ‘my lady Brianagh.’”
“You’re quite spirited,” Nioclas said, fighting his own smile. “I do think we’ll get along quite well.”
“Talk to Reilly,” she suggested as they headed back to the main building. “He’ll tell you all about how spirited I am.” Brianagh cautioned herself not to let her guard down, but she already felt her heart lighten. She just prayed he was true to his word, for she fully realized she needed someone’s help to get home.
A fake wedding and marriage for three months?
She was a matchmaker by trade. She knew all the signs to look for in a match. She could certainly pretend most of them to uphold her end of the bargain. It seemed a small price to pay to get back to her life.
A long price to pay, but she hadn’t any other choice.
* * *
That afternoon,Brianagh was back in her chamber and surrounded by at least ten women, all convinced they were the best to help her dress for the wedding. She was getting a headache listening to them talk over each other. There was no clear hierarchy that gave one person management capabilities over another.
The businesswoman in her was tearing her hair out.
“Ladies,” she said, holding up her hand. The arguments continued, so she raised her voice. “LADIES!”
“Aye, my lady?” ten voices asked at once.
Brianagh zeroed in on the oldest woman. “How many brides have you aided?”
“Well, there was me own daughters, there’s four right there, and a right mess, too, with the last.”
“Does anyone else have more than four weddings under her belt?” Bri asked. At the confused, blank expressions, she clarified. “Has anyone aided in more than four weddings?”
One woman stepped forward, bobbing a curtsey. “Aye, my lady, I have had a hand in fourteen.”
“Oh, I did so love Regan’s wedding,” one of the other women exclaimed. “Getting her ready in just an hour, and rushing her to the abbey before Cormac’s family arrived! ’Twas nicely done!”
“All right. You—” Brianagh motioned to the woman with the most experience. “—are in charge. Determine what needs to be done, then give half of the tasks to her.” She indicated the first woman who stepped forward. “Then, the two of you can tell the others what they need to do—smaller tasks, such as fetching ribbons or…” She faltered, not sure what else was needed for a medieval wedding. She just matched people andattendedweddings. The only involvement she had in planning was to hand the happy couple a business card of her most-used wedding planner.
“I see what you need, my lady,” the woman with the most experience said, saving her from thinking about it anymore. “My name is Sheila, and this is Iona. We’ll take it in hand from here.”
“Wonderful.”
Two hours later, Brianagh was bathed, dressed, coiffed, and ready to head to the abbey.
“My lady, a word?” The others had left, and Iona stood alone near the door.
“Of course.”
Iona fidgeted, then smiled. “I wanted to thank you. The way you put Sheila at the front of it and all…it made a difference. The last big wedding we had in the bailey, it took us all day to get the bride ready. The groom thought she’d run off, but really, we just spent so much time arguing over whose way was best…well, I thank you for sparing us womenfolk the weeks of arguing that usually happens between us after the blessed event.”
