Page 33 of The Winter Laird
Brianagh was about that age. He supposed if they were to annul their marriage, it would take her until she died to get all the necessary approvals from the continent. Ireland wasn’t nearly so difficult—all she needed was clan approval.
Considering how much pressure he had been under to get married in the first place, however, approval might be more difficult than obtaining the proper documents from France.
Grudgingly, he admitted that she fascinated him. She was different than other women of his acquaintance. Intelligent, bold, saucy…and beautiful. He couldn’t deny the pleasure her face brought him when he looked upon it.
His head began to pound and his body surged again, seeking relief from its earlier…hopes.
Growing up, Nioclas always had dreams of a woman he ached for; one whose love was so unconditional, so fulfilling, that he felt uncompelled to marry. When those dreams faded to a distant memory and reality intruded, he understood his duty. Marry, produce heirs, protect the clan. He was mere hours away from doing all of that…
The Fates must be women, he decided abruptly. Fickle, mean-spirited creatures who enjoyed torturing unsuspecting men in their dreams.
Brianagh’s blue eyes, looking at him with love. Her sweat-soaked body after their lovemaking in the forest, in the meadow, by the sea. Her laugh, her smile, even her hair, haunted his dreams.
He recognized her when they dismounted from his horse, but refused to believe it. What kind of woman could come to him in his dreams, then be brought to his doorstep?
The irony that he himself had carried her there was not lost on him.
Nioclas knew before he kissed her how her lips would taste. His heart settled somewhere deep in his chest, and for a brief moment, his entire world shifted, then righted itself into its proper place.
He never was one to let opportunities sneak by, so when she responded, he allowed hope to enter his hardened heart. But damn him if the lass claimed to love another. Now that he had her in the flesh, he wasn’t sure he wanted to let her go.
He loathed how insignificant it made him feel.
Brianagh murmured something in her dreams, and Nioclas paused. It was curious how he’d dreamed of her face—and her body, if he were truthful—for years. And ’twas also strange how she came into possession of the brooch; he’d lost it in the ocean almost a year prior, and while the one O’Malley handed him wasn’t as pristine as the one he’d created, there was no mistaking it.
Nioclas only fashioned the one brooch, and that was after one of his more vivid dreams. He entwined his initial with the leaves of ivy that grew along the walls of his castle. The hawk, which adorned his clan’s crest, was an obvious choice, and he’d carved his own sword through the initial. He wanted to have his smithy replicate it. Though it took him months to create the brooch, within days, Nioclas lost it. And with it, dreams of the woman he now recognized, who was snoring softly on the feather mattress.
* * *
Brianagh was exhaustedthe next morning, and when she woke from a particularly fitful bit of sleep, Nioclas wasn’t anywhere in sight. He had been angry; when she woke up during the night, she could feel the tension radiating off him as he lay on the floor. Bri wasn’t sure what to expect. She’d let her guard down last night and it didn’t feel like the outcome was going to be any good.
It didn’t help at all that when she did sleep, she dreamed of his lips on hers.
She turned her thoughts away from that. Stretching, she noticed the bed wasn’t made out of straw—it was feathers, as she suspected. She wondered if she could move in to this room instead of going back to the other one. At least she woke up warm, with a fire in the little hearth she hadn’t noticed the night before.
A dress was laid out at the end of the bed, and Brianagh grudgingly got up. She changed, performed her morning ablutions, then sat back down on the bed.
She had no idea what to do next.
Bri was never one to sit around and wait for life to happen to her. The fact was she was stuck in medieval Ireland for three months; perhaps she could do something to help the castle. Her decision made, she hopped off the bed with renewed purpose.
Pulling the heavy door open, Bri slipped into the hallway and tried to determine which was the correct way. There were too many hallways in the castle for her to attempt to keep them straight. Maybe she’d ask Nioclas for a map.Then again, she thought, her heart sinking as he strode towards her,maybe not.
His face was devoid of all emotion. She tried a greeting, but he wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries and cut her off mid-sentence as he led her back into the chamber and closed the door.
“I’ve sent messengers out to determine what de Burgh’s plans are. If his goal is to steal you away in the night, I’ve no stomach to send my men into battle for you, and if they find out I’ve deceived them in this, they will not trust me.”
She blinked, taken aback. “I told you, he won’t come.”
Nioclas’s pitying gaze seared her. “Then he’s a fool, as are you, to be so blind to his lack of affections.”
She frowned. “I’m not blind to it. I know his faults.”
“I’ve no wish to argue the point when we’ve already thoroughly done so. Today, I’ll be in the lists. You may stay with Lady Maguire, in your solar. Meals are served three times per day, and you will take them with her. She will instruct you on how the castle runs and your expected duties as my wife. Your family has departed, and you should be aware that I strongly dislike your father, though your mother seems tolerable. Do not expect many visits.”
Her heart sank as his commands rattled from his tongue.
Yesterday, he spoke of starting off as equals, of choices. But now that she was tied to him, he was dictating her days?
