Page 35 of The Winter Laird
His mind spun. There were other ways to destroy the MacWilliam. “What do your clansmen think of your laird marrying an O’Rourke?”
“They’re superstitious fools,” the man replied with a scoff. “No person can control time. ’Tis the only way O’Rourke instills fear, as his battle skills leave much to be desired.”
“And you desire battle?” Burke asked, not caring about the answer.
“Aye.” The man cracked his knuckles. “I don’t agree with MacWilliam. He thinks speech is best. I believe in killing the laird, taking their women, and eating their cattle.”
I didn’t ask you what you believed in, Burke almost said, but quickly controlled himself. “I agree. Action gains power. Speech gains nothing.”
“Aye. MacWilliam broke a betrothal with the Kildare lass. I thought we should keep her and demand ransom, but MacWilliam sent her back with an apology and some gold. Wasted opportunity.”
“I do think Kildare will want…satisfaction. His daughter was rejected, and MacWilliam refused a clan alliance.” A plan began to form in Burke’s mind. “The MacWilliam has shown weakness. That cannot be tolerated for a clan as powerful as yours.”
The man nodded quickly. “Aye, ’tis a mistake, no doubt. MacWilliam is firm in his disapproval of the O’Rourke clan; they left this morn as soon as their horses were readied, unwilling to stay in the castle any longer than necessary.”
“Tell me of Kildare. Is he vengeful?”
The man snorted. “Perhaps. Kildare is boastful and weak. He’ll believe the gold and apology is enough. He bows to MacWilliam in the hopes that one day he’ll pay him some attention and promise alliance.”
“How long have you served the MacWilliam?” Burke inquired. The man was young, blood-thirsty, and without loyalty. Burke could understand a man like that.
“The whole of my life. Two score years, and I’ve only been in four battles. Four! It’s a waste of my talent. I can cleave a man in half with just a flick of my wrist! I tried to join with Kildare but found him lacking. I need a clan that—” He stopped abruptly as riders approached.
“I’ll need more information,” Burke said as they watched the horses disappear into the forest from a hidden vantage point. “I want to know if his fair lady-wife is indeed who she says she is. Watch them and see if they are well-matched. I want to know what they do with their days and with each other. We will meet back here in a fortnight…if, that is, you care for more gold.”
The man’s eyes glittered. “All I want is your gold.”
“Then go earn it,” Burke snapped, finally losing his patience. MacWilliams were known for their fearless fighting and intelligence. Why then, Burke wondered, was he talking with surely the most dim-witted among that clan?
The man hurried away, and Burke fought the urge to throw his dirk into the man’s back. The lad thought he was so brave and battle-worthy. If that were true, he’d know never to turn his back to any man—friend or enemy.
Burke sincerely hoped the rest of the clan was as ignorant as his informant, despite their reputations otherwise. When his time came to kill their laird, Burke fully intended to make certain they knew a laird’s position was won and not given.
He should’ve killed Nioclas and his brother when he killed their mother. Then he wouldn’t have been caught off-guard when the bastard went to the clan elders and mounted his attack. He’d been having a very nice time with a particularly unwilling maiden—always a favorite—when Nioclas had launched himself at him and knocked him off the lass. That act alone warranted Nioclas’s death, but Nioclas had almost the entire clan at his back when he claimed Burke as exiled.
Exiled. As if a mere twelve-year-old could exile the most powerful ruler in Ireland. Burke allowed a smile to curve his lips. It was the number of men the child had with him that forced him off his own land. It was the number of men that had closed ranks around the boy that prevented him from getting too close.
Nioclas had changed the name of the clan from Burke to MacWilliam in honor of his murdered mother. Burke, once he realized his wife brought nothing more to the marriage than alliance with a weak clan, had set fire to all their homes and stables. He even killed their cattle, just because he could.
He was powerful. Her father had been weak and had suffered for it.
I will rule again, Burke thought as he slipped through the forest, away from the MacWilliam castle. The lass would ensure that…hopefully unwillingly.
* * *
“Dowereallyhave to do this all day again?”
Erin looked up from her sewing, a perfectly serene look gracing her features. They had been mending for hours already, and Brianagh—who hadn’t picked up a needle since the Home Ec Disaster of ’08—wasn’t sure her fingers could take any more abuse. She rolled her shoulders and sent Erin a pleading look. “It’s been three days of nonstop sewing. I don’t think I can handle this anymore.”
“Bri.” Erin sighed and placed the tunic she was working on in her lap. “There’s really not much to do. Yet.”
The twinkle in Erin’s eye had Bri leaning forward slightly. “Yet?”
“Yes, yet. Once the rain stops, and once lunch is done, we’ll stroll.”
Brianagh actually felt her entire being deflate. She couldn’t possibly take three months of this. Erin continued smoothly threading the needle through her tunic, which resembled an actual shirt. Brianagh had no idea what hers looked like, but as her job was to mend the holes…well, she wasn’t sure what happened, but it now only had one sleeve and the bottom right was quite a bit higher than the bottom left.
“Stroll,” Bri finally said, her gaze not leaving the window. The mist that enveloped the castle earlier had turned into a steady rain, and she wasn’t so certain she wanted any first-hand knowledge of medieval healers when she came down with some sort of cold.
