Page 41 of The Winter Laird

Brianagh blinked in surprise. Reilly always told her Irish myths, and a beast of some sort was usually present, but he never mentioned people fully believed them.

Instead of voicing her thoughts, Bri turned her horse south to match Donovan’s. “So the village is in between the castle and the sea? I thought castles were supposed to overlook the ocean, not turn away from it.”

“’Tis difficult to see enemies approach from land if one’s gazing at the water.” Donovan smiled kindly at her. “I believe your solar lies in the east wing of the castle. ’Tis no wonder you haven’t seen the village, or the sea. You should ask Nick to change the room. Erin claims there’s no sunset in all of Eire like the MacWilliam sunset.” They meandered away from the gates, staying close to the outer castle wall. “Which cottage does your Keela live in?”

Brianagh shrugged. “The women in the kitchens say she lives in the white cottage on the edge of the village.”

Donovan frowned. “The village is large, with many white cottages.”

“How large?”

He raised his brow. “One of the largest in Ireland.” At her surprised look, he smiled. “Your husband is one of the most powerful lairds on this isle. The English crown is forever after him, trying to buy his allegiance. I’m surprised you weren’t aware of how much your country covets his land.”

“I’m not from England,” she laughed, but stopped abruptly as they rounded the castle.

Brianagh’s breath caught. Spread before her in varying shades of green despite the winter chill were patches of farmland marked with low stone walls and dotted with sheep and cattle. The village itself sprawled to the right of the it, with a grassy village center filled with people. Row upon row of small cottages were arranged around the village center like spokes on a wheel. And beyond all that beauty lay the sea, sparkling in the late afternoon sun, small boats bobbing peacefully.

“Wow,” she whispered, halting her horse. Something shifted in Brianagh. She suspected it might be her soul, sighing with content. This was a view she could look at forever.

“Surely, you’ve seen such villages in France.”

“I’ve never been to France,” she replied, still awed by the spectacular view, thus missing the skeptical look that passed over Donovan’s face.

“So if you’re not from England, nor from France, I must wonder where you spent your childhood. Your Gaelic is uncommonly good.”

“I’m from an insignificant country on the continent,” she replied uncomfortably, giving her horse a nudge. “I’ve, ah, never met a person who’s heard of it, so its name is of no matter. And my cousin, Reilly, taught me Gaelic from a very young age.”

Suspicions raised, Donovan drew his brows together but followed her down the sloping hill with his tongue held.

When they reached the village, the first thing Bri noticed was the smell of peat fire. It permeated the air, enveloping her in a sweet, familiar comfort. Reilly always had peat fires in his Irish cottage, back home. She noticed the men returning from the direction of the field, and people gathering in the center.

“What’s going on?” Brianagh asked as they neared the crowd. They were the only ones on horseback, so she slid off hers and held tightly to the reins. “You weren’t kidding. This is a lot of people.”

“’Tis almost the pagan new year,” Donovan explained, removing himself from his own horse. “Nick sees no harm in allowing his people to celebrate however they wish, even if celebrating a new year at the end of next month is seen as heathen.”

“Why would it be considered heathen?” Bri asked. “Next month is December, and January first is the new year…right?”

Donovan shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. English crown thinks it’s mid-March—that’s what their religious tome indicates.”

“The Bible?”

His eyebrows nearly fell off his face in surprise. “Aye! How would you know about the Bible? Have you seen it?”

Prevaricating, Brianagh shrugged, unsure as to her answer. Books probably weren’t all that common in the 1400s—she had yet to see one in the castle, although there was plenty of parchment and ink.

“We do things differently here,” Donovan said mildly, although Brianagh could feel his eyes boring into her. She continued walking without answering. He went on. “If others found out, the MacWilliam clan may have difficulty in explaining their actions.”

Brianagh lifted her own eyebrow at him. “Laird Maguire, I assure you that I have no interest in whatotherclans may or may not celebrate. I just want to find Keela, ask her my question, and return home.”

Strange words, strange accent, and strange joy at seeing a village. Donovan thought it might be time to talk with his closest ally about his new wife.

* * *

“You have to woo her.”

Nioclas, to his credit, didn’t miss a step. He merely continued on his way, content to let Erin badger him in a way only she could.

“Nick, listen to me! Bri is going crazy in there. She’s not used to our way of life, and you haven’t done much to convince her that you’re an amiable husband.”

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