Page 5 of The Winter Laird
“What’s wrong?” she asked the woman, her eyes never leaving the vision. “Why is he standing like that? What’s happening?” Everything felt so wrong. His mouth was moving, as if he was talking, but Brianagh couldn’t hear him or make out what his lips were saying.
“You didn’t come,” the woman replied. “It may be too late. It may all be for naught.”
“What’s for naught? Go where?” Brianagh watched, realizing something was very wrong. He was stoic. Serious. The last time she had dreamed of him, he had loved her sweetly. He’d been relaxed, happy.
She watched as he nodded once, and it was done…but she wasn’t sure whatitwas. “What’s happening?” she asked again, her voice rising in desperation. She had never seen this side of him.
“You didn’t come for him,” the woman replied, watching the scene unfold. “So now, he agrees to marry another.”
Brianagh was beyond confused. He was just a dream—her dream. But she was losing him to another? How is it possible to lose a dream?
“No,” Brianagh said suddenly, leaning forward. “No, he is mine. My dream. Mine.” She sounded like a three-year-old on the verge of a tantrum, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t lose him. He was the only one she loved.
“You didn’t come. So he never claimed you…and now, it may all be for naught.” The woman shook her head sadly. “You will unite with one other than your predestined mate…and he will do the same. The hawk shall fly no more.”
Years of dreaming, just to watch her love in a silent discussion that made her heart ache for reasons she didn’t understand. He nodded, in deep discussion…then a woman appeared. He grasped her hand and placed…
Was that a ring? And then she saw the flash of a sword, swinging in an arc from behind him…
“No!” Brianagh screamed into the fire. “No, no! Behind—”
Brianagh bolted upright in bed, her heart pounding and her breathing ragged. Her face was hot, but she was freezing everywhere else.
Without bothering to check the time, she grabbed her phone and hit speed dial. “I had a dream.”
The Irish brogue was thicker than normal. “Jesus, Bri, it’s two in the morning. You gave me a heart attack.” Reilly O’Malley, her closest cousin and dearest friend, yawned loudly.
“I agreed to marry Matthew.”
“You dreamed you agreed to marry that bastard? That would frighten me, too.”
“No, no. I mean, I actually did agree. The dream was something else entirely,” she explained, exasperated. Reilly loathed Matthew; he believed him to be a pompous ass with little to recommend him. Matthew thought Reilly was a backwoods hick from Ireland who was too overprotective of his cousin. It was a mess, and Bri hated being in the middle of it.
Reilly swore, sounding much more awake all of a sudden.
“Save it,” she cut him off before he could start in on Matthew’s faults. “I have to get away for a while.”
To anyone else, she knew she would sound like a raving lunatic. But Ry knew her better than she knew herself. He was used to her need for constant movement; he had, after all, appointed himself her guardian when she was too little to remember, and had been her travel companion each time she hopped on a plane.
His sigh almost blew her off the phone. “Let me guess. Ireland?”
The one place Matthew was sure not to follow her. He disliked everything about the country—mostly because Reilly hailed from it.
She laughed in relief. “I knew you’d be up for this, Ry. I’ll make the arrangements.”
“And I’ll play bodyguard,” he replied dryly. “You know I have to break a date for this?”
“You know, if you went through Celtic Connections, I’d feel worse about it,” she teased, then added seriously, “Think we can we leave tomorrow?”
“Your wish is my command,” he muttered good-naturedly. “I was actually planning to go there next week. I don’t mind pushing up my plans; I miss home.”
“Me, too. Thanks, Ry.”
“What are cousins for?”
“Yeah,” she replied, a smile in her voice.
“I’ll meet you at Evelyn’s in the morning,” he said, then let out a big yawn. Her heartbeat slowed and the tightness in her chest eased fractionally. “Are you okay?”
