Page 51 of The Winter Laird
“They respect my title. But soon they’ll respect me as well,” she replied, side-stepping a muddy puddle in the dirt.
“Sensible. What was your home like?”
Bri paused in mid-step. “Um…comfortable.”
“Comfortable in what way? Safe? Loved?”
She had a sinking feeling her Second Inquisition had started. “I felt safe and loved.”
“Your sire told me you stayed with an uncle. How did he put food on your table?”
Brianagh watched the blacksmith pound something at his anvil, marveled briefly at his strength, and contemplated her answer. Connor worked for a major passenger train company. She wasn’t sure how to translate that into medieval-speak. Finally, she just said, “Connor ensured we got to and from different places safely.”
“As a guardsman? A stable master, perhaps?”
Biting her lip, Brianagh replied, “He made sure the horsepower was safe and well-cared for.”
Nioclas frowned, not entirely satisfied with her answer, but he seemed to let it go for the moment. He peppered her with more questions as they continued their walk through the castle grounds, past the women beating the laundry with sticks, through the gardens that looked as though they’d be overflowing in spring and summer, and up to the battlements.
They reached the top of the stairs and immediately Brianagh was hit with an icy wind. She shivered as it went right through her cloak and crept into her bones. The walkway was narrow, about two-and–a-half people wide. The walls were low, measuring at just below her hip, and they were at least three stories above the ground. Risking a glance over the wall, Bri looked straight down into the moat and jumped back as she felt a tug on her cloak.
Nioclas was standing with his legs braced, one hand fisted in her cloak. He flashed her a wry smile. “Don’t think to escape my questions that way, lass.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not that desperate.”
“You might be when I’m through.”
In response, she gave him her back, then promptly forgot all about him as she caught her first glimpse of the land in front of her. The view was all-encompassing and went on for miles. Even in the middle of winter, the varying shades of green were breathtaking. The different fields, separated by low stone walls or even low-lying bushes, were clearly and neatly laid in front of the bustling village directly between the castle and the sea, which sparkled in the distance. Within the castle walls, people led horses to the stables while others practiced their swordplay in the lists. In the village, smoke rose from the small holes in the tops of the white thatched cottages, and she could see people in its center—some looked like children, running and chasing each other, while others looked like adults in conversations.
She wondered briefly what the concerns of a medieval peasant were like, then immediately wished she didn’t. She was certain she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to get too involved. Another blast of icy air swept over her and she shivered violently.
“We can go back.” Nioclas nodded to a guard as she eased away from the edge.
“No,” she said quickly, tightening her cloak around her. “I have been stuck in there for days. I need a break.”
“You can go outside when it’s raining. All that will happen is you’ll get a bit wet.”
“Yes, I know,” she snapped. “But raining is much different than a deluge.”
Nioclas shrugged nonchalantly. “In Ireland, it’s all the same. It’s called winter.”
“I’m well aware of the Irish seasons,” she replied waspishly, then immediately regretted her outburst as his eyebrow shot up.
“You said earlier that you’d never been here.”
“I’ve never been to the MacWilliam lands,” she prevaricated. Instead of pressing her further, Nioclas suddenly grasped her cold hand and pulled her back to the stairs leading down to the bailey. She followed—she wasn’t given much choice, really—and once they arrived safely at the bottom, Nioclas glanced around. Noting there was no one but them, he narrowed his eyes, assessing her. “You seem to have vague answers for such simple questions, Brianagh.”
She shrugged, and he closed in on her, trapping her between the wall and the heat of his body. He placed his hands on either side of her, effectively blocking her way out, and then leaned forward so their noses were almost touching.
Brianagh imagined that, to an outside observer, they looked like lovers.
“You will eventually tell me all your secrets, Lady MacWilliam.”
Instinctively, Bri shot back, “You’ll have to make me.”
His eyes burned into hers, their intensity so overwhelming that Brianagh almost closed her eyes in response but held fast and stared back mutinously.
He kissed her suddenly, hard, and she recognized it as a kind of branding. She wanted to refuse him, but her traitorous body leapt to life and responded in spite of her resolve.
