Page 52 of The Winter Laird

He pulled back. “You will tell me,” he said evenly, in a low voice that reverberated in her chest, “not because I demand it, but because you want to.”

She shoved him away and glared at him. Nioclascouldmake her want to tell him all her secrets and probably those of everyone she knew. She was in serious trouble, and he knew it.

She strode back towards the castle, not bothering to wait for for him, and strengthened her resolve.

Chapter 14

“That was…” Nioclas said, trying to find the right words for the dinner he’d just consumed. The delicately roasted chicken and vegetable soup had the entire garrison humming in satisfaction.

“Delicious?” Brianagh asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide her triumph. Ever since Keela had been installed in the kitchens, the food had been so good the clansfolk had been coming up to her all day to comment on it. Bri sent all compliments Keela’s way and let the new cook bask in the glow of her own success.

Nioclas held up his rock-free bread. “I don’t understand how you knew to choose that woman.” He took a bite, then shrugged. “But I must admit, I’m grateful you did.”

Bri couldn’t help the grin that burst out. “I simply listened to what your clansmen—”

“Our clansmen,” he reminded her.

“—our clansmen had to say.” Brianagh took a sip of her wine. “The women in this clan know just about everything that goes on in the village, whether they live there or in the castle. The information they have is invaluable to me.” Swirling the drink in her cup, she asked, “Where does this wine come from? It’s really good.”

“Perhaps you’d care to see the cellars,” Nioclas offered, though he wondered why she’d be surprised. He was a powerful, wealthy laird. Why wouldn’t his drink be excellent quality? Perhaps she’d been told Ireland was a rough land with rougher drink. He’d find out eventually; he always did.

“You have cellars?”

“Aye, we do.” He stood and held out his hand, which she took after a moment’s hesitation. “’Tis a well-kept secret that we trade with those from the continent.”

“Really?” Bri asked, eyes wide. She’d never thought about trade before. She got the impression the MacWilliams were an isolated bunch, content to live with whatever the land gave them.

Bri didn’t realize she’d spoken her thoughts out loud until Nioclas replied. “I don’t know why you’d think that. We are on the sea, and this is a very important trade route. Spanish, French, even the Italians dock their ships at this port. We offer them our goods in return.”

“What kind of goods?”

Out of the great hall, Nioclas led her down a hallway, then pulled a wooden door open and grabbed a torch from the wall sconce. He led her down the steps, and the air grew damper and colder as they descended. They didn’t go far, but when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she sucked in a breath.

Boxes upon boxes of wine were stacked against the stone walls. The front of the boxes were removed so the bottles were visible. All were labeled with parchment, with different names. She’d never seen so many varieties. While not a knowledgeable wine drinker by any stretch of the imagination, she immediately realized why she hadn’t had any troubles drinking here.

She was standing in a wine room that held more fine wine than any restaurant she’d ever seen.

“Everything is organized first by my personal preference, then by type, then by age,” Nioclas said quietly. The torchlight danced in his hair, drawing Brianagh’s eye. She froze as she realized how close he’d come to her while she was studying the wine. “Very few people know about this.”

Looking up into his eyes, she swallowed. She could feel that pull again—the air crackled with heat as his gaze bore into hers.

Not going to get involved.

“They give us the best because we give them Ireland’s best.”

“What’s Ireland’s best?” she half-whispered, licking her lips.

He lowered his lips so they were a fraction of an inch away from her own. “It depends to whom you speak,” he said in a low voice, his eyes still searching hers. “For the MacWilliams, Ireland’s best used to be our wool and linen.”

“And what is it now?” Her heart thudded madly in her chest.

“Now,” he replied, lowering his eyes to her lips, “’tis the lady of my castle.”

Brianagh’s eyes widened in surprise. She couldn’t hear over the thunder in her ears. Why was she having this reaction to him? They were just words, after all.

She froze as he leaned closer, his lips a hairbreadth away from her own. She hitched her breath, cursing herself for staying still, but physically unable to move away. A half-second later, he slowly pulled back, a bottle of wine in his hand.

“If you enjoyed what we serve at dinner, I’ll be sure to select some varieties for you to enjoy in your—our—bedchamber, if you’d like.”

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