Page 67 of The Winter Laird
“I wonder how you became so good with people,” Nioclas mused. “Please. Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out. I feel as though I’m in for an entertaining evening.”
Bri took a deep breath. She really had nothing to lose, so she started at the beginning.
Chapter 19
Early the following morning, Nioclas silently dressed so as to not disturb his sleeping wife. He was determined to find out if her words were true. The tales she’d told him had him fascinated into the wee hours of the morning.
She painted a colorful portrait of her life before him. If she were to be believed, Brianagh was even more educated than he. For every question he asked, she had an answer—one she didn’t stop to think about—and the answers were cohesive, never contradicting, despite his attempts to get her to misstep. He couldn’t find a single loophole in her confessions last night.
But the most convincing—and frightening—evidence she provided were the items she pulled from the trunk.
He felt ill just looking at them.
The first was a satchel. White leather, whiter than any satchel his eyes ever set upon, with blue leather trim. Nioclas knew the world was large, but he never had seen an animal with such pure white skin, or skin of such a distinct shade of sky blue.
“We call it a purse,” she explained. “This one is Coach, but there are lots of different ones.”
The satchel’s clasp made a horrid noise, and though he didn’t admit it aloud, the silver teeth tested his bravery. More than once, he reached for his sword, only to be given a sweet look by his wife.
He kept the sword nearby, just in case.
If the satchel hadn’t already given him pause, the smaller satchel certainly did. She called it a wristlet, and it was made of a fabric far finer than any he’d encountered from merchants, with the same razor teeth as the larger one.
Once she pulled out its contents, Nioclas nearly forgot about their containers.
“It’s a license,” Brianagh said softly, holding it out to him. The parchment was stiff, unlike anything he’d ever felt, and had an unnatural shine to it. He carefully rubbed his finger over the portrait of Brianagh. The likeness was more exact than any artist he’d known. The words on the parchment—the license—didn’t look like the hand of a person. When he held it in the firelight, an unholy image of sorts flashed across the front, causing him to fling it away, pull a dirk from his boot, and cross himself with alacrity.
“That’s a hologram. It’s a drawing with a special ink that appears when the light shines upon it.” Brianagh slowly retrieved the parchment, chewing her bottom lip. “I’m not a witch, Nioclas.”
“I don’t believe you to be,” Nioclas replied carefully. He preferred the termsorceress, but wisely held his tongue.
“Mmm hmm,” came the reply. She dug around in the satchel again, unaware of Nioclas’s grave fear that the teeth would chew her hand from her wrist, and extracted a tube, made of the same shiny material as the evil parchment. “Lip gloss,” she supplied. She twisted the top off and applied it to her lips.
Nioclas blinked in surprise. “You wear face paint?”
She rubbed her lips together, and Nioclas blinked again, this time because her eyes looked a little brighter, and her lips looked even more tempting than they had just a moment prior.
“Not here. But in 2015 I did.”
Nioclas resisted the urge to scoff at such an impossibly high number, and imperiously held his hand out. She dropped the tube into it, and he sniffed. “Do men wear such paint?”
She shrugged. “Some. Most don’t.”
He eyed it warily. “Its scent is not unwelcome.”
“It’s strawberry scented.”
He shook his head and handed it back to her. No strawberry he’d eaten smelled anything like that.
“Tissues, a pen, an appointment card… Oops. I had a dentist appointment. I hope they don’t charge me for a no-show,” she grumbled, pulling out more foreign items. Suddenly, she froze. “Oh boy.”
Nioclas hefted his sword, nearing the end of his limits. “My lady, perhaps we ought to consign these items to the fire. For our safety, and the safety of our clan.”And my reputation, he thought, swallowing past the fear at so many unfamiliar objects strewn about his chamber floor.
Brianagh’s eyes never left her hand, which remained inside the satchel.
Nioclas grew more alarmed. “Brianagh, are you entangled in the coach’s teeth?!”
She shook her head suddenly, as though clearing it, and let out a breath. “No. But this…If this doesn’t convince you that I’m not from this time, I don’t know what will.”
