Page 77 of The Winter Laird
“What?”
Bri gathered the parchment again and stepped down from the dais. “Those who laughed clearly don’t see her as her own person. More like property.”
“You realize that we are just that,” Erin pointed out. At Bri’s exasperated stare, she said, “What? It’s true. We’re sold much like cattle, only we are given a single owner. A husband can beat his wife if he so chooses and none could save her.”
Bri shuddered at that thought. “I thought you had Brehon law?”
“We do, but it’s only enforced if the laird allows it. So you see, it could always be worse,” Erin chirped, holding the door of the solar open. “Let’s ensure Keela doesn’t suffer a fate like that.”
“I don’t believe the laird would allow it,” Bri growled.
“Well, as you’ll be there to ensure it, I believe you,” Erin replied with a grin.
Chapter 22
“My lady, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful…” Keela began, wincing as the minstrel’s voice cracked mid-note.
“No,” Brianagh replied. “I understand. Truly.” She searched out Nioclas and saw him holding up the back wall with Donovan and Aidan. She gave him a pleading look, and after saying something to the others, he pushed off and strolled to the minstrel. A moment later, the minstrel snapped his mouth shut, bowed deferentially to Nioclas, and moved into the crowd. Brianagh was certain she wasn’t the only one who breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“How are we to encourage dancing if there’s no music?” Erin asked, patting Keela’s hand but shooting a worried look to Bri.
Bri was watching her husband speak to one of the other minstrels. She smiled as she saw what he was about. Turning to Erin and Keela, she replied, “I don’t think we need to worry very much. Our laird is taking care of it now.”
They watched as a small harp was brought to the center of the floor, and a man carried a stool to it. He sat down, cracked his knuckles, and placed his fingers on the strings. A hauntingly beautiful sound immediately silenced the room.
Brianagh was so lost in the music she didn’t notice Nioclas come up behind her on the dais, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he placed his hands on her shoulders. He was every inch the respected laird. He stood tall, his bearing regal, and he watched the musician without expression.
But then he glanced down at Bri, caught her staring at him, and bestowed a quick, soft smile for her alone that sent her heart into double-time and parched her throat. She smiled weakly back at him before turning back to the harpist—and realized they were on display for the entire clan.
The game. Of course. She pasted a smile on her face.
Once the song ended, the singing minstrel joined the harpist, but thankfully with a lute in hand. They began another song, and people began to crowd the space, forming lines and couples in a semblance of a dance. One of Keela’s suitors asked her to dance, and she allowed him to lead her to the makeshift dance floor.
“Care you to dance, my lady?” Nioclas asked, his voice low in her ear so only she could hear.
“No thank you,” Brianagh replied, irrationally hurt that he didn’t really care for her, that he was still just putting on a show.
She was actually irritating herself with her twisted logic. She didn’t want to stay, but she wanted the man to fall in love with her. That was all kinds of not okay, and she needed to check herself, stat.
He leaned down and, into her ear, whispered, “Was the minstrel so terrible that he ruined your good humor, my lady?”
The man’s nearness was a danger to her health. Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t catch a proper breath.
Why must I react this way to him?she lamented, hopelessly confused as to what she wanted.
“No. I don’t know the steps,” she finally said, her eyes never leaving the dancers.
“Allow me to teach you?” Without waiting for a response, he tugged her up and led her onto the floor. The tempo was quick, and all around her, people were dancing and laughing.
Merriment.
Bri let herself be led into the slightly chaotic dance, apologizing when she stepped on or bumped into someone and enjoying the fact that no one seemed to care if she had any rhythm. One of the clan elders spun her away from Nioclas, and she was passed from person to person. She attempted to learn each clansman’s own way of dancing, and they loved that she was allowing them to teach her. Nioclas retreated to the outskirts of the dancers, watching her with amusement.
Brianagh tripped and landed in the arms of Aidan, who was smirking at her breathlessness.
Any residual irritation faded at his laughing green eyes. “I believe it’s my turn to show you how an Irishman dances,” he said, his eyes twinkling as the minstrels changed songs. The tempo was slightly faster, and Aidan led her back to the center of the dancers. The crowd made room for the two of them, and Aidan grinned at her. “As his brother, you realize that my most important duty is to annoy our laird,” he explained. He grabbed her by the hands, spun her in a little circle, then proceeded to dance with her without removing his hands from her own. He urged her to go faster, then slower, then faster again, to the claps and cheers from the clan around them.
Aidan spun her once more, then started laughing as he bumped into Nioclas. “My laird,” he said with a barely contained grin.
