Page 9 of The Winter Laird

“Huh?” Brianagh asked.

“It’s complicated,” Reilly cut in. “But the bottom line is that when the O’Rourkes were handed this curse, blessing, legacy, whatever—it was determined at the time of the decree that the clan would not begin their time travels immediately. It was only at an undetermined point in the future, once the clan had proven itself capable and good and all the rest of it that the time-traveling could begin.”

“But then history took a dark turn,” Evelyn said dramatically, lowering her voice. “The child suspected of being the first time traveler disappeared!” At Brianagh’s predicted gasp, Evelyn nodded authoritatively. “True. The O’Rourke woman—her name, we believe, was Kathryne—was visited by the Fates one night and was told the daughter she carried was the one who could move time. Kathryne, of course, told her husband, who somehow let it slip to another clan.”

“How does one let that kind of thing slip?” Bri asked incredulously. “I mean, if the baby wasn’t kidnapped, it’d be a miracle, right? I could see people wanting a power like time travel.”

“That’s exactly right. The baby’s very life was put into danger before she was even born…so time twisted on itself.” Evelyn took a breath. “The story goes that within minutes of the baby’s birth, she was taken away by a future relative and brought to a time where none would find her. She was to be brought back at the hour of her wedding, where she would marry the fiercest of warriors, with a clan so loyal that they would lay down their lives for her and all children she and their lord would create.” Evelyn waved at the brooch. “The only way to know if she was truly the chosen daughter would be that she was wearing this brooch—and something else, but I forget—and that she would unite two very powerful clans.” Grinning, she added, “And, of course, live happily ever after.”

“Well…if a relative from the future takes her away, then obviously she ends up safe. And, of course, madly in love with the lucky guy.” Bri smiled wistfully and let out a sigh. “I see why women wear the brooch on their wedding day. They want that kind of happy ending.”

Well, you can’t always get what you want, she reminded herself, ignoring the tightness of her chest.

Evelyn nodded sagely. “I hope you find yours, Brianagh. I think it’s a good sign that the brooch has an M on it.”

“Oh, yes! For Matthew!” She laughed uncomfortably. “That does seem like a good omen.”

“Don’t count on it,” Reilly grumbled.

Chapter 2

Brianagh woke up with a start. She’d had her dream again—she’d lost her love. She used to feel ridiculous when she woke up, realizing she had only her dreams to keep her company, but after so many years, she figured if she couldn’t be honest with herself, then she’d simply make herself feel even more foolish.

It was a minor revelation as far as revelations went, but she took what she could get.

Her dream followed the same pattern. She was dressed in strange clothing and her hair was loose and long. Her warrior—she really didn’t know what else to call him, as he wore a sword, some sort of kilt, and clearly medieval trappings—always opened his arms, and she would run to him. They would talk about his daily life—she felt as though she knew more about medieval times than was normal—and kiss, and as she got older, they had some pretty incredible sex, usually in a meadow, but sometimes inside his massive castle.

Dream, indeed.

She had been in fairy-tale love with her dream for as long as she could remember, and she was fairly certain if she let that little piece of knowledge out, she’d be ruined as a matchmaker.

But in last night’s dream she was sitting with the old woman again and nothing had changed. The dream ended right before the sword came down upon his head. The depth of pain in her chest at the thought of losing her imaginary boyfriend frightened her.

She really needed to get out more.

Brianagh stood up and stretched, pulling her T-shirt down as it inched up her belly, and checked the time. She sighed when she saw it was only five a.m.; jet lag was the only downside of traveling. They’d arrived at Reilly’s charming little cottage outside of Dublin only a few hours earlier. She padded downstairs silently, avoiding the creaky stair, and entered the kitchen for some water. As she filled her glass, she saw a movement in the back garden and froze. Slowly, she put the glass on the counter and pressed her nose to the window above the sink, her eyes widening as she watched a man hack at the air with—was that a sword?

She almost screamed, but then her eyes locked on his chest, and the magnificence ofthatstopped her in her tracks. In the predawn light, she could see the muscles bunching and flexing as he swung the sword at frightening speed. He was half-naked and sweating, and his arms were huge. His left arm had a tattoo wrapped around the top of his bicep—

Her mouth dropped open in shock and a little bit of healthy disgust for her thoughts a moment ago when she realized whom she was ogling.

Reilly. In the back garden, at five a.m.

With a sword.

And where the hell did he get all those muscles?she thought indignantly. He hid them underneath his shirts. He had leashed power in spades…how had she never noticed it?

Because he is like a brother to me, she admitted.And the last time I saw him without his shirt, I was probably in elementary school.She couldn’t wait to tease him about his pecs—she loved nothing more than to make him blush, and that hadn’t happened in much too long. Years, even. She looked one last time out the window—he reallywastrying to kill a particular bit of air—and chuckled, then grabbed her glass and went back to a blissful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

“We needto get there by sunset.”

Brianagh glanced over at Reilly. He was tucked into the small driver’s seat of his little Renault, concentration lining his face as he urged the little car to go faster. “I’m not a fan of sunsets lately. And we should’ve taken the Range Rover,” she replied.

“It’s with my mechanic,” Reilly muttered, “and don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not me who’s worried. Relax, Ry. We can’t even go in—the waiting list for this is years long,” Brianagh flipped through the brochure. “Newgrange predates Stonehenge? Why have we never been there before?” Reilly’s tense muscles were the only response she got. Furrowing her brow, she asked, “What’s with you?”

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