Page 16 of The Winter Laird
She suspected that Reilly believed her to be the daughter in her family legacy. But her parents died in a car crash. She’d seen the news article.
Distracted again by yet anothersomethingtrying to make friends with her leg, Brianagh bit back a scream. She screwed her eyes shut, kicked the offending creature off, and tried to breathe normally.
In the hours since her captors tossed her into the dark, stinky hell, she gleaned few details about her whereabouts. The men tasked to guard her dropped the nameBurkea lot and whoever he was, he seemed intent on kidnapping and keeping her. Apparently, he’d been searching for her for years because he believed, like Reilly, that she was the O’Rourke legacy.
She also learned a couple of fun facts about the men who stomped around above her. The first was that her holding cell doubled as a toilet. If she didn’t move, they weren’t going to aim around her.
Lesson learned.
Another fun fact was their inability to get along. They didn’t seem particularly fond of each other, judging by the name-calling and swearing. Some insults led to sword fights, and by her estimation, the death count was two, possibly three, people.
One of the men seemed to have celebrity status, as he claimed to be the one who killed her protector. No one taunted him, as far as she could tell.
Her throat caught at the thought of Reilly. Once again, she sent a prayer flying that he was okay and made it back home for help. James would know what to do—he was an ER doctor, for crying out loud. He was a resident at the best trauma unit in the country. He’d be able to fix Reilly.
Firelight crept into the space, and calls from the guards were cut suspiciously short. She craned her neck to see what was going on, but as she could only see the faint outline of wooden beams and some thatch, she gave up and instead pressed herself against the nearest wall. She hoped she wouldn’t die in a fiery blaze, but at the moment, it seemed like her best option.
She began to cry softly.
Chapter 5
“Brianagh!”
Bri’s eyes snapped up and locked on Reilly, who pushed a ladder into the hole.
“Ry?” Her eyes had trouble adjusting to the bright torchlight coming from above. She scrambled for the ladder, tripping over the slime and sludge, and desperately grasped it. She clumsily made it up two rungs when Reilly reached down, grabbed her arms, and hoisted her up, then pushed her ahead of him toward the open door at the end of a line of horse stalls.
They skidded to a halt when three men stepped into their path. Reilly drew his sword and placed Brianagh behind him.
“One at a time, lads, or all at once?” Reilly asked pleasantly. Two charged him at the same time, and the other went straight for her. Her would-be attacker got a swift sword in the belly from somewhere to Brianagh’s right, and then she was being pulled away from Reilly again.
“Let go!” she cried out.
“Go with him!” was all Reilly managed before swinging his sword again.
She obeyed immediately—after all, whoever had her arm headed toward the door and not the dungeon. She couldn’t see around the warrior, as he was at least a foot taller than her and his shoulders were enormous. He barely paused when they reached the horse; he swung her into the saddle, leapt and landed behind her, and kicked the horse into a gallop before he was fully seated.
He spurred the beast on as a bevy of others surrounded them. Fear choked Brianagh, but the man spoke close to her ear. “The rest will follow. These are my guardsmen and will keep us safe until we get to my castle. Take your ease. O’Malley will meet with us there.”
She stopped breathing. She knew that voice. Half-fearfully, she glanced back into hard, gray eyes, and promptly fainted for the second time in her life.
* * *
When she came to,Brianagh couldn’t see anything in front of her except a horse’s head. And if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, she felt an arm around her waist securing her to a broad, hard chest.
She forced herself to concentrate on staying atop the racing horse instead of thinking about how disconcertingly familiar she was with that chest.
In the fog ahead, she glimpsed a light, then another. Voices called out and torches flared around them as the horses slowed.
Something creaked loudly, and the horses pranced as the sound continued. Awed, Brianagh watched a drawbridge hit the ground in front of them with a dull thud. Her rescue squad crossed and silently entered a long tunnel. The sound of horses’ hooves echoed off the tall, arched, moss-covered stone visible in the flickering torchlight. She peered ahead and saw a courtyard of sorts at the end of the tunnel. Once there, her rescuer dismounted, then held up his arms. She refused to look at his face for fear that her insanity would somehow materialize, so she reached blindly and grasped his forearms.
Recognition shot through her, and her gaze involuntarily snapped to his. Familiar eyes, as gray as the mist that surrounded them in the courtyard of the castle, searched hers.
“Itisyou,” she breathed.
He didn’t say a word, just looked at her intensely, his eyes reflecting the light from the torches. Easing her away from the horse, he slowly released her and stepped back. Recognition flitted across his face before his expression shuttered.
Brianagh stared. The man from her dreams had become very real, and even more handsome in person. She surreptitiously fanned herself, then choked on her own stink. It occurred to her that he’d been downwind of that same stink as they rode.
