Page 17 of The Winter Laird
Her face flamed. Her dream man saved her from a fate worse than death, only to breathe in her toxic fumes.
At no point in her dreams did Brianagh ever stink, or be anything less than perfect for him. The fact that she stood within arm’s length, covered in slime, urine, and who knew what else, was a brutal slap to her reality.
“Riders approach!” someone called out from high above her.
“Let them through,” the warrior called out. He turned to her. “You are safe now, Lady Brianagh. You may take your ease.”
She nodded numbly, and he walked away without looking back.
“Brianagh!” Reilly called out. He threw himself off his horse and swept her off her feet. “Thank the saints! Are you all right?”
She blinked up at him. “Well…I did just spend a fair bit of time in hell, Reilly. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.”
He laughed, then swung her around again. “Conclusion drawn. I’m so sorry I let them take you.”
“I’m so grateful you’re alive,” she choked out before bursting into tears. “I thought…you were lying there…”
“I knew I was outnumbered.” He pulled her into a hug. “There were more around us. I would’ve pulled my sword if I thought it would do any good, but I knew they would overpower me. So I played dead. I knew Burke wouldn’t want you killed. Just hidden.” He pulled back and winked at her. “But don’t tell MacWilliam that. I left out the playing dead bit.”
She absorbed all of that for a moment, then decided she couldn’t do any more today.
“I smell,” she announced.
“I believe you have a bath waiting for you in your room.” Reilly smiled. “Shall we?”
“I don’t think there’s really any other choice,” she replied, looking around her in consternation. “Care to fill me in on what’sreallygoing on?”
“You said it yourself.” Reilly gave a nonchalant shrug as he guided her to the castle steps. “Just a bit of reenactment.”
“You’re an ass,” she replied succinctly.
“And you’re just about ready to hear what I was trying to tell you before we left.”
She didn’t feel at all bad when sheaccidentallytripped him on the last step.
* * *
“You’re wearinga trench in your stones,” Aidan said the next morning. “Stop pacing. The battle’s done. I even managed to take one of their cattle.”
Nioclas, while grateful for the extra food his brother had stolen for the clan, ignored him.
The woman from his dreams finally had a name.
She recognized him, and if he had it right, it was the same way he recognized her. But knowing someone from a dream was not possible. And though Nioclas wouldn’t cast aside any form of magic—he did, after all, live in Ireland, where his clan still followed the old ways—seeing someone materialize from his dreams was a bit much for his mind to absorb.
When he woke that morning, he resolutely decided his dream occurred only because he had ridden three hours with her lithe form pressed against him last night.
Shaking his thoughts free, Nioclas turned his thoughts to his sire. Burke would seek revenge when he found the O’Rourke lass gone. Nioclas had sent the Kildare lass home to her own sire with a promise of alliance in apology for breaking the troth. The child had cried in relief, but Nioclas knew Kildare would come banging on his door with threats of retribution.
He also knew they would be empty threats unless someone paid the Kildares for their time. They weren’t the most loyal of clansmen.
Someone knocked on the solar door. Nioclas turned and shot an expectant look to Aidan, but the only response was a shrug.
“I’m eating.”
“And I’m laird,” Nioclas reminded him. “So get off your arse, show some respect, and open the door.”
“I respect you enough to point out that you’re closer.” He took a drink from his cup.
