Page 26 of The Winter Laird
Bri smiled back. “You’re welcome. Thanks for telling me.”
Iona curtsied, then added quickly, “The MacWilliam’s a good man, takes care of all of us. Your sire chose well.”
Bri offered another smile, and Iona closed the door behind her.
Bri’s smile disappeared.I don’t have a sire. But, perhaps I just might find a purpose while I’m here.
* * *
Brianagh managedto not grind her teeth in frustration, but she was nearing the end of her patience.
How long was a medieval wedding ceremony supposed to take?
She felt as though she’d been standing for hours, listening Latin—and of course, she couldn’t understand a word. Nioclas was listening attentively, as was Kiernan, Kathryne, Reilly, Aidan…and the entire MacWilliam clan. There had to be over five hundred people standing in the bailey, watching the laird take his wedding vows. Bri hoped she wasn’t the only one who had no idea what was going on in the ceremony.
“I will,” Nioclas said solemnly.
Oh, that she recognized. She let out a little sigh of relief. At least she didn’t have to answer anything in Latin and put her ignorance on display. She realized Nioclas was looking at her expectantly, and she quickly said, “Oh. I will too.”
He slid a gold band onto her finger, and the entire clan burst into wild cheers that melded into a chant of some sort. She couldn’t make out what they were yelling, but she turned and smiled at the crowd anyway.
“They’re saying, ‘Kiss,’” Nioclas murmured as he smiled at his people and gave a wave. “Let the game begin, aye?”
And then, in front of everyone, Nioclas pulled her close, bent her backward, and, cradling her in his arms, covered her mouth with his own. When she let out a surprised gasp, he slid his tongue between her teeth, where it tangled in a heated battle with hers…a battle to which she quickly surrendered.
As far as kisses go, Brianagh thought, her mind fuzzy as he righted her and reluctantly ended the kiss,I just had my socks blown off.
Chapter 8
Nioclas didn’t bother cursing himself for giving in to his temptation. Brianagh was standing on the step of his castle and she had agreed to be his wife. He told himself it was his duty to make the marriage seem realistic. It didn’t hurt that her crystal-blue eyes held intelligence, or that her mouth—the color of raspberries in summer—was shaped just for kissing. Or that the strange words that came out of that mouth showed a keen wit, sharp intelligence, and a sense of humor. He let himself have just a taste, and he was certain he would regret it. Eventually.
Leading her up the castle steps, he turned, waved one last time, then entered the great hall. It was blessedly empty, save his normally-stationed guardsmen. Once they were inside, Nioclas looked at his bride, who looked as though she still hadn’t fully recovered from his kiss.
He grinned and led her over to the stairway. Two steps up he backed her against the wall, dug his hands into her hair, and lowered his mouth to hers again. He felt her resistance, but as his skillful tongue and lips worked their magic, she melted against him, her arms coming to rest lightly on his shoulders as she allowed him in.
He toyed with the fine hair at the back of her neck and felt the gooseflesh rise as she shivered. Kissing down her neck, then back up to her ear, his hand slid farther and he began to knead her backside—
“MacWilliam!” a voice boomed into the great hall.
“Damn him,” Nioclas growled as Brianagh dropped her head onto his neck, her breathing ragged.
“Who is that?” Brianagh asked, licking her lips.
“Maguire.” Irritation laced the word.
“Remind me to thank him,” she said as she pulled back, regaining her equilibrium. “We almost made a very bad mistake there.”
“MacWilliam! There you are! I heard tell you just got yourself married!” A man with dark-blond hair and brown eyes, dressed in a blue-and-red léine, rounded the corner of the stairs. “Oh ho! And apparently ‘just’ is exactly when!” His laughter boomed as loudly as his voice, echoing off the stone.
“Donovan!” a female voice exclaimed. “Let them be! Come back down here!” A woman appeared and grabbed his hand. “Congratulations, Nick. We shall speak soon. Donovan, leave them be.” She looked back up at Brianagh and grinned. “We’ll see you at the feast.”
“Feast?” Brianagh asked Nioclas, her belly rumbling at the thought.
“I can make you forget about food,” Nioclas said in a husky voice, his eyes darkening.
“That’s probably not a good idea.” She slipped out of his arms and headed downstairs. “I really am hungry.”
And skittish, Nioclas thought as he watched her hasty retreat.
