Page 75 of The Winter Laird

“I’ll find my way back home,” she warned him, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“I can’t be a part of that.”

“Then I’ll do it without you.”

He opened the door and ushered her out. “I pray you do not. Goodbye, Brianagh.”

She stared at the door as hopelessness enveloped her.

Chapter 21

It was snowing.

Brianagh wondered how long the snow would stay on the ground. She had only a month and a half left before Nioclas would take her to Dowth. Would he travel all the way across the country if there was snow on the ground? What kind of danger would she put him and his guard in, if they were to get sick in weather like this?

Concerns aside, it was a beautiful sight, the untouched sea of white. What already covered the ground sparkled, and the flakes drifting lazily from the sky reminded her of a painting she saw in Dublin on her first trip to Ireland, when she was just a young girl.

Bri sat at the alcove window, dressed in her nightgown but wrapped tightly in her fur-lined cloak, the shutters thrown wide. Idly, she wondered if medieval Ireland celebrated Christmas. Surely not in the same way she was used to—presents, Santa Claus, the crowds at the mall—but did they have anything to mark the passing of the holiday? She she didn’t even know what the precise date was. All she knew was that it was late December 1457.

Suddenly, she very much wanted to know the exact date.

Had her days become so blended that she couldn’t keep track? She missed the feeling of productivity. Although she certainly had figured out how to keep herself busy, she hadn’t gotten that same euphoria she experienced after a dedicated search and placing two perfectly matched souls together.

Happy sighs. That’s what she was missing.

Stretching, Brianagh closed the shutters and shucked the cloak. She had a chance at both the happy sighs and the productivity today with Keela’s upcoming screening. Phase two of matching: the significant other. Bri opened her trunk to pull out her dress, but what she pulled out was something entirely unexpected.

The long gown made of deep blue and gold silk rustled as she shook it out. Gold braids lined the seams, and the sleeves were sheer from elbow to wrist. It looked like something Erin wore from her trunk of a thousand dresses. Bri teased her about it almost daily.

A note fluttered to the ground. Picking up the parchment, she read:

B – Your sleeves were torn in your old dress, and the hem on another. The third was simply ugly, so I had them all placed in the rag bin. You should dress beautifully every day. – N

She touched the fabric again. It was well-made, with strong fabric. She smiled, grateful for his thoughts of her comfort.

Bri slipped the dress over her head and ran her hands over the gown. It was beautiful on the outside, but the skirt had a light fur lining—deliciously warm and perfect for a snowy day. She pulled out the new shoes and slid them on. They were sturdier than her old slippers, and much warmer too. They also had a fur lining.

For the first time in a long time, Brianagh felt warm from head to toe. It was a heady feeling.

Opening the door, she found Nioclas leaning against the wall. He smiled when he saw her, then gave a little bow. “I see you found your new wardrobe.”

“It’s beautiful.” She grinned, spinning. “But even more, it’s warm. Thank you!”

“Entirely my pleasure,” Nioclas replied. “I ordered them a few weeks ago, but just received them last night. I’d hoped they would cheer you.”

“Them? You mean there’s more than one?”

“Aye, the seamstresses should be bringing them to the castle this morning. I’ve had a few made in colors I thought would suit you. Do they suit?”

Smiling, she nodded her head. “Absolutely, thank you. It’s very kind of you, but I admit, I’d be worried about moving tables around in this!”

“I am glad to hear it,” Nioclas said with a smile. “Shall we eat? I find I’m eager to hear of your plans for the men who are taking up space in my great hall.”

“Taking up space?” Bri echoed.

“Aye. O’Malley said it to Aidan last week, before he left. I thought it fitting for what’s happening in my castle.”

Nioclas wasn’t joking. The men were crowded in the great hall, talking loudly in groups. Some were relaxed, others seemed to be practicing verses of poetry—and all turned to them as they descended the stairs.

---