Page 98 of An Enchanted Spring

Nioclas gave him a concerned look. “I’ll return momentarily.”

Aidan nodded, still too shocked to speak. Was his place truly here, at his brother’s side? He always believed that. His brother risked everything for him, everything for their clan. He avenged their mother—if not his own mother by blood, certainly of heart—and saved Aidan from following in the footsteps of an evil sire.

Aidan owed Nioclas everything. He’d sworn his loyalty, and he couldn’t break it. He’d already been gone too long. If he left again…he couldn’t put his brother through that. But could he let Emma go? Could he convince Reilly to keep her here? Would shewantto stay here, with him?

His eyes fell on the tapestries that lined the wall behind Nick’s desk. Great battle scenes, in which a tall figure with long dark hair fearlessly rode a stallion into a battle. The men on foot, fierce expressions on their faces, were engaged in swordplay, arrows high above their heads in mid-flight.

On the opposite wall, the tapestry showed a different scene altogether. A woman sat in a chair by a blazing hearth, cradling a small child in her arms. Behind her, in an open doorway, stood the man with the long hair, home from battle. His attention was focused on his wife and child, and hisbloodied sword hung above the door. Woven into the blood on the sword were the Latin words,Pro domo focoque pugnamus.

We fight for hearth and home.

The MacWilliam clan did not want to expand across Ireland; they were happy with their lot. They had everything they needed—fish from the sea, fertile fields bearing food, peat for their fires, and strong clan pride. Expansion would mean some would have to give that up and settle in other parts of the land to keep a stronghold. It meant constant war, constant demand, constant giving without receiving.

That was not the legacy Nioclas wanted to leave for his children, nor his children’s children. He wanted—and achieved—peace, in a time of greed and war.

Nay, Aidan could not leave his brother. He glanced at the tapestry behind the desk. If another clan declared war against them, it was Aidan who would protect Nioclas’s back during battle.

He knew marrying Emma was the best protection he could give her, for however long she was here. Monaghan did not seem a hothead, but if he decided he wanted Emma, if she were unmarried, he could steal her away pay any number of priests to perform the marriage, fully against her will. She’d be locked up, too far from O’Malley to ever return to her time.

If she were married to him, the MacWilliams would fight to bring her home, if it came to that. But even Monaghan would not declare war by stealing a married MacWilliam.

His gaze traveled back to the tapestry of the woman and child, his heart torn.

Home.

He needed to be here to fight for his brother’s hearth and home. After all his brother had done for him, his own happiness was a small price to pay. He knew the truth of it in his mind…now, he needed only to convince his heart.

Nioclas reentered the room. “Are you sure you want this, Aidan?”

He nodded briskly, resolved. “I am. She needs the protection of the clan if she’s here for any length of time.”

“Is that all it is?” Nioclas questioned.

Aidan rubbed his hands over his face again. “Aye. It’s all it can be.”

“Then let’s draw up the marriage papers.”

What a difference four hours,a bath, an exceedingly determined head seamstress, six seamstresses, and Brianagh’s personal chambermaid could make.

Emma smoothed her hands down the fine gossamer silk, unable to stop touching the soft fabric. The square neckline of her long-sleeved, lightweight woolen gown was lined with a deep blue ribbon. Sinead used the blue ribbon around each upper arm, and she encircled Emma’s natural waist, separating the top and bottom of the dress. The gold gossamer silk overlaid the gold wool of the skirt, which had a slit up the front to allow a panel of dark blue silk to peek through. From the ribbon bands on her arms fell a swath of the same blue fabric in the skirt.

“This is stunning,” she murmured, humbled by the amount of speed and work Sinead put forth. “Go raibh maith agat,” she said to Sinead.

Sinead curtsied at the thanks, then hustled her girls out.

“So you do know some Gaelic,” Bri said, impressed.

“Not as much as I thought I did,” she admitted, “but I think I got ‘thank you’ right.”

“You did,” Bri assured her. She walked around Emma, a dreamy look on her face. “Youlookstunning.”

“Go raibh maith agat,” Emma said again with a quickcurtsy. Her smile faded. “I feel sick when I think too much about what my life has become.”

Bri took her hand and patted it. “I wanted to go home when I got here, too.”

“What changed?” Emma asked.

“Love. My home is where Nioclas is. And his home, for better or worse, is here.”

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