The Winter Laird

by Nancy Scanlon

  Bri tore off the wrapping and opened the box, and her breath left her in a whoosh.

  She pulled out a circular silver brooch about the size of her hand. The image on the front was worn, but the elaborately etched hawk was still glorious. Peering closer, she noticed the small shield in the middle of the hawk’s chest: the letter M with tiny leaves of ivy snaking their way around each line of the letter…and a sword slicing across the M and all its foliage. Everything, down to the last feather on the hawk, was etched in fine detail, at least it had been at one point.

  “Amazing. How old is it?” she asked, running her fingers over it. A shiver traveled down her spine, and she pulled her hand away as if burned. “It almost feels as though it’s humming.”

  Reilly’s face turned ashen.

  Alarmed, she asked him, “Do you know what this is?”

  “Aye,” he finally said. “’Tis the brooch.” He wordlessly held out his hand, and she reluctantly placed it in his palm. He turned it over, and then she saw him shiver as well.

  The brooch? She turned to her aunt, the question in her eyes.

  Evelyn smiled. “You rub it for good luck and a blessed marriage as you walk down the aisle—or run, in the case of some of our ancestors. That’s why it’s so smooth. It’s our family legacy.”

  “Ah. So that’s why Reilly looks so ill. It’s meant for weddings,” she joked as Reilly continued to stare at it.

  His eyes met hers, and she immediately stopped her joking. He looked stricken.

  “Reilly—” she said.

  He shook his head once, then looked at Evelyn. “Tell her the story. The legacy.”

  Evelyn frowned at him, but then smiled at Brianagh. “It’s one that we pass down to each generation, and I do love this story. Until you came into my life, I didn’t think I’d ever get to tell anyone, as you know the boys would never care to hear it.” Both she and Bri rolled their eyes together, then burst into a fit of giggles.

  “Evelyn!” Reilly barked. “The story.”

  “Relax!” Brianagh exclaimed. “We don’t have to leave until tonight. There’s plenty of time. Don’t be so grumpy, you big oaf.”

  “Thank you,” Evelyn replied with a regal nod of her head. Reilly just scowled, gave the brooch back to Brianagh, and then sat back down on the bed and glowered.

  Brianagh returned her attention to her aunt. “So…family legacy. I’m all ears. You know how I love happy endings.”

  • • •

  As she poured herself and Evelyn a cup of tea, Brianagh felt the weight of the brooch in her pocket. It was pretty heavy for its size, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was quite the opposite. It gave her a feeling of security.

  Odd.

  She sat down and slid the cup to her aunt, then leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “Okay. Spill.”

  “Where’s mine?” Reilly asked.

  Evelyn and Bri didn’t even acknowledge him.

  “It’s been said that once, a very long time ago, a curse was put on the O’Rourkes.”

  Brianagh nearly rubbed her hands in glee. She loved this tale already.

  “However, being as we’re Irish, things are never as they seem. Our clan at the time—”

  “When was this?” Bri interrupted.

  “Oh, before recorded history, I’m sure. No one knows exactly when. The Fates—you know, like the ones in history, the three old women—decreed that the O’Rourke clan would be the time passage keepers. One family member from each generation is given the ability to move time itself, but only for the greater good.”

  “Obviously,” Brianagh agreed. “But what’s the ‘greater good’ entail?”

  “Do you never stop asking questions?” Reilly asked, joining them with his own cup.

  “Something not for personal gain, I’d assume,” Evelyn replied with a shrug. “Let me get through the story. You’ll miss your flight if you keep asking questions.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So, the family has this legacy of time-traveling. The O’Rourkes whispered it, ensuring that it was more feared than revered. The clan, you can imagine, had a very difficult time securing husbands for the women, but this only strengthened us, as was intentional. Only the bravest warriors married an O’Rourke.”

  “Bravest or daftest, depending which side of the O’Rourke border you’re on,” Reilly muttered.

  “Anyway,” Evelyn continued, “the O’Rourkes started time-traveling only at a specified point in the future. Well, our past. But the Fates’ future.”

  “Huh?” Brianagh asked.

  “It’s complicated,” Reilly cut in. “But the bottom line is that when the O’Rourkes were handed this curse, blessing, legacy, whatever—it was determined at the time of the decree that the clan would not begin their time travels immediately. It was only at an undetermined point in the future, once the clan had proven itself capable and good and all the rest of it that the time-traveling could begin.”

  “But then history took a dark turn,” Evelyn said dramatically, lowering her voice. “The child suspected of being the first time traveler disappeared!” At Brianagh’s predicted gasp, Evelyn nodded authoritatively. “True. The O’Rourke woman—her name, we believe, was Kathryne—was visited by the Fates one night and was told the daughter she carried was the one who could move time. Kathryne, of course, told her husband, who somehow let it slip to another clan.”

  “How does one let that kind of thing slip?” Bri asked incredulously. “I mean, if the baby wasn’t kidnapped, it’d be a miracle, right? I could see people wanting a power like time travel.”

  “That’s exactly right. The baby’s very life was put into danger before she was even born…so time twisted on itself.” Evelyn took a breath. “The story goes that within minutes of the baby’s birth, she was taken away by a future relative and brought to a time where none would find her. She was to be brought back at the hour of her wedding, where she would marry the fiercest of warriors, with a clan so loyal that they would lay down their lives for her and all children she and their lord would create.” Evelyn waved at the brooch. “The only way to know if she was truly the chosen daughter would be that she was wearing this brooch—and something else, but I forget—and that she would unite two very powerful clans.” Grinning, she added, “And, of course, live happily ever after.”

  “Well…if a relative from the future takes her away, then obviously she ends up safe. And, of course, madly in love with the lucky guy.” Bri smiled wistfully and let out a sigh. “I see why women wear the brooch on their wedding day. They want that kind of happy ending.”

  Well, you can’t always get what you want, she reminded herself, ignoring the tightness of her chest.

  Evelyn nodded sagely. “I hope you find yours, Brianagh. I think it’s a good sign that the brooch has an M on it.”

  “Oh, yes! For Matthew!” She laughed uncomfortably. “That does seem like a good omen.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Reilly grumbled.

  Chapter 3

  Brianagh woke up with a start. She’d had her dream again—she’d lost her love. She used to feel ridiculous when she woke up, realizing she had only her dreams to keep her company, but after so many years, she figured if she couldn’t be honest with herself, then she’d simply make herself feel even more foolish.

  It was a minor revelation as far as revelations went, but she took what she could get.

  Her dream followed the same pattern. She was dressed in strange clothing and her hair was loose and long. Her warrior—she really didn’t know what else to call him, as he wore a sword, some sort of kilt, and clearly medieval trappings—always opened his arms, and she would run to him. They would talk about his daily life—she felt as though she knew more about medieval times than was normal—and kiss, and as she got older, they had some pretty incredible sex, usually in a meadow, but sometimes inside his massive castle.

  Dream, indeed.

  She had been in fairy-tale love with her dream for as long as she could remember
, and she was fairly certain if she let that little piece of knowledge out, she’d be ruined as a matchmaker.

  But in last night’s dream she was sitting with the old woman again and nothing had changed. The dream ended right before the sword came down upon his head. The depth of pain in her chest at the thought of losing her imaginary boyfriend frightened her.

  She really needed to get out more.

  Brianagh stood up and stretched, pulling her T-shirt down as it inched up her belly, and checked the time. She sighed when she saw it was only five a.m.; jet lag was the only downside of traveling. They’d arrived at Reilly’s charming little cottage outside of Dublin only a few hours earlier. She padded downstairs silently, avoiding the creaky stair, and entered the kitchen for some water. As she filled her glass, she saw a movement in the back garden and froze. Slowly, she put the glass on the counter and pressed her nose to the window above the sink, her eyes widening as she watched a man hack at the air with—was that a sword?

  She almost screamed, but then her eyes locked on his chest, and the magnificence of that stopped her in her tracks. In the predawn light, she could see the muscles bunching and flexing as he swung the sword at frightening speed. He was half-naked and sweating, and his arms were huge. His left arm had a tattoo wrapped around the top of his bicep—

  Her mouth dropped open in shock and a little bit of healthy disgust for her thoughts a moment ago when she realized whom she was ogling.

  Reilly. In the back garden, at five a.m.

  With a sword.

  And where the hell did he get all those muscles? she thought indignantly. He hid them underneath his shirts. He had leashed power in spades…how had she never noticed it?

  Because he is like a brother to me, she admitted. And the last time I saw him without his shirt, I was probably in elementary school. She couldn’t wait to tease him about his pecs—she loved nothing more than to make him blush, and that hadn’t happened in much too long. Years, even. She looked one last time out the window—he really was trying to kill a particular bit of air—and chuckled, then grabbed her glass and went back to a blissful, dreamless sleep.

  • • •

  “We need to get there by sunset.”

  Brianagh glanced over at Reilly. He was tucked into the small driver’s seat of his little Renault, concentration lining his face as he urged the little car to go faster. “I’m not a fan of sunsets lately. And we should’ve taken the Range Rover,” she replied.

  “It’s with my mechanic,” Reilly muttered, “and don’t worry about it.”

  “It’s not me who’s worried. Relax, Ry. We can’t even go in—the waiting list for this is years long,” Brianagh flipped through the brochure. “Newgrange predates Stonehenge? Why have we never been there before?” Reilly’s tense muscles were the only response she got. Furrowing her brow, she asked, “What’s with you?”

  He rolled his shoulders. “I—”

  “If it’s about Cory and the pub last night, I’m just glad that we weren’t forever banned for the black eye you gave him.”

  “He told everyone he was going to get you in his bed!”

  “I didn’t say he didn’t deserve it,” she replied calmly, turning the page. “Wow. The pictures of the inside of this cave-thing—”

  “Monolithic structure,” Reilly corrected tightly.

  “Right. The inside of this monolithic structure is beautiful.”

  “What does it say about Dowth?” he asked.

  She flipped a couple more pages, then shrugged. “Not much. Looks like it’s a good place to go for the solstice sunset and it doesn’t have a waiting period, since you can’t go inside it—no opening available to the public after dark. The northern side is locked to tourists, but the western side reacts the same way that Newgrange does when the sunrise happens. The entire ancient tomb—sorry, monolithic structure—is filled with light.” She glanced up at him, taking in his set jaw and the five o’clock shadow. “Sounds pretty mystical. I wonder what it was originally used for.”

  Expertly navigating the car around a small herd of sheep in the road, Reilly risked a glance at her. “What does your little book tell you?”

  She read for a minute, then replied, “Says here that no one really knows. Apparently, it has lots of little passageways and rooms. It’s thought to be a tomb for the dead.”

  “It’s not.”

  She grinned. “But it says in the next sentence there are those that believe it had some other purpose. Astronomical, perhaps? Or something magical?” She clapped her hands together. “Ooh, I bet there were sacrifices!”

  “There weren’t any sacrifices.”

  “You say that with such authority,” Bri teased.

  He glanced at her again. “There were never any sacrifices.”

  “You asked,” she pointed out. “No need to get your knickers in a twist. No sacrifices, then.” She glanced at the sky out her window. “It looks like snow. We’re going to freeze our behinds off.”

  Reilly took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Brianagh, I…” He rubbed his temple. “I need you to trust me.”

  She looked at him curiously. “I always have. Why?” He pulled the car off the road and cut the engine, staring straight ahead for almost a full minute. “Reilly?”

  He reached for a bag on the floor behind his seat. He held it in his hand for another long minute before finally handing it over to her. She pulled out a long, woolen dress, followed by some sort of gauzy thing and a pair of very ineffective, rustic-looking shoes. Actually, she thought as she held them up, more like two pieces of leather roughly sewn together.

  Weird.

  “What are these?”

  “I have a, er, matching set in the trunk,” was his reply. “Will you put it on?”

  She looked at him in silence until he finally met her gaze. “Reilly, there’s no need to be embarrassed about this.” She bit her lip. “I’ve seen you playing with your sword in the mornings. I’ve kind of figured out that you’re into reenacting the Middle Ages. I get it. That’s fine. And if you want me to be involved, I can give it a shot. I didn’t even know reenactment groups met at Newgrange.”

  “Dowth. We’re going to Dowth.”

  “Fine. Dowth, whatever, although the brochure says it’s closed to visitors until Easter. I do want to see Newgrange at some point, though. Other than sunrise,” she added, her brow furrowing as she glanced down at the brochure, now lying on the floor at her feet. “There’s a lottery just to get into the lottery to attend the solstice sunrise. Crazy.”

  “So you’ll wear it?” He glossed over everything else she’d said.

  “Sure. Are there any leggings or tights? I’m really going to freeze if I don’t get something else under it, though.”

  “Nay,” he replied, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Nothing but the dress. We have less than thirty minutes to get to where we’re going, so I’ll hop out and watch the road to give you privacy to change.”

  She took another look at the dress in her hands and raised an eyebrow. Well, no matter what he said…she was keeping her underwear firmly in place.

  • • •

  Twenty minutes later, Brianagh huffed over to Reilly. “Is this the place?”

  He nodded once. Dressed as he was, Brianagh felt slightly intimidated. His dark, shoulder-length hair hung freely, framing his serious, beautiful face. The dark green kilt—okay, a léine, as Reilly told her when she first caught sight of him—had golden threads laced within it and hung to his knees. The fabric crisscrossed over his chest and back in a complicated swath. His sword, tucked into the folds of the fabric, rested securely against his back, and his boots were sturdier than her flimsy leather scraps. She had a fleeting moment of medieval-replica-shoe envy until she noticed he stuffed them full of small knives. Dirks, she corrected herself. She really had to get into character. She didn’t want to inadvertently insult anyone.

  Blowing her hair out of her face, she looked around, wondering when the rest of the troupe would
show. Brianagh walked around the site, marveling at the beauty of the circle. It was so peaceful and seemed to hum with energy as sunset drew closer.

  “Brianagh—we haven’t much time. I have to tell you who I am.”

  “Ah,” she replied, smiling. “Of course.”

  “This isn’t a reenactment,” he said, closing his eyes briefly. “I’ve known you since the day you were born. Your own mother placed you into my arms, and your father charged me with your care until you were once again united.”

  She nodded sagely. “Of course. Will my name remain Brianagh? Or can I be a different character?”

  “This isn’t a reenactment,” he repeated patiently.

  “Oh, right. Sorry. I didn’t realize we were already in character. Okay. My mother handed me over, my father charged you with my care. I’m with you. What happens next?” Bri strove to appropriate an acceptable level of seriousness to her tone.

  “Your parents are far from dead, Brianagh.” He slipped a leather belt around her waist as he spoke, then looped it around in a series of patterns, much like his own, except hers wasn’t as tight. He adjusted it slightly and stepped back.

  She glanced down and touched the brooch attached to it by her right shoulder. “Why this?” she asked, running her fingers over it. She felt the same shiver caress her, and she dropped her hand. “Oh, the legacy! Of course. What will my parents’ names be, again?”

  “Please, Brianagh—for once in your life, stop questioning and just listen.” Reilly took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full six-feet-four-inches. “I am an O’Rourke protector. I bend time to protect the prophecy, and I have sworn my loyalty to ensuring the secret remains just that—secret. I speak the truth when I say you are not from here. You are the O’Rourke daughter who will save our clan. And your destiny has come for you.” He ran his hand over the brooch. He led her to the north side of the passage and pointed to a slim opening. “We go through there and wait for sunset.”