Brianagh didn’t know what to make of him. She didn’t want to laugh at him, but…Bend time? “Um, quick time out, please. First of all, this area is locked to us. And, you can’t fit through there with all your gear.”
Reilly didn’t answer. He had placed his hands on either side of the opening and stood, silent. He spoke in a voice that shook her soul: “Le cumhacht na nDéithe, ordaím duit oscailt chugamsa, An Cosantóir.”
“By the power of the gods, I command you to open for me, the Protector.”
The rock widened, and Reilly grabbed her hand and dragged her inside even as it began to close up again. She was immediately enveloped in the darkness, and her heart began to beat harder, though she took a moment to appreciate the special effects. She wondered if Ry had some movie connections, and reminded herself to ask him about it when the reenactment was over.
He led her away from the north wall, the small passageway veering to their left.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw he was using his hands to trace something on the wall as they walked. He was murmuring in that strange voice again, and she clutched her skirt in an effort to not get too swept up in the moment.
He turned to her suddenly and flashed a reassuring smile. “You are the future of our clan. You must trust me.”
She didn’t say a word, just watched him silently as he finished whatever he was doing and then braced himself against the wall.
He pulled her to him and slipped a dagger into her belt. “It might make you feel safer,” he said by way of explanation. “Keep it close to hand. This is your fate.” He gripped her chin, then gently placed a kiss on her forehead. “If I forget to tell you later, it’s been an honor. Hold on to me, as tightly as you can.”
The tiny cave was growing brighter as the light moved into it from a partially-covered window she hadn’t noticed. Sunset.
She looked up at Reilly, amazed at the beauty of the tomb.
He wrapped his arms around her, and as the cave flooded with the full light of the setting sun, the beams hit them. She gripped Reilly’s leather belt, her arms tightly coiled around him, as the world around her suddenly exploded into shards of light and space and a million other things she couldn’t identify. Shock blanked her mind; the only thing that anchored her to her body was Reilly, whose arms never moved from her. The shards of light were pelting her, bruising her skin, and she cried out as Reilly covered her body with his own, shielding her.
Her heart pounded in her ears for long minutes before she realized whatever had happened was over. She let out a shuddering breath, and Reilly slowly lifted off her, leaning back on his haunches.
“What the hell?” she finally managed, her eyes wide. “That was…” She trailed off, unable to find any words.
Reilly laughed, relief on his features. “Imagine that. I’ve finally found a way to shut you up!”
She snorted. “Yeah, you only had to ‘shift time’ to get me there.” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “So it’s over? That was pretty incredible. How did you make that vortex or wind tunnel or whatever it was? That thing was powerful! I bet that if time travel could happen, that’s what it’d feel like. Although I’d leave out the pelty-things next time. But otherwise—very realistic, Ry.”
He frowned. “Brianagh, we really did shift time. I bent it to my will to bring you back.”
“Oh, sorry. Just let me know when we’re done. I’ll stay in character until you say it’s over. So, back where?” she asked, looking around. “Where are we?”
Reilly spun around with lightning speed, bringing his arm up as his sword clashed with another, cutting off any other words.
Chapter 4
Brianagh scrambled backward, belatedly realizing she wasn’t inside the cave anymore, and tripped over the hem of her skirt. Reilly spewed Gaelic at the man who seemingly appeared from nowhere, and who now swung a sword at Reilly’s head. Reilly deftly avoided the violent hacking and returned parry for parry.
Historical actors were a crazy bunch, it seemed. Especially this one—his clothes were fashioned the same as Reilly’s, although not nearly as nice. His tunic was torn in various places, and his bushy beard looked to be full of last night’s dinner.
Gross.
She became aware of their conversation—taking place completely in Gaelic—and was grateful to Reilly for teaching her his native tongue. Although, after a moment of really listening to what they were saying, she rather wished to be a bit more ignorant. Her opinion of them was quickly firming—crazy seemed a mild term.
“There is no one here to save you, O’Malley, so give up now. The rest will come—oof!—from their posts soon!” the half-deranged man snarled as he dodged a swing. “We’ve been expecting you, with MacWilliam marrying.”
“You want to be the one who took what is MacWilliam’s? You would die a painful death by his hand!” Reilly growled.
“I think not,” the man shot back as he narrowly avoided the business end of Reilly’s sword.
Brianagh tried not to gag as Dirty Beard’s smell wafted past her. She scanned her surroundings and saw nothing but trees. She wondered if they were going off-script; no one else had arrived. She certainly hoped they weren’t discussing her; Reilly hadn’t mentioned that he told his group anything about her, and he didn’t inform her that she was cast to play some sort of major role.
“Dagger in hand!” Reilly barked to her, in English. “No screaming. We don’t want the attention.”
She fumbled for the blade and pulled it out, ready. For what, though, she had no idea. In her opinion, this took reenactment too far—the swords were most definitely real; the clash of metal-on-metal was too loud to deny that. They also looked pretty sharp. One false move and either could be skewered. She shuddered at that unpleasantry, then refocused as Dirty Beard sliced Reilly’s arm. The sight of blood alarmed her. She took a step forward but froze at the look on Reilly’s face.
Brianagh watched, open-mouthed. She’d never seen such fury.
“Your body will be proof enough that Burke will not have her,” Reilly said as he thrust the sword into the man’s belly.
Brianagh stifled her scream, then turned and retched as Reilly quickly cleaned his sword on the dead man’s tunic.
Holy mother of God; Reilly just killed a man, she thought hysterically. She looked up at him, panicked.
Reilly wasted no time. He dragged the man into the trees and his eyes scanned the forest. He whistled sharply as he returned to her side and grabbed her hand. “We have to get out of here before the others arrive,” he said grimly. “It was us or him, Brianagh. I promise to explain later.” She heard the pounding of hooves before she saw it. The most enormous black horse she’d ever seen skidded to a halt in front of Reilly, snorting and shaking its head in greeting.
Reilly wrapped an arm around her waist, and in one ridiculously Hollywood move, swung onto the beast and pulled her up with him. He placed her in front of him, squeezed the horse with his thighs, and gave a “Yah!” as an arrow whizzed past her head.
Her last coherent thought before slipping into a dead faint was that this wasn’t how she expected her day to go when Reilly suggested they take a drive to a monolithic structure this morning.
• • •
Brianagh’s head pounded as she slowly woke. She was lying on something cold and unyielding. She felt around gingerly.
Dirt.
“Brianagh, open your eyes.”
Although Reilly’s voice seemed close by, when her eyes adjusted to the twilight around her, she didn’t see him. She sat up and her head spun. “What happened?” she asked in a shaky voice. “How did we get out of the cave?”
Reilly squatted in front of her and offered what looked to be a cup made out of tree bark. She peered at the water inside suspiciously. “It’s from a creek just up the way,” he explained. “We are on Burke’s land. We have at least two more hours of fast riding before we get to safety. He’s a cruel laird, and unfortunately, a smart one too. But once we
get to the O’Rourke side—”
“O’Rourke side of what?”
“Ireland. O’Rourke—your clan—is a safe place.” He took the cup from her and helped her stand. “I’ll tell you more later, but we have to stay ahead of Burke’s men.”
“They really don’t like trespassers,” she said as she brushed off her skirts.
“Actually,” Reilly replied as he hoisted her onto the stallion, “he’d love nothing more than for you to stay.”
“Then why were his thick-skulled men shooting arrows at us and trying to hack you with a sword?”
“I didn’t say they wanted me to stay. They’d much prefer me dead. You’re the one they want, Bri.” He glanced meaningfully at the brooch on her chest.
She twisted around to stare at him, and Evelyn’s words from yesterday came back to her in a rush: The only way to know if she was truly the chosen daughter would be that she was wearing this brooch… One family member from each generation is given the ability to move time itself, but only for the greater good. He shrugged and kicked the horse into a gallop. They only traveled a few hundred paces when the horse reared, almost throwing them. He reared again, and Brianagh screamed. They toppled off the horse, Reilly twisting in midair so she landed almost fully on top of him. She snapped her head up to see the horse take off with a very bloodied back leg. Trying to catch her breath, she frantically searched Reilly’s face. His eyes were closed, and he had blood on his tunic, although she couldn’t tell if it was old or new.
“Reilly!” she screamed as she scrambled off him. She shook him. “Reilly! Wake up!” He didn’t move, and her throat constricted. She put her head on his chest, but she couldn’t tell if he was breathing over the sounds of her choked sobs.
Without warning, she was grabbed underneath her arms and hauled roughly to her feet. She screamed again, but someone quickly stuffed a gag into her mouth and secured it around her head. Even as she struggled to get away, her arms were bound behind her and her ankles tied together.
Once she was trussed, she was hefted onto a mount. She glanced back and saw Reilly, still lying on the ground—dead or unconscious—and wished with everything she had that she hit the ground first.
Her rider wrenched her back around, and as fear clouded her mind, Brianagh started to shake. Apparently, that annoyed her kidnapper. He barked something unintelligible at her, then clunked her on the head with something solid.
• • •
“Aidan, it’s been twenty-two years.” Nioclas MacWilliam, laird of the clan MacWilliam, stood in front of the large hearth in his great hall.
The laird’s younger brother, Aidan, was his most trusted—and most bothersome—clansman. Aidan’s green eyes danced as he tried to contain his mirth; there was little else he enjoyed more than irritating his brother, despite their advanced ages of thirty-four and thirty.
“The O’Rourke sent his messenger just this morning. Care you to hear what he says, or shall I just send him to the kitchen, pat him on his head, then send him home? The man did travel an awful long way just to see your pretty face. The least you could do is feed him and hear his claims of a vow you made.”
Nioclas tried to unclench his jaw. His brother’s humor was, as usual, unwelcome. He had waited years for his missing betrothed to appear. He’d honored his promise to wait for her for as long as possible. But his clan needed him to choose a wife; news of skirmishes was increasing with each passing month.
A fortnight ago, two lesser lairds to the north sent their best daughters to him. This time, one of the lasses, aged only ten, carried a note that promised full clan allegiance to the MacWilliams if he married her, and the promise of retaliation if he chose the other lass.
Nioclas was tired of entertaining unwanted guests and sidestepping threats of warfare. He sent them both back to their sires, then doubled the guards at his gate.
The MacWilliams clan was strong, and though many threatened, few dared to engage them in battle. Nioclas knew he couldn’t hold off from his duty forever. If he didn’t marry soon, the veiled—and not so veiled—threats would arrive at his castle.
All his clansmen wanted was peace. By the saints, he wanted peace as well.
Just last week, Nioclas quietly agreed to marry a lass from the Kildare clan in the east. Her father assured him she was tractable, that she was more than happy to marry, and, most importantly, came from a long line of fecund women. The O’Rourkes hadn’t sent back their official word that they accepted the troth-break, but once he was married, there was little they could do. He looked forward to the day when the O’Rourkes had nothing more to hold over him and his clan.
Aidan shrugged. “Let the messenger have his say, then release him. O’Rourke is daft if he seeks our alliance.”
“Laird O’Rourke is not daft,” Nioclas grumbled. “I made a foolish vow when I was a lad, and he’s held me to it.”
Aidan frowned. “What vow?”
Nioclas shuffled a stack of parchment and capped the inkwell. “Shortly after I took control of our clan, I met with Kiernan. To keep his alliance, I agreed to marry his daughter.”
“The O’Rourke has a daughter?”
Nioclas’s steel gray eyes held his brother’s emerald green ones pointedly. “Aye. He does.”
Aidan choked as realization suddenly dawned. “You can’t be serious. You agreed to marry the O’Rourke lass? The one who can walk into the future?”
He snorted. “She cannot walk into next month, brother. She’s not a sorceress. The whispers of her supposed powers are merely mystical stories the O’Rourkes bandied about to encourage clans to keep their distance.” Nioclas sighed. “And it worked for all but me.”
“You’re a powerful ally,” Aidan supplied helpfully. “If I were a laird, and I had a daughter, I’d want to secure your hand.”
“If you had a daughter, I’d best know about her posthaste,” Nioclas replied with a long-suffering sigh. He rubbed his hand over his eyes as if to erase the last few hours from memory.
“No daughters. Although the MacDermott lass won’t give up.”
“Stay away from the MacDermotts,” Nioclas commanded. “That clan is troublesome. They’re bloodthirsty and poor.”
Aidan held his hands up in surrender. “Aye, brother, I’m aware. She follows me like a hound.”
Nioclas snorted. “I wouldn’t say that to any other, Aidan. If MacDermott hears that his daughter’s true love thinks her to be a hound, the only price he’ll accept is your head on a stake. And then I’ll be honor-bound to marry the lass, which, thank you anyway, is something I’d rather avoid.”
“How can you marry a lass that doesn’t exist?” Aidan asked. “We’ve all heard the tales of the powerful O’Rourke woman who can move time, but O’Rourke only has sons.”
“I met with Kiernan a few weeks after I took control of our clan, as I needed a strong ally and the O’Rourkes were willing to talk. No one would give us alliance, Aidan. Even with the backing of our clan leaders, other clans saw us as weak, to allow a twelve-year-old to take control.”
“You were a brilliant strategist then, as you are now,” Aidan said fiercely. “Any who doubt are fools.”
Nioclas nodded in agreement. “Aye, and your loyalty—like that of the rest of our clansmen—was well appreciated. But without another clan, we were susceptible to attack. I realized this, as did the leaders. For his alliance, Kiernan’s price was high. Perhaps too high. He claimed he had a seven-year-old daughter, who was sent to live with guardians on the mainland when she was but an infant. He secured my hand for her, and offered a marriage to her when she came of age.”
“Came of age?” Aidan repeated incredulously. He did the numbers in his head quickly. “She would be nine-and-twenty now, Nick! What age did Kiernan say she must be when she was to marry you?”
Nioclas frowned. “That was the hole in my agreement. We never specified, and Daniel, our clan elder, realized it the day after we agreed to the match. Kiernan said he would present her when he felt s
he was ready. And, with my upcoming nuptials, I know not what they plan, but with each missive O’Rourke sends me, the more desperate he seems. The O’Rourkes lost their chance by not presenting their daughter, and I will ally with the Kildares now. I cannot wait any longer, and to break the marriage with the Kildares will invite war.”
“The Kildares bring nothing to our clan,” Aidan hesitated to point out. “I see no value in this marriage, Nick.”
“The Kildares aren’t the most loyal of men, but having an ally in a part of the country where we haven’t any is a boon I cannot overlook,” Nioclas divulged.
“We’re a large clan, too.”
“Aye. But very few lairds will attack us if our numbers are doubled. All I want is peace,” Nioclas reiterated. “A show of force is, sometimes, more effective than the force itself.”
“What if the O’Rourke lass really is here?”
“Then it would be a miracle indeed, as there’s been neither sight nor sound of her since the supposed day of her birth,” Nioclas replied dryly. “Bring the messenger so I can eat my supper in peace.” Nioclas didn’t interact with the O’Rourkes much. They were far from him, and although they were a strong clan, they were a peaceful one.
Nioclas wanted to keep it that way, even if Kiernan sent him annual missives to remind him of a promise made when he was a foolish lad of ten-and-two.
It grated on his nerves that with each reminder sent, the unspoken threat of war loomed if he dared marry another. Yet the O’Rourkes continued to refuse his request to see her. He had but little choice now.
“Laird MacWilliam, I bring a message from Laird O’Rourke,” the messenger said, shifting from foot to foot. At Nioclas’s nod, he continued. “The laird is on his way here and should arrive before nightfall. He brings news of his daughter, Lady Brianagh.” At MacWilliam’s continued, ominous silence, the messenger cleared his throat again. “I, ah, am also to inform you that he travels not alone and brings with him four men.”
The Winter Laird Page 4