An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two (23 page)

“All of whom miss you as well.”

Brianagh grew pensive. “For how long do you think you’ll stay?”

Reilly shrugged. “It’s too hard to know.”

“What are we waiting for?”

“We’re waiting for Aidan to determine when it’s safe for Emma to return. But don’t worry about the details, my love,” Nioclas cut in. He winked, letting her know that he’d been listening to their conversation while holding his own with his brother.

She smiled softly at him, and Reilly groaned. “Have you not worked all that lovey-dovey nonsense out yet? You’ve been married nigh on eight years!”

She shrugged happily. “It hasn’t seemed to fade yet.”

“Do you expect Donovan for this event?” Reilly asked, amusement in his voice.

“No, but I think it won’t hurt to send for him,” Nioclas said thoughtfully. “He’d appreciate seeing Aidan in the flesh.”

“No, you can’t!” Bri exclaimed, dropping Reilly’s arm and stepping forward. “Erin’s in her final month of her pregnancy. You know how fast the last child came and you know he’ll drop everything to come here at your request. What’s worse is she’ll support that! Don’t put them in that position, Nioclas.” She turned to Reilly. “Erin is my dearest friend. She’s helped me through so much over these last few years—she’s like a sister to me. I don’t want her, or her family, in any danger. She’s near the end of her third pregnancy, and I cannot ask that of her. Let’s not send word.”

“Easy, love,” Nioclas remarked, pulling her onto his lap and nuzzling her neck with his nose. “There’s no need to concern yourself.”

Aidan whistled low. “How the mighty have fallen, Nick.”

Nioclas didn’t even glance up. “I’ve a feeling you’re headed down the same path, brother. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve much to do in preparation for this week. I’ll have one of the guards show you to your chambers, and I’ll send for you this afternoon.”

Brianagh’s shy smile and Nioclas’s heated glance made both Reilly and Aidan stand quickly.

“I’m to the lists for some light exercise. Join me?” Reilly said.

Aidan nodded. “Aye. Lists. Solid plan.”

They heard the bolt slide home a scant second after they closed the solar door, and Aidan let out a laugh. Reilly rolled his eyes in disgust.

Aidan felt lighter than he had in years.

“So what you’re saying is that most clans don’t allow for an heir succession?” Emma asked.

She and Brianagh strolled the grounds, a bevy of guards behind them, as Bri explained some of what made the MacWilliams different from many other clans in Ireland. The day was almost warm, and people had been arriving for the upcoming tournament, which, Brianagh divulged, would have a grand dinner and dance to start the two-day matchmaking festivities.

Emma’s inner historian was cartwheeling around the bailey.

“Not all of them,” Brianagh replied. She sidestepped a mud puddle and steered Emma toward one of the inner bailey walls, where the wall opened into another area. “This is where the tournament magic will happen.”

“Does anyone ever die at these events?” Emma asked nervously. Through the gate in the wall separating the lists from the courtyard, she spied men hoisting a long beam onto supports in the middle of the training lists. Further down, men were using large metal spikes to outline circles in the dirt.

“Not often,” Bri replied, giving her a pat on the arm. “The lists are being set up for jousting, swordplay, and close combat.”

“You have it on the castle grounds?” Emma asked.

“Yes. It’s safest, and Nioclas hates having his land trampled by overeager participants,” she replied.

“I could see that,” Emma laughed.

“Don’t let his grumbly ways fool you. He’s really quite soft on the inside.”

“Perhaps he only allows you to see it,” Aidan said, stepping from the shadows and grinning when Brianagh jumped.

“You are a menace!” she exclaimed, placing a hand on her heart. “You scared me half to death!”

He gave her a bow. “My lady. Lady Emma.”

“What are you doing here?” Brianagh demanded.

“Listening to you lay my very serious brother bare,” Aidan replied, his eyes sparkling.

“Don’t you dare tell him,” Brianagh warned.

“Oh, the price of my silence is high,” Aidan replied in mock seriousness. “Perhaps too high.”

“Name it,” Brianagh challenged him.

“Surely, you can’t be so afraid of your husband that you’d be willing to pay someone for silence,” Emma protested.

Brianagh shrugged. “I’m not worried about Nioclas. I don’t trust what his brother will say, as they have always loved to torment each other.”

“My price is the company of your escort,” Aidan pressed on.

“Oh, you’re good,” Brianagh laughed. “I was just giving her the grand tour.”

“Then I’m as good as any to take over,” Aidan replied with a cheeky grin. He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “I did, after all, spend the majority of my youth inside—and outside—these walls.”

Brianagh relinquished Emma’s arm. “I believe she’s safe enough with you.”

“In public,” Aidan murmured so only Emma could hear. She flushed.

“Is four an acceptable number of guards?” Bri asked.

“Yes, within the inner walls,” he replied.

“Perfect timing,” Brianagh said as a new group of people entered the courtyard. “There are some more of the Monaghans. I’ll greet them.”

“Would you care to see the inside of the lists?” Aidan asked, winding Emma’s hand around his bicep.

Her face lit up. “Yes!”

He grinned in response. “I thought so.”

He brought her to where the jousting would take place, and explained in great detail what the men were doing, and how the event would progress. He gave her insight into how the spears were checked for bluntness, chain mail worn, and swords sharpened.

“I saw you sharpening your sword. Back at Reilly’s,” she admitted. “I wondered at the time why you were restoring it yourself, in the moonlight.”

Aidan smiled. “It’s something I’ve always done. Taking care of your weapon is something that’s taught from an early age here. Swords aren’t cheap. The steel, if it’s of good quality, will save your life in a battle. And if it’s sharpened correctly, those who attempt to take your life don’t get another chance at it.” He paused. “That brutality—the
reality—
is part of everyday life here. I took to sharpening my sword in the moonlight because it soothes me. I feel closer to nature, to the earth’s cycles and her rhythms.”

Emma watched him closely. “Just when I think I’ve figured you out, you surprise me.”

He led her out of the lists, back to the inner bailey. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“What else are you good at?” she asked. He gave her a searing look, and she sucked in a breath. “Aidan!”

“What?” he asked, all innocence.

“Can you show me the moat?” she asked, changing the subject.

He pulled a face. “By the saints, why would you ever want to smell such a thing?”

“Because it’s a
real moat
!
” she replied with glee. “It might be my only chance to ever see one!”

He grudgingly pulled her through the inner bailey, under the portcullis (which she stared at for well over a minute) and through to the outer bailey. He helped her climb the battlements and she glanced over, her eyes going wide.

“This is stunning,” she said, awed.

“It’s wastewater,” Aidan said, disgusted.

“Not that!” she replied. “
That.
” She pointed out to the village and sea beyond.

They stood for a moment, captivated by the view. Before her impromptu trip to Ireland, Emma had never seen such natural beauty before; the closest she ever got to nature was Westchester County.

A cold wind blew her hair around her, and she shivered. Aidan moved to stand behind her, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

Before she could voice a complaint, he leaned down, and in a low voice said, “On a full moon, if you were to stand on the battlement and send a wish over its reflection on the sea, legend has it that your wish is carried on the waves until such a time when it can be granted.”

Emma let the timbre of his voice rumble through her.

“Others believe that if you cast your wish to the ocean, it holds it safe until your soul mate can retrieve it.”

“Have you ever sent a wish out into the sea?” she asked. She felt him nod. “Was it ever granted?”

He tightened his grasp on her as another wind swept across the battlements. “I believe it was.”

She twisted in his arms and searched the depths of his eyes, which mirrored the darker green patches in the castle fields.

“You’re a complex man,” she finally said.

When his lips touched hers, another wind whipped up, and she bridged the distance between their bodies. He slid his tongue into her mouth, tangled it with hers, and she felt herself fall into it. Her heart sped up while everything around her slowed, and he wrapped her in his cloak, creating a cocoon for just the two of them.

Eventually, he pulled back from the kiss, but Emma refused to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see the emotion swirling in his, but more importantly, she didn’t want to reveal the emotions in hers.

“Coward,” he whispered, a smile in his voice.

“All finished, my lady.” Camille, one of the chambermaids who spoke a peasant’s form of English, smoothed the silvery gauze over the dress and stepped back to admire her work. “You look lovely. Such golden hair!”

Emma self-consciously patted the elegant pile atop her head. “Are you sure it’s acceptable to leave it out like this?”

Camille gathered up various things around the chamber. “Aye. Lady Bri dislikes wimples, so Laird MacWilliam’s given the womenfolk the option to wear them or not, as is our personal preference. Truly, we are blessed to be part of such a happy clan.”

Emma chewed her thumbnail and glanced out the small window again. “All the women out in the courtyard are wearing them,” she pointed out nervously.

“Those be the older ones, my lady. If you prefer, I can find you one. It shouldn’t take but a moment.” She pulled open the door to find Bri, poised to knock. “Oh, Lady MacWilliam! I was just going to find a wimple for Lady Perkins. Excuse me.” She bobbed a quick curtsy, but Brianagh stayed her with a hand on her arm,.

“It’s quite common to wear a wimple only if you wish to,” Bri said, echoing Camille’s statement. “We’re not alone in this practice. It happens more often than you think…or may have read about.”

Emma took the hint, still uncertain. “Well, if you think it best.”

“’Tis such a shame to cover such lovely hair,” Camille said circling back around Emma, her cornflower-blue eyes shining. “Truly, I’ve never seen the like of it, all different shades of honey!”

“That will be all, Camille,” Bri said gently, and the chambermaid dipped another curtsy before taking her leave.

“Highlights?” Bri noted.

“Yes. And perhaps not the waste of money I originally thought them to be,” Emma said. “Camille seems to like them, anyway.”

“I think you’ll make quite an impression tonight,” Bri predicted. “You look lovely.” Emma’s blue dress was made of a light wool. Much like her original dress, its empire waist was trimmed with a thin silver thread, twisted into a rope that circled her rib cage. This dress, however, wasn’t lined; Brianagh had specifically had it made without the extra warmth. Emma would need a cooler fabric, with all the dancing she would be doing after dinner. “I am lucky to have such talented seamstresses here in the castle.”

“I’m very grateful,” Emma replied, “but, um, I can’t find my shoes. I haven’t been able to find them since I arrived.”

“Oh, right. I have them locked in my trunk. The laces and metal could be construed as fairy-craft,” Bri said with a wave. “Don’t worry. They’re safe until you need them again. The slippers, if they don’t fit, can be resized.”

Confused, Emma asked, “Fairy-craft?”

“Mmhmm. We’re a very supernatural people. When strange things happen, we attribute them to the fairies more than witchcraft or other nonsense. Now come, come. I can’t wait to see what you think of the goings-on downstairs. Tonight’s a big night—it’s the start of the matching!”

“The beginning stage of the matchmaking process?” Emma asked, hurrying to follow Bri.

“Yes, the formal part, anyway. In this case, Monaghan’s son, Shane, selected seven ladies from their answers to my questionnaire. I’ve invited those seven ladies, with their families, as well as a few other choices I’d like him to consider. We have dinner and dancing, and tomorrow, after the tournament, Shane makes his decision. The next day, the lairds—or sires—make up the betrothal agreement, and the wedding takes place soon after.”

“Wow. How long is the process from start to finish?” Emma asked, intrigued.

“Five days or less. Life is sometimes short here. People don’t hem and haw like they do in our time. They make their decision and stick by it, no matter what.”

“What happens if the chosen woman doesn’t want to marry Shane?”

“At that point, it’s out of my hands. It’s up to the woman’s father or laird, Monaghan, and Nioclas to come to an amiable solution.” Brianagh sighed. “It’s only happened a handful of times, when the woman is here against her will. I know history makes us out be property, but we have a lot more power than the books ever gave us. The law states that we are such, but few enforce it. The Irish are a kind people, who love their children and want the best for them. Male
or
female.”

“What about what’s best for the clan?” Emma was fascinated. She suspected this, but hearing it—seeing it!—firsthand made her almost dizzy with glee.

Bri stopped at the top of the winding stairs. “A laird’s daughter holds much the same value as any other daughter in his clan,” she explained. “Very few men want a child-bride, so to ally themselves, they’ll marry someone else within the other clan.”

“What about handfasting?” Emma asked. The process of declaring to marry at a future date seemed like a good way to sidestep the issue.

Brianagh shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no. It’s done, but not with any clans we know. That opens doors to all sorts of complications.”