The Winter Laird Read online

  “Found my soul mate?” a hopeful voice asked.

  Brianagh flipped on the light and threw one of the shoes at her cousin. “Oh, shut up, Colin. Why are you on my couch again?”

  “Argh!” he cried out, dramatically flinging his arm across his eyes. He tossed the blanket aside and rose from the couch. “I locked myself out of my apartment,” he explained, running his hand through his dark-blond hair with a shrug.

  “Really. And you just happened to have unlocked yourself out of mine?”

  “Yep.” He stretched languorously, his T-shirt pulling tight over his large chest and flat stomach. Rolling his shoulders, he grinned at her. “I prefer to sleep on a couch rather than the floor.”

  She rolled her eyes as she deposited her purse on the table. “I pay you a ridiculously large salary. Maybe you should invest in some furniture instead of a weekly female conquest. And why not crash at your mother’s house?” she demanded.

  Colin gave her a mock-pout, which did nothing to detract from his all-American good looks. He swept her shoe off the floor and assessed her with knowing, chocolate-brown eyes.

  “Her couch isn’t as comfy as yours. You seem grumpy, which is weird given that our dear Kristen Bouchement is now quite definitively Kristen Millings. Which, I might add, you would have witnessed, if you ever sat all the way through a wedding instead of skipping out before the vows.” He dangled her shoe from his finger and tapped his chin mock-thoughtfully. “Let me guess…bad night with the millionaire?” He dangled her shoe from his finger.

  She just barely managed to not roll her eyes. “I’m going to bed.”

  “I was in bed before you tromped through the front door,” Colin replied. He plopped back on the couch, her shoe falling to the floor, and reached for the remote.

  Brianagh snorted with disgust. “Technically, you were in couch. Wait. Were your shoes on my couch?” she exclaimed, noting the mud-splattered boots on his feet as he propped them onto her coffee table. “Colin! Get your shoes off my table! Those boots are filthy!”

  “Filthy or not, I love my Docs.” Colin smiled fondly at the well-worn boots, but he began to unlace them. “They can do more damage than those strappy things you’re wearing.”

  “Shut up, Colin.”

  “Nice ring. You know, smart as you are, you are damn stupid when it comes to guys,” he replied. He kicked off his boots and tossed her shoe back to her.

  She whacked him with her other shoe as she walked by, aggravated that she loved him enough not to shove him onto the street. She hated when he was right—both about the ring and the strappy shoes.

  “You’re not really serious about marrying that guy, are you?” His pitying laughter followed her into her bedroom, where she fell onto her bed and looked out the window. She twisted the ring on her finger. It felt heavy, foreign, and oddly constricting.

  Soul mate. Ha.

  She could love Matthew. She was sure of it. Love—well, love based in reality, she amended as she studiously avoided looking at her crammed bookshelf—was comfortable, and easy. That’s what she had with Matthew. She could talk to him about almost anything. Not many men would understand her driven nature—she was pretty ruthless when she had to be. Maybe that’s why she was initially drawn to Matthew. He was the first man, other than her smart-mouthed cousins, to respect her without making her work so hard to prove she was just as savvy, if not savvier, than he. He simply accepted that they were equals, and that was…nice.

  But shouldn’t there be more than nice? That crazy desire—the need to touch, to feel, to be with that person every waking moment? A part of her longed for that connection, but she knew it wasn’t rational. She’d never felt that connection with anyone, so she sympathized for the tiny part of her that still believed in the happily-ever-after. Late at night, she would think about the kind of epic love she read about, when, even at eighty years old, a woman would still be pulled into darkened corners and kissed as though she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  So what if she didn’t have that? She couldn’t have everything. She had everything else—a thriving, successful business, a wonderful family, and now, Boston’s most eligible bachelor as a fiancé. Pining over the idea of love was childish and naïve.

  Soul mates didn’t exist. Passion was fleeting, and her marriage would be built on something much more robust than that. Things like…

  She paused.

  Well, she would think of something. Even if his casual dismissal of her tonight made her feel more like a business acquisition than an engagement, he did still ask her to marry him. He must feel something more than friendship toward her if he was willing to pop the question. She was pleasantly surprised he did it in person, too, instead of via text.

  That should’ve given her pause. The fact that it didn’t concerned her, but her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts.

  I miss your smile already. Dream of me.

  She tossed the phone on her nightstand and nodded purposefully. Passion didn’t exist. Nice existed. Passion was great for her dreams; it was even something that made for good reading, but really—who would want that every day? It was probably exhausting.

  She was almost sure of it.

  • • •

  The woman sat on a small wooden stool near a blazing fire set in a large hearth. She hummed tunelessly as she dug around a basket, pulling out one pouch at a time and tossing the contents into the flames, creating a quick burst of red with each addition.

  “Come.”

  Brianagh crossed the cold flooring and sat next to her, waiting.

  The woman looked down at her and smiled. “A gift.” She took Brianagh’s hand and placed a dusting of pale-yellow powder in it. “Go on,” she whispered, her eyes reflecting the light.

  Brianagh tossed the handful of powder into the fire and jumped when the flames caught it. They danced wildly, and the bright-orange burst made her eyes burn and water. She blinked quickly, not sure what she was about to see but desperate not to miss it.

  She saw an outline begin to take shape—she recognized him immediately. He wasn’t as he had always been in her dreams, though; usually, he was smiling, or laughing, or there was a heat in his captivating eyes. Now his head was bowed. His hand rested lightly on his enormous sword, which held but a single sapphire in its hilt. He’d shown it proudly to Brianagh the day his clan leaders had presented it to him. He looked older than he’d ever appeared to her before, and she could feel the tension radiating from him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked the woman, her eyes never leaving the vision. “Why is he standing like that? What’s happening?” Everything felt so wrong. His mouth was moving, as if he was talking, but Brianagh couldn’t hear him or make out what his lips were saying.

  “You didn’t come,” the woman replied. “It may be too late. It may all be for naught.”

  “What’s for naught? Go where?” Brianagh watched, realizing something was very wrong. He was stoic. Serious. The last time she had dreamed of him, he had loved her sweetly. He’d been relaxed, happy.

  She watched as he nodded once, and it was done…but she wasn’t sure what it was. “What’s happening?” she asked again, her voice rising in desperation. She had never seen this side of him.

  “You didn’t come for him,” the woman replied, watching the scene unfold. “So now, he agrees to marry another.”

  Brianagh was beyond confused. He was just a dream—her dream. But she was losing him to another? How is it possible to lose a dream?

  “No,” Brianagh said suddenly, leaning forward. “No, he is mine. My dream. Mine.” She sounded like a three-year-old on the verge of a tantrum, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t lose him. He was the only one she loved.

  “You didn’t come. So he never claimed you…and now, it may all be for naught.” The woman shook her head sadly. “You will unite with one other than your predestined mate…and he will do the same. The hawk shall fly no more.”

  Years of dreaming, just to watch
her love in a silent discussion that made her heart ache for reasons she didn’t understand. He nodded, in deep discussion…then a woman appeared. He grasped her hand and placed…

  Was that a ring? And then she saw the flash of a sword, swinging in an arc from behind him…

  “No!” Brianagh screamed into the fire. “No, no! Behind—”

  Brianagh bolted upright in bed, her heart pounding and her breathing ragged. Her face was hot, but she was freezing everywhere else.

  Without bothering to check the time, she grabbed her phone and hit speed dial. “I had a dream.”

  The Irish brogue was thicker than normal. “Jesus, Bri, it’s two in the morning. You gave me a heart attack.” Reilly O’Malley, her closest cousin and dearest friend, yawned loudly.

  “I agreed to marry Matthew.”

  “You dreamed you agreed to marry that bastard? That would frighten me, too.”

  “No, no. I mean, I actually did agree. The dream was something else entirely,” she explained, exasperated. Reilly loathed Matthew; he believed him to be a pompous ass with little to recommend him. Matthew thought Reilly was a backwoods hick from Ireland who was too overprotective of his cousin. It was a mess, and Bri hated being in the middle of it.

  Reilly swore, sounding much more awake all of a sudden.

  “Save it,” she cut him off before he could start in on Matthew’s faults. “I have to get away for a while.”

  To anyone else, she knew she would sound like a raving lunatic. But Ry knew her better than she knew herself. He was used to her need for constant movement; he had, after all, appointed himself her guardian when she was too little to remember, and had been her travel companion each time she hopped on a plane.

  His sigh almost blew her off the phone. “Let me guess. Ireland?”

  The one place Matthew was sure not to follow her. He disliked everything about the country—mostly because Reilly hailed from it.

  She laughed in relief. “I knew you’d be up for this, Ry. I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “And I’ll play bodyguard,” he replied dryly. “You know I have to break a date for this?”

  “You know, if you went through Celtic Connections, I’d feel worse about it,” she teased, then added seriously, “Think we can we leave tomorrow?”

  “Your wish is my command,” he muttered good-naturedly. “I was actually planning to go there next week. I don’t mind pushing up my plans; I miss home.”

  “Me, too. Thanks, Ry.”

  “What are cousins for?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, a smile in her voice.

  “I’ll meet you at Evelyn’s in the morning,” he said, then let out a big yawn. Her heartbeat slowed and the tightness in her chest eased fractionally. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t really know,” she admitted.

  A long pause followed, and Reilly finally replied, “Don’t worry, Bri. I’m with you.”

  She smiled, relieved. She knew he would be.

  Chapter 2

  “James!”

  Evelyn Sullivan shot her eldest son a look only a mother could, and he reluctantly let go of his brother’s neck. She turned her attention to her younger son. “Colin, where’s your cousin?”

  “She’ll be here in a second. She was on the phone. She’s traveling again.” He rubbed his hands together as he sat down at the breakfast table. “I love Sundays, I love pancakes, and I love eggs!”

  “Wash your hands,” she chided just as Brianagh joined them.

  “How old does one have to be in order to remember to wash up before a meal?” Brianagh wondered aloud, grabbing a plate.

  James smirked. “Well, seeing as Colin is twenty-six—”

  “And you are almost thirty. I didn’t see you at the kitchen sink, young man,” Evelyn cut in, taking the serving spoon out of his hand. “Honestly, boys. I thought I raised you better than this.”

  “You know, if you keep feeding them, they’ll keep coming back,” her uncle Connor boomed as he entered the kitchen. He caught a glance of the large mound of pancakes on Colin’s plate. “I thought we weren’t supposed to feed the animals at the zoo, anyway.”

  Brianagh laughed. Sunday mornings were the same almost every week—no matter what their schedules were, it was ritual to show up around ten, eat pancakes and eggs, and tease each other until either James or Colin tackled the other to the floor. She loved it.

  “Reilly’s coming, too,” she said, placing her phone on the table. “We’re heading to his cottage tonight.”

  “You’re going to Ireland?” Evelyn exclaimed, almost dropping her coffee. “Whatever for?”

  “She’s running,” Colin cut in, pouring syrup all over his food. “I think she should invest in a good pair of Docs, personally. Those heels she’s wearing won’t last much past a mile before she breaks one of her ankles.” He shoved pancakes into his mouth, then mumbled around them, “Go on, Bri. Tell her why you’re running this time.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “Jerk? What are we, in high school?” Colin swallowed, then turned to his mother. “Matthew popped the question, and Bri can’t handle it so she’s convinced Ry to go with her to Ireland. She’s itchy. Don’t even try to deny it,” he added as Brianagh opened her mouth to protest. “You’re tapping your foot.”

  “Marriage?” Evelyn asked, shock evident in her voice. “But you’ve only been dating, what? Three months?”

  “Six,” she replied, holding out her hand.

  “You said yes?” Connor asked. “He didn’t ask for my blessing…but, I suppose times have changed.”

  Brianagh sighed. “Uncle, I’m sure he meant no insult. And while I did say yes, I’m still thinking on it. There’s a lot to consider.”

  Evelyn was gazing at the large diamond, biting her lip. “This is a very, er, large ring, honey. I thought your style was a bit more understated.”

  She snatched her hand back. “I like it. Can you please pass the orange juice?”

  “Morning.” Reilly strode in, filling the kitchen with his presence. He grinned at Bri. “Hello, cousin. I hope you’re ready for why you can’t marry that prig. I made a list. We’ll go over it on the plane.”

  “I made one, too,” Colin added unhelpfully.

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll come up with one as well,” James piped in.

  Brianagh groaned and dropped her head in her hands. Sometimes her family was overwhelming.

  • • •

  “You’d best tell me everything.”

  Brianagh zipped her suitcase and rolled her eyes as Reilly dropped onto her bed, his large frame dwarfing its size. She gingerly moved his booted feet off her comforter. “It’s simple. Matthew proposed and I said yes. I need some time to process it, and Ireland is a good place to process things.”

  Reilly shook his head. He folded his arms over his chest and stared silently at her, waiting for her to explain further.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t pull that strong-but-silent thing with me,” she said. “You know that when you cross your arms like that, all your muscles bunch up. It’s revolting.”

  Reilly grinned. “The lasses don’t agree with you there.” He flexed and wagged his eyebrows at her.

  “Ew, Ry.” She hauled the suitcase off the end of the bed and the zipper split. She gave it a glare and kicked it for good measure.

  “Everything, Brianagh.”

  She huffed out a groan. “Fine. The truth is I need to think this out logically. You know, weigh the pros and cons.”

  “I’ve never heard a lass so recently engaged looking to make a list of pros and cons.” Reilly raised an eyebrow. “Do you really have such deep affection for him, that you’re willing to tie yourself to him for life?”

  Bri frowned. Life sounded so…long, when put that way.

  “Whatever happened to romance? Finding someone who makes your pulse race?”

  She snorted. “Reilly, come on. I’m twenty-nine. I’ve had exactly two relations
hips. The first one—”

  “He wasn’t a man, Brianagh. The boy wet himself when James, Colin and I had a little chat with him. You need a real man.”

  She threw him a slitty-eyed look. “You bullied him. I don’t care that he, um…wait. He really wet himself?”

  Reilly nodded gravely.

  “Oh. Well.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, the fact is, I have so much in my life already. I can’t expect to have everything handed to me on a silver platter. My lot in life is business. I’m probably not even cut out for all that pulse-racing nonsense.”

  “What if you were fated for something different?”

  Brianagh cocked her head. “If fate had anything to do with marriage, I wouldn’t have a business.”

  “Sounds like excuses to me,” Reilly replied dubiously.

  The doorbell rang, interrupting them. Reilly held a hand out. “Sit. I’ll answer it.”

  After years of arguing with him, Bri decided to fight the battle with her suitcase instead. Reilly had been in her life since before she could remember—and he hadn’t any parents either. Perhaps that was why their bond was so strong; they were more brother and sister than cousins. He had been to every school play, dried her tears, and applauded her accomplishments. She adored him…but he could get incredibly annoying, incredibly fast. He was a throwback to another time—she never could place her finger on it, but whenever she said something to him, Reilly would grin at her and proclaim that as long as he lived, chivalry wasn’t dead.

  The smile on her face only grew as he walked back into her room with her aunt at his side.

  “What are you doing here?” Bri asked, hugging Evelyn tightly.

  Evelyn smiled. “It’s pouring outside, and I thought you two may not want to walk to the subway with all your bags.”

  “I had planned to call us a cab,” she replied, “but I’ll take a ride, since you came into the city for us!”

  Evelyn shook her head, amused. “Well, I also have this to give you. It’s something that’s been handed down on my side—our side—of the family when a woman is engaged.” Evelyn smiled, a bit sadly, as she handed Brianagh a box. “It’s very old,” she warned. “Something we O’Rourkes have always worn on our wedding day.”