Chapter 1
One day had arrived. Merraid’s champion, Sir Gellir Cameliard of Rivenloch, was at long last returning to Darragh.
Fifteen-year-old Merraid would have been elated.
Nineteen-year-old Merraid was not.
She was mightily peeved.
The knave couldn’t have chosen a worse time.
Even the measured movements of the taijiquan—the morning ritual of martial arts Lady Feiyan had taught her, the ritual Merraid currently performed atop the western wall walk—couldn’t calm her ire.
She bent her knees and slowly circled her arms with as much grace as she could muster. But her mind roiled with exasperation. With an angry puff that made fog in the chill air, she blew back the tendril of fiery hair that kept dripping down over her brow.
Why now? Why, after four years of avoiding Castle Darragh, had Gellir chosen to return at this particular moment?
Four years ago, Merraid would have given Gellir everything. Her heart. Her body. Her soul. But that had been once upon a time. When she was a young and foolish lass.
How she’d raced to the courtyard on the day Gellir left to find the gift he’d given her. She’d discovered Lady Feiyan waiting for her, empty-handed. Gellir’s gift, the lady said, was protection in his absence. The lady intended to train Merraid in combat.
At first, she’d been confused. Protection? Did Gellir think she was a child? Completely helpless? Or was it something else?
In the end, she convinced herself it was a sign of his devotion to her. He’d come from a clan full of warrior lasses, after all. For Gellir, such a gift was surely the greatest expression of love a Rivenloch man could bestow.
He must be readying her to join his clan. Making certain she was worthy of the Rivenloch name. Once she was brought up in the ways of a warrior lass, he’d return to claim her as his own.
Her heart full of promise, she’d thrown herself into training.
Mirroring Lady Feiyan’s movements. Following her intellectual pursuits.
Learning to read and write and do sums. Molding herself into the kind of woman Gellir could respect and admire.
A woman like his cousin Feiyan. Fierce. Brave. Educated. Independent.
When he came back, she meant to impress him with her accomplishments.
But he never came back.
In that first year, she’d been so sure she’d see him before Yuletide. After all, over the magical summer they’d spent together, every time a lusty lad looked at her sideways, Gellir had charged to her rescue. Surely he’d return to be sure his ladylove was safe.
When he didn’t appear, Merraid decided it was due to his turning eighteen and preparing to be officially knighted. No doubt he was preoccupied with earning his spurs.
In the year following, when he still didn’t return, she figured it was because he was fighting. Defending the border, which Lady Feiyan grumbled was ever shifting at the whim of King Malcolm.
In the third year, it was clear he’d become singularly focused on his reputation. Obsessed with winning a name for himself on the tournament field.
At that, he’d succeeded. Sir Gellir Cameliard of Rivenloch’s prowess in the lists had become the stuff of legends.
Merraid had heard the tales. Everyone had. News of his latest exploits reached the castle every fortnight, it seemed. The magnificent son of Rivenloch was undefeated. In every tournament in the past year, he’d emerged as champion.
There were some saying Grim Gellir was the greatest warrior who’d ever lived.
There were rumors the king might reward him with his own Border holding. Land. A castle. A wife.
It was those rumors that awakened Merraid to the harsh truth. And it felt like a hard slap across the face. After years of pining, Merraid realized Gellir wasn’t coming back for her. He’d never meant to. He probably didn’t even remember her.
A common maidservant like Merraid had no possible future with the son of a laird. A tournament champion. A noble warrior. She’d been daft to ever believe that.
She wasn’t daft now. She’d come to her senses. Listened to reason instead of her heart. And to her surprise, the surrender to the truth had come as a relief. It seemed the chains binding her heart had been broken.
So now that she saw the future more clearly…now that she was beginning to find her own path forward…now that she’d scrubbed his image from her mind as thoroughly as she scoured soot from the hearth…
Now he was returning to Darragh.
She sighed, staring across the silver-blue firth with its white-tipped waves. A pair of gulls circled in the sky.
His timing was deplorable.
Merraid had practiced her combat skills all winter. She meant to compete for the first time in Darragh’s spring tournament. In secret, of course. A maidservant couldn’t legitimately enter a tournament.
She’d come up with an elaborate plan. She’d disguise herself as a youth. Persuade a scribe to forge papers of nobility. If she proved herself in the lists, perhaps Lady Feiyan would let her join the fighting force of Darragh.
But now there would be no spring tournament. And it was all Gellir’s fault. Lady Feiyan had delayed the competition. Instead, she’d arranged a clan feast in honor of her illustrious cousin. A celebration for the hero returning home from battle.
Merraid tried to quiet the frustration simmering inside her. She brought her hands together, palm to palm. She gazed out at the sea. Drew in a deep breath of crisp, cleansing air. Finished the taijiquan.
In a way, she owed Gellir her thanks, even if he’d all but abandoned her. She would never have learned warfare at all were it not for his gift of training. She certainly wouldn’t have acquired the abilities to enter a tournament.
That training had proved useful in strengthening her body. Giving her confidence. Balancing her temper—most of the time. Best of all, Feiyan’s martial arts made her able to defend herself.
In the past year, she’d had to do more of that. Some men assumed that, as a woman grown and a lowly servant, Merraid was theirs for the taking.
They rarely made that mistake twice.
Now she had an arsenal of skills with which to guard her virtue. Skills that would have made her a shining star in the tournament.
She sighed. Turning away from the firth, she pulled her tucked skirts out of her belt. She shivered them back into place. Then she hurried down the stairs.
With Gellir’s retinue arriving, it would be a busy day.
She was eager to get an early start. She was also impatient to catch a glimpse of Gellir.
Despite her irritation with him, she couldn’t help but wonder…
Had his youthful good looks matured into manly proportions?
Had he grown taller? Larger? Did battle scars riddle his handsome face?
Was his countenance as grim as they claimed?
Much could change in four years. She smiled as she thought about the awkward, starry-eyed innocent lass he’d waved to as he’d ridden off to Rivenloch. There was little left of that Merraid. She wondered what he’d think of her now.
Stiff from the long journey, Gellir and his men were glad to finally arrive at Darragh. They dismounted and handed their horses off to a pair of stable lads.
Young Campbell, now sporting a downy beard, approached to greet Gellir. He had apparently been promoted to Master of the Stable. “Good to see ye again, sir!”
“Campbell.” Gellir nodded. “How’s Urramach?”
Long ago, Laird Dougal had been forced to abandon the noble black steed. It was Gellir who had purchased Urramach and returned the animal as a wedding gift.
“Still runnin’ like the wind,” Campbell said with a grin.
Gellir nodded. Laird Dougal said Urramach was too skittish for battle. But he was a demon for speed.
“Cousin!” Feiyan hurried forward to meet him. Fresh-faced and heavy with her second child, she looped her arm through his to guide him across the yard. Marriage and motherhood had imparted a wise glimmer to her gray eyes. “’Tis been far too long.”
“Where’s my nephew?” He had yet to meet Feiyan’s three-year-old son.
“Och, staying with the Ferguson clan for the spring. He’s found a fast friend in the laird’s firstborn. But what news from Rivenloch?”
He shrugged and furrowed his brows. “Seven new babes in the clan since winter. A minor skirmish with Firthgate. Looks to be a good year for salmon.” He wasn’t quite ready to discuss the dilemma that called him to his cousin’s castle. “What about you?”
“Staying busy,” she said with a chuckle. She absently rubbed one hand over her swollen belly as she gestured to the workers around them.
The courtyard buzzed with activity, proof of her efficiency as the lady of the keep.
Maidservants scurried past with baskets full of fragrant bannocks.
Sweaty blacksmiths melted ore on a great forge.
Laundresses transported bundles of fresh-washed linens.
Woodworkers shaving trees into planks stood ankle-deep in curls of oak.
“You know,” Feiyan confided, jostling him with her elbow, “they’re calling you the finest knight in the world.”
Gellir grunted in reply. In truth, he was growing bored of battles that granted him gold and glory, but little else. Even the craftsmen around him seemed to have more purpose than he did. Still, he’d rather deal with the drudgery of the tournament circuit than the herculean task he now faced.
She pinched his arm in irritation and murmured, “I was looking forward to seeing you do battle. Why did Laird Deirdre bid me delay the tournament? Was she afraid one of my trusty knights would best you?”
They both knew that was unlikely. Feiyan’s men were stouthearted. But they were hardly equal to a Rivenloch warrior. He gave her a derisive snort.
She gave his arm a punishing punch for that snort. “Oaf.” Then she arched a brow. “Come now. Confess. What’s going on? Why have you come?”
“Since when do I need an excuse to visit my dear cousin?”
She narrowed sly eyes. “Since you’re missing several lucrative spring tournaments to be here.”
He sighed. She was right.