Chapter 3
Gellir expected Will at the door. The burly servant had already made a dozen trips to the solar to bring up buckets of water.
But when he heard Merraid’s voice, he turned.
She stopped in her tracks. Her eyes went as round as her mouth.
The stack of linens teetered, shifting in her arms. Despite her best juggling efforts, they tumbled to the floor.
The sound of shattering glass made him grimace.
A pungent floral scent permeated the air.
She took a step forward.
“Stay back!” He thrust his hand out in warning.
She recoiled, her eyes widening. “Ye stay back!” she replied in a squeak.
“You don’t want to cut yourself on broken glass,” he explained.
But it wasn’t the glass that alarmed her. It was his state of undress. Her mortified gaze flew wildly around the solar, like a trapped bird wondering where to land.
“My apologies for my appearance.” He quirked up the corner of his mouth. Four years ago, he’d been reduced to his undergarments in front of this very same lass. “But then I suppose ’tis naught you haven’t seen before.”
Her brow clouded with misunderstanding. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She planted her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Do ye think just because I’m a maidservant, I must be accustomed to consortin’ with half-naked men?”
“Consort-…” He blinked, astonished. That wasn’t what he thought at all. Besides, he doubted Merraid suffered much unwanted male attention, considering that wicked knee-to-the-groin defense of hers. “Nay, I only meant—”
“Because I assure ye I’m not.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m as pure as the day I was born, and—”
“I’m not saying you—”
“Anyone who claims otherwise—”
“Hold on, lass.”
“Is a lyin’ snake of a—”
“I’m saying no such thing.”
From the passageway outside came a voice. “Is everythin’ all right, sir?” It was Will. “I thought I heard somethin’ break.”
Merraid’s eyes grew wide.
Gellir cleared his throat. “’Tis fine, Will,” he called out. “I’ve got it.”
Swiftly—before Will could intrude and start rumors that might compromise her reputation—Gellir swept past Merraid and slammed the door closed.
He should have guessed the maidservant would not take his assertive actions lightly. Mistaking his intentions and believing he meant to trap her in the solar with him, she took a deep breath, preparing to bellow for Will.
He couldn’t let her do that.
Throwing caution aside, he lunged forward to clap a hand across her open mouth, holding the back of her head to keep her still and silent.
The minx instantly bit him.
Gasping in recoil, he pulled his tooth-marked hand away and stepped backward. Directly onto a shard of broken glass.
Intense pain shot up through his bare foot. He forgot all about his hand. He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth. Then he hobbled sideways until he could collapse into one of the chairs.
When he lifted his ankle upon his knee, he saw the shard. It protruded about an inch from his heel, like a bloody arrowhead.
The lass gasped when she saw it and grew instantly contrite. “Faith! Let me—”
“Stay back!” he shouted. If she interfered, someone was going to get hurt. He wasn’t sure which of them it would be. But he didn’t want to take chances.
“That looks nasty,” she said.
It did. It also hurt like the devil.
She wrung her hands. “I could—”
“Nay.”
“But if ye don’t—”
Before she could finish, he wrenched the glass out with a growl. Blood began dripping from the wound.
She shook her head. “Like I was sayin’,” she said, picking her way carefully through the broken vials and scattered linens, “if ye don’t bandage it straightaway, ye’ll bleed all o’er Lady Feiyan’s solar.”
He frowned, vexed that the state of Feiyan’s solar took precedence over his wounded flesh.
She retrieved a length of linen, shaking it to be sure it was free of glass. Then she neared, kneeling carefully before him.
He held out a hand for the cloth.
“I’ll do it,” she said, slapping his hand away. “Ye’ll only make a mess of it.”
“Strong words,” he grumbled, “coming from a lass who’s made a mess of the solar floor.” He waved a hand in front of his nose. “Smells like the stews of Edinburgh in here.”
“Really?” She wrapped the linen around his foot. “And how would ye know what the stews o’ Edinburgh smell like?”
“I’ve heard tell.” He smirked, echoing her words. “As for me, I’m as pure as the day I was born.”
She snorted.
That was a lie. It was impossible for a young man to resist the charms of maids who thrust themselves upon him day and night. But he was far less experienced than most believed. It has been long enough that being close to Merraid was causing him to respond in an inappropriate manner.
Once his foot was bandaged, she rose and moved away to salvage the dry linens.
“Woodruff ’tis,” she said, wagging the one unbroken vial before uncorking it and pouring a few drops into the water. Then she popped the cork back in and placed the stack of dry linens beside the tub. “Don’t expect me to bathe ye,” she said. “Ye’re a grown man. Ye can bathe yourself.”
He chuckled. “Are you always so hospitable?”
She shrugged. “I’ve learned to keep my distance.”
He nodded. “You’re afraid you might succumb to temptation?”
“Aye,” she replied. “The temptation to hold your head under the water.”
That made him grin.
She dragged a chair beside the tub, turning it so it faced away, toward the door. Then she sat down and gestured with a wave of her hand for him to continue.
“Go on. Enjoy your bath. Someone has to stay here and make sure the tournament champion doesn’t drown himself.”
He was pleased she intended to stay, despite the disconcerting effect she was having on him. Merraid had been a clear-headed lass and a loyal friend. And in this chess game of marriage he was playing against the king, it was good to have an ally.
Merraid was grateful Gellir couldn’t see her face as she heard him undress and sink into the water with a sigh of pleasure.
Her memory was sharp enough to recall in great detail every inch of Gellir’s magnificent body.
He might possess battle scars that weren’t there before.
But he was at the peak of perfection when it came to his manly form.
She dared not think about it too deeply. She was on a mission now. A mission with a serious purpose. She had to save Gellir from himself.
“How well do ye know Lady Forveleth?” she asked him.
“The young woman I’m to sup with?”
“Aye.”
“I don’t know her at all.”
“Well, I do.”
“And?”
“Ye won’t like her.”
He barked out a laugh. “And how do you know that?”
“Well,” she allowed, unwilling to outright lie to him, “she is bonnie.”
“Mm?”
“And sweet.”
“Aye?”
“And she has a gentle nature.”
“Sounds dreadful,” he said dryly.
“And she’ll likely give ye lots o’ bairns.”
He gave an audible shudder. “God forbid.”
“But she’s goin’ to bore ye silly.”
“Bore me?” He snickered. “Not if we’ll be making lots of bairns.”
“I’m serious. She’s…like a child.”
“Wait.” For the first time, he sounded concerned. “How old is she?”
“A few years older than me,” she confessed.
He gave a relieved sigh.
“But she thinks like a child,” she said. “She has no wit or wisdom.”
“I’m not choosing an advisor. I’m only choosing a wife.”
“Only?” she said. “Just what do ye think a wife is for?”
“Mostly to appease the king and continue the Rivenloch line.”
“That’s it?”
“What more is there?”
That angered her enough to make her whip around in the chair. She was only distracted for an instant by the recognition once again that, aye, his body was knightly perfection. Then she railed at him.
“A wife is more than a pawn or a brood mare. A good wife is a helpmate and a counselor. She must manage the keep while her husband is at war. Raise moral, respectful children. Defend her husband’s honor. And aye, advise him in uncertain times.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I didn’t have to hear it. I see it every day in your own cousin.”
He scowled. “That’s different. Feiyan is…special.”
“Don’t ye want your wife to be special as well?”
She glimpsed momentary doubt in his silvery eyes before they flattened and he looked away.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, running the wet linen over one magnificent arm.
“I’ll be away fighting the king’s battles most of the time anyway.
And I can afford a steward and all the nursemaids a wife requires. ”
His resignation troubled her.
“Ye know, for a fierce warrior, ye’re certainly quick to surrender when it comes to betrothal.”
“I’ve learned to choose my battles.”
She frowned. So he didn’t consider the matter of his bride a worthwhile fight. Bloody hell. If she’d known how detached he’d be about the woman he meant to marry, she wouldn’t have wasted time trying to mold herself into the wife she thought he desired.
She turned away so he wouldn’t see her hurt and frustration.
Damn the Fates! She was special. She would have made him proud.
She would have given him a brood of wee warriors.
And she wouldn’t have required a steward and nursemaids to raise them.
She would have kept him so well entertained, he might have sent someone else to fight the king’s battles.
Still, it was foolish to dwell on what could never be.
She was not destined to be Gellir’s wife.
But she could still be his friend.
Despite his fierce reputation, Gellir was still very much the kindhearted lad she remembered. Generous and giving. Always thinking of others before himself. Always sacrificing his desires for the greater good.
Such magnanimity had served him well. It had earned him the respect of his clan. The loyalty of his fellow warriors. The gushing adoration of lasses. It was his benevolence to her, a mere servant, that had made Merraid fall in love with him.