Chapter 5 #2
She continued the deception anyway. “I was lookin’ for a spot where Robbie and I could have a wee chat.”
“A wee chat?” He arched a brow. “And what exactly was this wee chat about?”
She smirked. “Well, ’twasn’t about a specularium and propagation.”
“I’m serious. What did he want with you?”
She raised her chin. “I told ye ’tisn’t your affair.”
He looked like he might curse. Instead he demanded tightly, “’Tis my affair when it affects…
” He hastily invented, “My cousin. In her condition, shouldn’t you be helping her?
Don’t you have chores to do? What would Feiyan say about you meeting stray men in the garden when you’re supposed to be working? ”
She smugly crossed her arms. “’Twas Feiyan’s idea.”
“What?”
“Ye’re not the only one of an age to wed, sirrah. Feiyan said I should be lookin’ for a match as well.”
“You?” he scoffed. “Why?” Then he lowered his brows. “Are you with child?”
She gasped in outrage. Was he serious? She reared back a hand to slap him across the face for his insolence. He caught her wrist before she could complete the blow.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, repentant. “That was ill-mannered. I only wondered what the hurry was.”
Her skin tingled where his fingers wrapped around her wrist. When she answered, her words came out like a breathy sigh. “I might ask ye the same thing. Brides are rushin’ at ye from all quarters. Like blades in a melee.”
His eyes dulled to the color of lead. He released her arm. But the heat of his touch lingered deliciously on her flesh.
“’Tis…complicated.”
Merraid could tell from the tension in his mouth that he wanted to say more. But he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.
She would have pressed him. But he was already stepping away, disconnecting from her.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’m to ride with Lady Metylda this afternoon.” Then he gave her a sidelong glance. “Is there anything I should know about her?”
She smirked. “Ye mean, does she wish ye to build her a stable so she can study the propagation o’ horses?”
He gave her a frosty look.
“Nay,” she replied. “I know naught about her.”
He nodded and turned to go. Then he paused with his back to her. “Take care, Merraid. Not all men are decent. Find one who will be good to you. Who will treat you with the respect and honor you deserve. Take your time and choose wisely.”
He left without waiting for her response. It was just as well. She would have told him to heed his own advice.
“Shall we be a bit naughty?” Lady Metylda asked. She gave Gellir a saucy wink.
They’d crested the hilltop and were far away from onlookers. Naughty? Did she mean to seduce him here on the grass?
Under different circumstances, he might have considered her offer. She was lovely to look at. Pleasantly plump. Good-natured. And more than willing.
But he wasn’t looking for a hilltop tryst. He was looking for a wife.
Apparently, that was not at all what she had in mind. Before he could answer, she let out a whoop and whipped her horse into a blazing, reckless run down the hillside.
“What the devil?”
That wasn’t naughty. It was careless. On the uneven slope at that speed, one misstep and her horse would go down and break a leg, throwing her onto the ground or crushing her.
And now she’d given Gellir no choice but to chase after her before she got herself killed.
By some miracle, she made it safely to the foot of the hill, where she stopped and waited for him to arrive.
“’Tis heart-poundin’, isn’t it,” she gushed, “ridin’ like the wind?”
Gellir frowned. It was heart-pounding. But not in a good way. “’Tis dangerous.”
“Pah!” she said. “Don’t be so faint o’ heart. What is life without a little danger?”
He bit back a growl. No one called Sir Gellir of Rivenloch faint of heart. But he was no fool. It was one thing to look danger in the face. It was another to invite it into one’s home.
“Come on!” she shouted.
Once again she dug her heels into her horse’s flanks, spurring the animal to an earth-pummeling run across the grass.
“Hold!” he yelled, even as he urged his horse to catch up to her.
He wished he’d taken Urramach. That steed was as fast as lightning. But he’d never imagined his riding companion would be a fool for speed. The old palfrey he’d borrowed from Feiyan was meant to be ridden for pleasure. It was no match for the demon Lady Metylda was astride.
“Wait!” he called out.
She giggled and called back playfully, “Catch me!”
The distance between them was increasing. His horse was already beginning to tire. But what concerned him was the lady didn’t realize was she was headed straight for a bog. Disguised by a lovely green expanse of grass, the ground beneath was perilously soft.
“For the love of God, stop!” he bellowed.
She only laughed.
He urged the poor palfrey to a faster pace until she was wheezing. But still the lady outpaced him. He watched in horror as she flew straight for the marshy ground.
His stern commands did nothing to stop her. Instead, she taunted him by increasing her pace.
His heart collided against his ribs when he saw her horse stagger. And sink. And then he heard her shriek of fear.
“Shite,” he muttered, spurring his already lathered horse forward, despite his better judgment.
“Help!” she cried as the horse sank in mud up to its knees.
Now Gellir had to use caution, lest his own horse meet the same fate.
“Help me!”
“I’m coming,” he told her as he dismounted, several yards from the edge of the bog.
Her horse bucked and bristled. Lady Metylda squealed as the beast sank another foot and the hem of her gown brushed the mud.
He had to work quickly before the horse panicked in earnest. He took a few quick paces toward her before his boots were sucked under. Having no other choice, he fell forward onto his belly to distribute his weight more evenly and began crawling on his elbows toward her.
The horse thrashed again, this time dislodging its rider. Lady Metylda slid from the saddle into the bog with a garbled wail.
“Lie flat’!” Gellir barked. “On your belly. Like me.”
With a sob of dismay and a grimace of disgust, she did as she was told. “My gown!”
Her gown was the least of her worries. If she didn’t follow his commands, she’d slip in over her head. But he didn’t want to frighten her with the truth. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he promised. “Come toward me. Just a few more feet.”
She struggled forward through the ooze until she was within reach.
“Take my hand,” he said.
He managed to drag her across the muck to firmer ground. But by the time she was able to pull herself out, muddy and bedraggled, her animal was thrashing in panic, sinking deeper and deeper into the bog.
Gellir furrowed his brows and scoured the area. There was no tree nearby. No vine. No rope. Nothing to help pull a horse from a bog.
“Your gown,” he said, eyeing the voluminous muddy folds.
“Aye, ’tis ruined.”
“Nay, I need it.”
“What?”
“Give it to me.”
“What?”
“Now. Quick.” He beckoned her with his fingers. “Take it off.”
“I will not,” she said, outraged.
An explanation wasted valuable time. So did gallantry. He drew his dagger, seized her gown, and began to cut, rending the cloth into a long strip to make a rope.
She shrieked at him. Shrill, angry protests that rivaled the panicked squeals of the horse, now sunk to its belly.
Ignoring Lady Metylda’s furious curses, Gellir crawled carefully toward the horse again.
It was huffing with panic and fatigue.
“Easy there,” he coaxed. “I’ve come to help you.”
The animal seemed to understand. It let him approach. There was just enough room to sneak the doubled and twisted strip of cloth under the horse’s barrel and around its legs. The rest would rely on pure strength.
Bracing himself as well as he could against the most solid bank of the bog, he hauled back on the makeshift rope, clucking to the horse to come toward him. Then his feet slipped, and the horse sank back again.
Coiling his fists tighter in the rope, he pulled once more, taking a step backward.
This time the horse stepped forward. Another hard tug brought the animal a foot closer.
Inch by inch, straining his shoulders and back, Gellir managed to gradually ease the horse out of the mud and finally onto hardened ground.
By the time the horse was safe, Gellir was drenched with sweat and muck, as exhausted as he was relieved. The horse looked traumatized and weary.
Lady Metylda was still spitting in fury.
But Gellir had no patience for her wrath. It was her carelessness that had caused this debacle and nearly cost the life of a good horse.
When he was finally able to struggle to his feet, he seized the reins of her steed. Then he made a decision that eliminated his chances of ever becoming her husband. “We’re walking back.”