Chapter 7
Gellir woke up in a foul mood.
It wasn’t just that his cousin had tossed him into the ring of courtship. Like a Roman slave thrown to the lions.
It wasn’t from the excess of ale he’d drunk, trying to take the edge off the shrill din of twelve females simultaneously vying for his attention.
It wasn’t even from the disappointment of finding something mildly wrong about every one of them.
Nay. What chafed at him was the situation with Merraid. She’d left after dinner with a strange guardsman. One with hair as black as the devil. Eyes full of mischief. And a ready grin that said he enjoyed her company too well.
Gellir had had a strong drive to follow them. But he hadn’t. He knew Feiyan was right. It wasn’t his concern. Besides, he’d been just drunk enough to mistrust his judgment should his protection of Merraid come to serious blows.
But the sober light of morn hadn’t changed his mood one whit. And when he was feeling this way, the only cure for it was fierce battle.
So he donned his mail. Seized his sword and targe from the armory wall. And marched to the practice field with fire in his belly.
The last person he expected to see as he rounded the courtyard wall and headed toward the field was Merraid. He surprised her as well. They both gave a startled gasp.
She clapped a hand to her bosom and giggled. “Gellir. I didn’t expect to see ye for hours.” She winked. “Ye were right sotted last night.”
He tried to ignore the way her creamy skin glowed in the dawn’s light. How the sun burnished her hair to lush copper. How her eyes sparkled like blue sapphires. How her laughter washed over him like a gently bubbling stream.
He narrowed his eyes at her and ground out, “I didn’t expect to see you either. Did he finally wear you out?”
Her smile faded. “What?”
Engaging her was unwise. It wouldn’t solve anything. And it would only give him more frustrations to work past on the field.
He tried to pass her.
She blocked his way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He snorted. “You seemed…busy…last night, fraternizing with that guard.”
“Frater-…” Her eyes glittered.
“Chatting,” he clarified. “Giggling. Being overly friendly with—”
“I know what fraternizin’ means.” She gave him a cold glare. “But I’m surprised ye had a moment to notice. You were doin’ quite a bit o’ fraternizin’ yourself.”
He tightened his jaw. “At least I didn’t leave with any of them.”
She blushed. Her mouth fell open, which only increased his sense that she’d done exactly as he feared.
He should drop it. Press her no further. He had more important matters to attend to. And he was in a race against time.
He tried to sidestep her again.
Again she stood in his way.
“Ye know what ye sound like?” she said, crossing her arms. “Ye sound like a jealous husband.”
He emitted a chuckle of a scoff. But it sounded forced, even to his own ears. “’Tisn’t jealousy.”
“Are ye sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” he said, trying to convince himself. “I was swimming in a sea of lovely, willing brides last night. Why would I be jealous?” Just because none of them compared to Merraid…
“Then what is it?”
He struggled with the truth and told her half of it. “I can’t stand by and watch you throw away your affections on a man who isn’t…”
“Isn’t what?” she hissed. “Ye?”
Aye. But he wouldn’t tell her that. “Isn’t honorable.”
“Henry is honorable.”
Shite. The suitor had a name. Worse, it was the same name as his other nemesis, the king of England.
“Did he…” He didn’t want to ask. But he had to know. “Did he touch you?”
“Not that ’tis any o’ your business, sirrah, but aye. He took my hand and bowed o’er it when we were introduced.”
“Did he kiss you?”
Why had he blurted that out? He didn’t really want to know. Did he?
“Och aye,” she said. “He kissed me and held my hand and took me to the stable and threw me in the hay and swived the holy hell out o’ me. Is that what ye want to hear?”
Somehow her sarcasm was lost on him as his vision clouded with a red haze. “I’ll break his neck!” he thundered, raising his sword and shield.
She seized his forearms. “Och, for the love o’ Peter! What are ye doin’? Don’t be ridiculous. Do ye honestly think I’d let a man do all that?”
He glowered at her, considering her question. Nay, he didn’t think she would. But that wasn’t always a woman’s option.
“What’s to stop him?” he asked.
“Me!” she cried, incensed.
He shook off her hands. “You? With what? Fervent pleas and whispered prayers?”
Her eyes seethed with ire. “Have ye forgotten our skirmish in the armory so soon?”
He blinked. What did their skirmish have to do with it? “’Tisn’t about that.”
“Nay? Men are fore’er misjudgin’ me. Always thinkin’ they’re stronger.
Faster. Smarter. I thought ye might be different.
I thought ye might understand, bein’ from a clan o’ warrior women.
But ye’re no different from the rest, are ye?
” She began untying her apron. “So let’s settle this once and for aye.
I’m goin’ to arm myself, and I’ll meet ye on the field in a quarter hour. ”
His head was spinning. How had this escalated so fast? He was concerned about her ability to fend off seducers, not swordsmen. “What?”
“Ye heard me. A quarter hour. And if ye don’t show up, I’ll call ye coward from the high tower till all the clan knows it.”
With that, she snatched off her apron and whirled, marching toward the armory.
Gellir opened his mouth and closed it. How had it come to this? This wasn’t the outcome he wanted at all.
First, he didn’t want to engage Merraid. At all. He’d rather forget last night happened.
Second, he’d already fought the lass. He hated fighting novices.
And to be honest, with the exception of his clanswomen, he really hated fighting females.
He always had to soften his blows to make sure he didn’t harm them.
And in his present state, frustrated and feeling the effects of last night’s overindulgence, what he really needed most was to crack the devil out of something.
Third, her little challenge was going to garner a lot of attention.
From the warriors of Darragh. From Laird Dougal.
From his cousin. He was in no mood to be the subject of castle gossip for the next fortnight.
It was bad enough that Feiyan had turned his search for a bride into the clan’s favorite diversion.
His mood dark, he stormed past the stables. He vaulted over the wattle fence and charged toward the straw-stuffed dummy in the middle of the field. Again and again, he slashed and hacked at the dummy until it was reduced to shreds of canvas and a mound of scattered straw.
Sweat dripped from his brow. His chest heaved with every breath. His muscles trembled.
Now, with his temper calmed and his strength drained, he was ready to do what he had to do.
Lose the fight.
It was the only way to convince any men with designs on Merraid to keep their bloody hands off of her.
Merraid shivered into her chain mail and plucked up her double-sided jian and targe. The march to the armory had softened her anger. But she wouldn’t back down from her challenge. Gellir didn’t believe she could take care of herself? She’d prove him wrong.
Ultimately, of course, she planned to surrender. She’d already defeated Gellir once in front of the Darragh warriors. It was only right she give him a chance to regain his dignity.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t put up a good fight. She’d let him triumph. But she wouldn’t make it easy for him. She meant to prove beyond doubt that she didn’t need him. She was capable of defending her own honor.
By the time she arrived on the field, a handful of bystanders had gathered at the fence. No wonder. It appeared Gellir had engaged in some sort of vicious battle with the practice dummy. And won. Its innards were strewn across the field. And Gellir looked exhausted from the ordeal.
She entered the field through the gate and swished her blade through the air in salute, garnering the attention of the onlookers, who began mumbling among themselves.
She strode up to what was left of the dummy and tapped her sword against the post. “What’s this? A warnin’?”
He gave her a grim smile. “A promise.”
She arched a brow at him. “I’ll be puttin’ up more of a fight than he did.”
“We’ll see.” He brought his blade down in a powerful, threatening slash that whistled through the air. “What do you say? Shall we make it more interesting?”
“More interestin’? How? Wear blindfolds? Tie one hand behind our backs?” She glanced toward the fence. The audience was growing quickly. “Whatever ’tis, ye’d best make it quick. I’m sure ye don’t want more witnesses to your defeat.”
He snorted. “Let them come. Unless you’re afraid of utter humiliation.” He raised his sword and casually sighted down the blade, checking the edge. “But nay, I meant shall we wager on the outcome?”
“What sort o’ wager? Coin?”
“Nay, nothing so crass. What about a wager of honor?”
“Honor? What would ye wager then?”
“If I win, you’ll do my bidding for a day. If you win, I’ll do yours.”
Her bidding? A dozen dangerous ideas flitted uninvited through her head. Ideas that made the blood rush to her cheeks.
Perhaps it was a good thing she intended to lose.
“Fine,” she managed to choke out. She whisked her jian through the air, as if to cut the tension between them.
They raised their blades in a brief salute. Then they began circling, their gazes fixed, sizing up the competition. Neither attacked.
After several tense moments, someone in the crowd yelled, “Get on with it!”
Others joined in, calling out, goading them to action.
Finally Gellir made a light thrust forward.
She easily blocked the ineffectual feint and returned with a lazy strike of her own.
Dodging her blow was child’s play. He answered with a tap against her shoulder.
She deflected his blade with her targe and punched the shield slowly forward toward his face.
He ducked and thrust his sword from beneath the targe, not quite far enough to do any damage.