Chapter 9 #2
She was beautiful and brilliant. Invigorating and inspiring. Clever and kind and devoted. All the things that would make her a loving wife and a perfect mother.
If only the dictates of the king didn’t require Gellir’s services as a political pawn, he wouldn’t hesitate to offer for her hand.
But then a cloud passed in front of the moon, as if to eclipse his dreams.
For one dark space of time, he gave his mind free rein.
He envisioned following his heart—the king be damned—and stealing away with Merraid.
He imagined kissing her again. Holding her.
Caressing her. Peeling her clothes away, piece by piece.
Worshiping every inch of her. Sinking into her welcome softness.
Hearing her cry out in ecstasy. Celebrating his own.
For one lingering, bittersweet moment, he imagined a full life unfolding ahead of them.
One with frolicking mock battles. And gentle surrenders.
Swimming naked in icy lochs. Warming cups of mead by the hearth.
Riding through the countryside. Stealing through the forest. Playing with children.
So many children. Hundreds of kisses. Thousands of smiles.
He turned away as the cloud drifted past the face of the moon, lighting up the courtyard below.
Then he saw her.
Merraid.
The woman of his dreams.
But she wasn’t his. She didn’t belong to him. She belonged to the man who was laying claim to her even now.
Gellir clenched his fists. He growled in his throat. It took all his willpower not to bellow at the guardsman to keep his filthy hands off the lass.
But that wasn’t Gellir’s right. And he had to admit the truth. If Merraid didn’t want a man’s attentions, she could take care of herself. If she didn’t like the way he was touching her—with such familiarity and intimacy—she’d toss the man on his arse in a heartbeat.
That she accepted the stranger’s kiss so willingly meant it was what she desired. And that felt like a dagger stabbing his heart.
Wounded—and vexed that he’d let himself be wounded—Gellir shut his eyes against the sight. He wheeled back to face the moon. It now looked like the laughing mouth of a mischievous god, mocking his misfortune.
Sparring was a reliable cure for frustration and heartache. But it was too dark for swordplay. And clashing blades would draw attention.
Instead, he returned to the hall. He nabbed a jack and two bottles of ale from the buttery and headed to the stables. There, no one but the horses would bear witness to his grumbling.
In the end, even four pints of Darragh’s strongest ale couldn’t numb his emotions. But at last it conveyed him to the oblivion of sleep.
It was there Feiyan found him in the morning. He was sprawled in the hay with the empty jack tucked against his chest.
“There you are!” she cried. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
He groaned.
“Did you sleep here all night?” she demanded.
He winced. Was his cousin’s voice always so loud and shrill?
“Gellir, wake up.” She opened the door wider, blinding him with a sunbeam.
“Shite,” he croaked, throwing his arm defensively over his offended eyes. “Go away.”
His tongue felt thick in his mouth. His eyes were full of grit. His head throbbed.
“You drank yourself into a stupor, didn’t you?” she scolded, grabbing the jack from him. “Look, I know ’twas my fault. ’Twas a mistake to make you choose between two sisters. Even worse, twins. Dougal won’t let me hear the end of it.”
God’s bones. Why was she still talking? Didn’t she know each word pummeled at his ears like an incessant, pounding bell?
He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to ease the ache.
“I promise I won’t make that mistake again,” she said. “But you’ve got to do your part.” She dug her fingers into his shoulder. “Come on. Pull yourself together. Get up.”
“Leave me alone.” Every muscle in his body was stiff. The last thing he wanted to do was move.
“I’ve seen what happens when I leave you alone,” she quipped.
He growled.
“Besides, I’ve brought good news,” she said.
He sighed. The only good news he wanted to hear was that some horrible tragedy had befallen the guard he’d seen kissing Merraid last night.
He instantly regretted that ignoble thought. Grimacing, he eased himself up until he was sitting in the straw.
“Fine.” He scrubbed at his eyes. “What’s your good news?”
“We’ve got a missive from Hew.”
“Hew?” That brought him awake. Their cousin Hew was in the same predicament as Gellir. Hiding out from the machinations of the king. Blinking against the light, he looked up at her. “What news?”
“He may have found you a bride.”
Merraid heard about the arrival of Gellir’s next marriage candidate through the conduit of the servants long before Lady Feiyan formally announced it to her.
At first, the protocol seemed the same as all the others. There was to be a visit in two days’ time. The lady would stay for a short while at the keep.
But there was a special gleam in Lady Feiyan’s eyes. A lightness in her step. She wanted extra care taken with preparations for the lady’s visit.
This candidate was different somehow.
“This is the one,” Feiyan confided. She seemed to glow as she entered her bedchamber, where Merraid was preparing her bath. “I’m sure of it.”
Merraid forced a smile to her lips as she poured a tiny bit of sandalwood oil into the warm water. “Aye?”
Feiyan sat on the edge of the bed to tug off her boots. “Aye. She’s perfect.”
Merraid nodded.
The one.
The one who would steal Gellir’s heart.
The one who would become his smiling bride.
The one who would bear his name and his children.
The smile froze on her face as she swirled the oil into the bath. But she felt sick inside.
This was it.
Her.
The woman who would shred the last gossamer threads of Merraid’s dreams.
Disappointment must have shown in her face. As Lady Feiyan peeled off her stockings, she said, “As for you, Merraid… I’m so glad you and Henry will be courting. He’s delightful, isn’t he?”
“Oh. Aye.”
Henry was delightful. He was fun. He was charming. He was clever. He was attractive.
But he didn’t set her heart to racing. He didn’t melt her bones. He didn’t leave her breathless. He didn’t haunt her dreams.
“Perhaps there will be two spring weddings at Darragh?” Feiyan ventured.
Merraid gulped.
Who had said anything about marriage? She’d only met Henry. Besides, Merraid had a tournament to train for.
To change the subject, as Merraid prepared the bath, she tortured herself further by asking, “What’s her name, this perfect bride?”
Feiyan unbuckled her belt. “Lady Carenza.”
She wished she hadn’t asked. “’Tis a beautiful name.”
“For a beautiful lady,” Feiyan said. “Here, let me read you what our cousin Hew thinks about her.”
She fetched the missive from the small chest on her table.
“He writes ‘She is beautiful and clever, wise and sweet, helpful and generous. She has a gentle nature and a ready smile. A man could hope for no more perfect a wife.’”
Merraid couldn’t even summon up a smile. She turned away and busied herself with stacking linens beside the tub.
“I know you were worried,” Feiyan said gently. “Gellir is your friend. You wanted to be sure he found a good match. One deserving of him.” She let out a contented sigh. “I think maybe this lady will make him truly happy.”
Merraid nodded. But there was a knot of tears in her throat, choking off a reply.
“The best part is,” Feiyan continued, “Gellir has already approved. He’s grown weary of courting. And I think he’s anxious to get back to jousting. He trusts Hew’s judgment. So he’s agreed to marry her.”
Merraid bit her lip and blinked back tears. It was all happening too quickly. Gellir might well marry within the sennight. Then he’d return to Rivenloch with his bride. Merraid would likely never see him again.
“And Merraid,” Feiyan said, “I need to ask you a special favor.”
“Aye, m’lady?” she managed to choke out.
“Will you make her feel welcome? I know Gellir can be…grim…when he’s restless. The last thing I want to do is frighten her off.”
Merraid’s heart sank. Of all the tasks Lady Feiyan could require of her, this was perhaps the most difficult.
“O’ course, m’lady.”
After that, nothing could cheer her. Not even the afternoon visit from Henry.
He’d brought her an apple coffyn stolen from Lady Maut’s kitchens.
Naturally, she pretended to be delighted by his unexpected company.
Pleased by his sweet pilfered pastry. But her smile didn’t reach her eyes or come from her heart.
She sent Henry away after an hour, pleading a long list of chores to do. He seemed disappointed. But he politely bowed to her wishes.
She told herself there would be time later to court Henry properly. To exchange pleasantries and gifts. To make wagers on silly things. To hold his hand and kiss his lips and try to fall in love with him.
But for now, she had to fulfill her vow to Feiyan to make Gellir’s new bride feel welcome. And she had to fulfill her vow to Gellir to ensure he made a good match. She only hoped Lady Carenza was as perfect as Hew described her. Gellir deserved nothing less.
Hoofbeats thundered beneath Gellir. His couched lance balanced effortlessly under his arm. His knees flexed with every gallop as he charged across the field.
This was what he needed. What he missed. All the silly courtship rituals—dancing, pleasure riding, hawking, strolling through the garden—had made him feel like he was going soft.
Riding full-tilt at a target made him feel alive again. Strong. And free. As if he hadn’t just agreed to wed a woman, sight unseen, on the advice of his softhearted cousin Hew.
It had been a rash decision, he knew. But it was the only way he could purge his dangerous desire for Merraid. If he couldn’t have the one he wanted—and it appeared her heart was already bending toward another—then he might as well let his cousin choose his wife.
His lance held. It knocked the target off the arm of the quintain. Two young lads scurried to replace it. He galloped to the end of the list and wheeled his mount about.
His cousin Hew had always left his heart unguarded. He’d had it broken half a dozen times. But Gellir supposed that meant he had experience. In general, his judgment seemed sound. All the lasses Hew pursued were attractive. Half of them were even good-natured.
The destrier stamped at the ground, eager to take another run.
Gellir knew how the horse felt. He itched to run as well. To flee Darragh. To go back out on the tournament circuit. To ignore the threat of the king. To forget the necessity of acquiring a wife.
“Ready, sir!” one of the lads shouted, backing out of the way.
He spurred the destrier into a charge and lowered his lance.
This time his weapon hit the target square, swinging it halfway round. The lads rushed to straighten it for his next run.
Again and again he returned until he had nearly demolished the target. After an hour, his arm and the horse were fatigued. His stomach grumbled for food.
He handed off the destrier to Campbell and headed toward the great hall.
He expected his exhausting day of tilting to numb him to anything but his aching muscles.
But then he glimpsed Merraid in the courtyard, sharing a coffyn with her fawning suitor. His heart cramped. He had to look away.
When his ears caught the guardsman’s indulgent chuckle, he had to resist an ugly urge to march over and stuff the crust into the man’s mouth. Anything to stop the sound.
This was why he had to leave Darragh, he told himself as he plodded toward the armory. Merraid brought out the worst in him. His affection for her had turned him into a monster. A brute who wished the most depraved sort of misfortune upon his rival.
Thankfully, it was the last he saw of the guard that day, saving the man from any pastry-related mishap.
But even brief glances at Merraid as she went about her day left Gellir feeling empty. He missed her meddling. He craved her conversation. By the end of the day, he was tempted to pick a fight with her—to draw blades or cross besoms—just to have some interaction.
The next morn he got his wish.
He arrived on the foggy practice field, sword in hand. Merraid was already there, sparring in the mist with his cousin Feiyan. They were using strange swords with slightly curved blades and no shields.
He should have turned around and walked away. They hadn’t seen him. And no good could come of interacting with either of them.
But curiosity got the best of him. He watched them slice and hack at each other. Gracefully arcing and spinning. Almost like a dance.
He was used to seeing such maneuvers from Feiyan. But he’d never witnessed two masters of the intriguing art fighting together.
He was awestruck. Merraid twirled and lunged. Her swirling blade made whirlpools in the mist. Feiyan ducked under the sword and swept hers low. Merraid leaped over the slashing blade and rolled out of range. Then she sprang to her feet to attack again.
The blades struck rapidly and repeatedly.
They whistled through the air, sliding together and snicking like scissors.
In Scottish fights, men stood their ground, hacking at one another until someone tired.
Feiyan and Merraid dove and flipped and skidded in the dirt.
They used clever strategy instead of brute strength.
It was fascinating. So fascinating, he didn’t notice he’d been seen.
“Och, good!” Feiyan suddenly shouted. “You can take over, Gellir! Dougal needs me in the hall.” She approached.
Without permission, she pried the sword from his grip, replacing it with hers.
“There. Merraid can teach you what you need to know about the dao.” She waved and vanished into the mist. “See you at dinner.”