Chapter 10 #2
She should have stopped him the instant he touched her. She would have, if she hadn’t been so stunned by his dismissive words. It wasn’t until he claimed her lips that rage boiled up inside her.
She tore her lips away from him. Raising her dao between them, she sliced off the braid he’d grabbed, leaving him holding the severed lock. Then she planted her free hand over his face and gave him a great shove.
He stumbled backward, landing on his arse. He looked like an owl fallen from its perch. His eyes went round. He held her braid aloft, like some small prey in his claws.
The men of Darragh gasped.
Merraid was disgusted and hurt and disappointed all at once. She snatched the braid from his fist and stormed off the field.
Henry didn’t follow.
And now she realized she’d probably never see him again. She’d humiliated him in front of all of Darragh. Henry had wrongly assumed Merraid was his for the taking. Nothing could be further from the truth.
She crossed the courtyard, clutching her braid.
The truth was he’d never be happy with a wife like Merraid.
Such was the curse of being an oddity.
It wasn’t only that she was a woman warrior. She was a maidservant. That made her an anomaly.
The Rivenloch warrior maids at least had their clan name. Their reputation. Their long noble history to support them. No one questioned their unique authority. Men expected them to be fierce. Strong. Independent. Powerful.
But Merraid lived in a servant’s world where lasses were obedient and subservient. Where husbands expected their wives to behave and be docile. Where men wielded weapons and women wielded besoms.
She shouldered her way through the door of the great hall.
Servants were bustling about everywhere.
Stoking the fire. Lighting candles. Transporting bread and linens and chamberpots.
When they saw her charging across the hall—her dao in one hand, her braid in the other—they furrowed their brows in fear.
She realized she didn’t exactly belong in this world either.
As long as she was wearing her apron—sweeping out rushes, preparing baths, serving supper—the others considered her their friend.
But when she tucked her skirts up for battle and wore a sword on her hip?
They avoided her, as if she were some wild and unpredictable creature.
She headed toward the stairs, seeking refuge.
Such things had never troubled her before.
Before, she’d never worried about conforming to expectations.
She never thought of courtship or marriage.
She didn’t care what the men of the clan thought.
She performed the duties expected of her as a maidservant.
And indulged her love of combat with Lady Feiyan.
Her only dream had been perfecting her swordsmanship. Proving herself in the tournament.
What had happened to that carefree lass? Where had she gone? When had she disappeared?
Since Gellir had arrived, he’d muddied her plans. Her life had been turned upside down.
She entered the shadowy stairwell and dropped her braid on the floor. Her eyes welled with tears as she scowled down at what was left of her lopped-off tresses.
“Merraid.”
She startled. Gellir must have followed her from the field. She bit her lip. She didn’t want him to see her weeping.
“This is your fault, ye know,” she blurted.
“My fault?”
She turned away and began to trudge up the steps. “Ever since ye returned, the clan has been obsessed with matchmakin’ and marriage.”
She heard him mutter on the step behind her, “At least ’tisn’t your marriage they’re obsessing over.”
“Aren’t they? After all, Lady Feiyan has decided I should be wed as well.” A knot of sorrow rose in her throat. She dared not turn round and look at him. She’d burst into tears.
“Is that so awful?”
“’Tis—when ye’re a maidservant who wields a sword.”
He grabbed her arm to turn her toward him. “Listen to me. Henry is a fool. Any other man would consider himself lucky to have you.”
The fierce, honest, blind sincerity in his eyes broke her. Her chin trembled, and her tears spilled over. Then, against her better judgment, she blurted out the truth. “Have me, perhaps. But there are no men who could love me.”
Gellir felt her despair as if it were his own. It wrenched at his heart.
How could she think that? Surely it wasn’t true. Did she not know what a lovely prize of a lass she was?
A dozen of her virtues sprang instantly to mind. Virtues he could recite off the top of his head. Merraid was kind. Sweet. Strong. Beautiful. Loving. Generous. Amusing. Bright. Graceful. Hard-working. Clever. And so much more.
He should say so. He could vanquish the desolation in her eyes by telling her exactly what he thought of her.
But that would be a mistake.
He had to keep his distance. Bite his tongue.
Showering her with praise would only complicate things.
Still, as he watched a devastated tear roll down her cheek, he knew he had to say something.
He brushed the droplet away with his thumb. “Listen, Merraid. We’re not so different, you and I.”
She sniffed, giving him a dubious look. She dragged the back of her hand across her nose.
“’Tis true,” he said. “The more prospective brides I meet, the more convinced I am I’ll ne’er find a woman I can love. Not truly. Not deeply.”
“Are ye daft?” she asked. “They’re clamorin’ at your feet. Beggin’ for your attentions.”
He shook his head. “They love the idea of me. Marrying a tournament champion from a powerful clan. Becoming the lady of a castle with a laird close to royalty. Ne’er lacking for coin or status or worldly goods. They love the idea. But they don’t really know me.”
“Ye’re so much more than your wealth and position,” she argued. “Given time, the right woman would discover that.”
He halted her with an upraised palm. If she started spilling out her list of his virtues, she’d make things worse.
“I don’t have the luxury of time.”
“But why?” she asked in irritation. “What’s the bloody hurry? What secret have ye been keepin’?”
He sighed. He supposed he owed her the truth. “Can I trust you?”
“With your life.”
“You cannot tell another soul.”
“I won’t breathe a word.” She made the sign of the cross. “I swear.”
He lowered his voice to a breath. “The king has been fighting alongside the English, against the French.”
She nodded and whispered back, “At Toulouse.”
He lifted a brow, impressed she knew that.
“Lady Feiyan has been grumblin’ about it for weeks,” she explained.
“Rumor says he wants to strengthen that alliance with marriages.”
As the meaning of that dawned on her, her eyes widened. She sucked in a slow gasp. “With ye? With a Sassenach?”
“Not…yet.”
Her tears forgotten, she straightened. New determination bloomed in her eyes. “Ye can’t let that happen. We’ve got to get ye wed ere the king forces ye to…” She couldn’t even finish the thought.
“So now you understand the rush. And why Feiyan has been hurling brides at me like battle spears.” He lowered his eyes in resignation, emitting a humorless chuckle of irony. “You know, for a clan whose motto is ‘Love conquers all,’ they evidently don’t think the legacy applies to me.”
Merraid’s heart sank at his sorrow. How heavy the weight of his marriage burden was. And how powerless it must feel to have his life arranged by the king. It was as if he were a pawn in a game of draughts.
At least Merraid had the freedom to not wed, if she so chose. She could remain a maid. Learn a trade. Or enter a convent. No one could force her to marry.
In that moment, she realized two things.
She realized, for all his fame and wealth and entitlement, Gellir had no freedom when it came to matters of love.
She also realized he needed her, now more than ever. They were friends, she and Gellir. And friends were supposed to help each other in times like these. When birth and death and marriage changed a person’s life, a friend should be there to offer steadfast guidance and support.
She had to help him find a bride who loved him—a bride he could love—even if it broke her own heart.
“I won’t let that happen,” she vowed. “I won’t let ye wed a woman ye don’t love. Nor a woman who doesn’t love ye for who ye are. I swear it.”
He shook his head. “’Tisn’t your duty, lass.”
“I’m your friend,” she insisted. “And friends don’t let friends make poor choices.”
A flicker of warmth entered his eyes. “I’ll try to remember that,” he said, offering her the lock of hair he’d swept up from the floor, “the next time you’re tempted to court a knave who doesn’t like maids with blades.”
She sighed. That pretty much ruled out everyone. “Keep it,” she said about the lock of hair. “’Twill remind ye o’ my vow.”
“A vow I’ll only accept on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
He turned serious. “Promise me you won’t be in the same hurry to wed. You have your whole life ahead of you. And you’re beholden to no one. Not the king. Not Henry. Not Feiyan. Not even me.” He chucked her under the chin. “You follow your heart, Merraid.”