Chapter 14
The next morn, Merraid went to the kitchens to fetch breakfast for Lady Carenza. A bowl of apple frumenty. Warm. Rich. Sweet-spiced. Gellir’s last missive hadn’t coaxed the lady from her sickbed. Perhaps she’d be tempted by a tasty breakfast.
She was winding her way across the crowded great hall toward the stairs when Lady Feiyan pulled her aside.
“How goes it?” she murmured. “Do you think our butterfly will emerge today?”
“Lady Carenza?” She hoped so. But according to Ede, Davy had reported more tears last night.
Lady Feiyan nodded. “Poor Gellir is beginning to believe she doesn’t find him attractive.”
“Gellir?” Merraid choked out.
Their brows rose in simultaneous amazement.
“I know,” Feiyan said, shaking her head. “’Tis as if the man’s ne’er looked in a mirror.”
Merraid grinned. That was true. Lasses sighed and fainted at his feet. But Gellir was driven by his own purpose and ambition. He carried on, blithely unaware of their attentions. She should know. He’d been blithely unaware of hers.
“Here,” Lady Feiyan said. She loosed the blue ribbon from her braid. Tied it into a bow. Set it on the tray beside the frumenty. “Tell her ’tis a gift from her betrothed.” She winked.
“And that he said it matches her eyes?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded toward the stairs. “Go.”
She’d just reached the steps when she was mobbed by Swannoc, Ede, and Davy.
“Wait!” Ede cried, moving to block the path.
Merraid frowned. “What?”
“Don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t go up to Lady Carenza’s chamber.”
“Why not?”
“She’s…not awake.”
Ede was a bad liar. “Is that so? And how would ye know that?”
Ede gave Swannoc a desperate look.
Swannoc glanced at the platter. “What she means to say is the lady’s not goin’ to like the frumenty.”
Bloody hell. What were they up to? “Well, she’s not goin’ to like it cold. That’s for certain. Now out o’ my way.”
Davy crossed his arms and tried to deepend his voice. “I’m afraid I can’t let ye do that.”
If he were a grown man, Merraid would have tossed him on his arse for his impertinence. But he was only a young lad. She narrowed threatening eyes at him. “Ye’re not goin’ to stop me.”
Davy nervously licked his lips. He’d no doubt seen her best greater men than he. “I’m just tryin’ to help,” he mumbled.
He looked to Swannoc for assistance.
“I heard her say she hates frumenty,” Swannoc said.
“Hates frumenty?” Merraid said, arching a dubious brow. “A Scotswoman?”
“Aye, especially…” Swannoc insisted, glancing again at the platter. “Apple frumenty.”
Now she knew they were lying. “Stand aside.”
Ede gave Davy a fretful look.
“’Tis poison!” Davy blurted out.
“What?”
Davy clapped his hand over his mouth. Even Swannoc and Ede stared at him, aghast.
For one instant, Merraid wondered if that was true. But she’d fetched the frumenty herself. From a communal cauldron. No one had been poisoned this morn.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She closed her eyes to smoldering slits. “What are ye up to, ye three?”
“Nothin’,” Swannoc said.
“She made me do it,” he said, glancing at Swannoc.
Swannoc punched him in the shoulder.
“Just…don’t go up there,” Ede begged.
“What have ye done?”
“’Twas her idea,” Davy said, nodding at Swannoc and staying safely out of range.
Swannoc had to settle for giving him a cutting glare.
“Don’t be vexed, Merraid,” Ede pleaded. “We didn’t mean any harm. But hearin’ the words o’ love ye spoke to Sir Gellir—”
“Ede!” Swannoc snapped.
Davy gasped.
Merraid’s breath stopped. “What?” she whispered. “What did ye say?”
Ede’s face crumpled as she blinked at Swannoc. “She may as well know.”
“Know what?”
Swannoc murmured, “We heard ye.”
What were they talking about?
Ede ducked her chin. “I heard ye in the storeroom two days ago.”
“And I was passin’ by the armory yesterday,” Davy said.
Swannoc added, “I was goin’ to the buttery last night to fetch a bite o’ cheese when…”
Merraid felt sick. The sound she’d heard in the storeroom. The gasp she’d heard in the armory. “Ye were listenin’ at doors?”
“We didn’t mean to,” Davy said.
Shite. This was a disaster. Now everyone would know. Everyone would realize it was Merraid—not Sir Gellir—who’d written the verses for Lady Carenza. And once she found out…
“Shite.”
“Och, Merraid,” Ede cried, touching her arm in sympathy. “Ye shouldn’t have to hide your love.”
Swannoc nodded, placing a hand on Merraid’s shoulder. “Not when ’tis so deep and so pure.”
“Lady Carenza must be told,” Ede decided. “She has to know how ye feel.”
Davy furrowed earnest brows. “Ye’re a better match for him anyway. He can’t wed that Sobbin’ Sybil.”
“There has to be a way to make this right,” Ede insisted.
Swannoc intoned, “Amor vincit omnia. ’Tis the Rivenloch creed. Love conquers all.”
“Even when romance seems hopeless,” Ede said.
Merraid blinked. For the love of Mary… Things were even more twisted than she thought. The servants had not only overheard her dictating the missives to Carenza. They believed the words were Merraid’s confession of her love for Gellir.
In a way, that was true. She’d poured her heart into every word.
To be honest, she was touched by the servants’ reaction. Their intentions were noble. They wished to help two star-crossed lovers. They naively believed the power of love could bridge the chasm between a commoner and a noble.
But they were wrong. And she had to think of a way to discourage their matchmaking efforts.
She took a step back, shaking off their hands.
“Ye’ve got it all wrong,” she scoffed. “I don’t have feelin’s for Sir Gellir. I asked him to copy my words down…for someone else.”
“Someone else?” Ede said. She looked crestfallen.
“What someone else?” Davy asked.
Merraid sniffed. “’Tisn’t your affair.”
“But ye sounded so sincere,” Ede said.
“I was. But my words weren’t for Sir Gellir.”
“I don’t believe ye,” Swannoc decided.
“I don’t care whether ye believe me or not. ’Tis true.”
The young maidservant gave her a sly look. “Why would ye need Sir Gellir to copy your words when ye can make your own letters?”
Swannoc was a savvy lass.
But Merraid was a quick thinker.
“My scribin’ is pitiful. I didn’t want to waste the laird’s good parchment.”
By her silence, Swannoc believed that. Fortunately, it didn’t occur to her that anyone Merraid would woo probably couldn’t read.
“Now will ye get out o’ my way and let me bring the lady her breakfast?”
Davy stood his ground and gave the other two a nervous glance.
“Och nay,” Ede wailed, wringing her hands.
“What is it?” Merraid had a bad feeling they’d already made mischief. “What have ye done, ye three?”
Swannoc straightened. “Ye have to understand we were tryin’ to help ye.”
“’Twas Swan’s idea,” Davy said.
Swannoc glared at him. “Tongue-wagger.”
Ede gaped at Davy. “Besides, ye were the one who set them loose.”
Davy replied, “Only because ye’re scared o’ mice.”
All three froze, glancing in horror at Merraid.
“Mice?” Merraid repeated. “Mice?”
“I said we should use kittens,” Ede said in her defense.
Davy scoffed. “Kittens? No one’s scared o’ kittens.”
“Let me see if I have this right,” Merraid said between clenched teeth. “The three o’ ye loosed mice in Lady Carenza’s chamber.”
Davy proudly announced, “’Twas mostly me. Even Swan was too skittish to pick up the wee beasties.”
Merraid blew out a determined breath. She’d have to decide their punishment later. For now, she had to go to Lady Carenza, who was no doubt standing atop her pallet, shrieking in fright.
“Out o’ my way,” she growled, elbowing the others aside to climb the stairs. “I’ll deal with ye later.”
The last thing she expected to see when she swung open Carenza’s door was the lady kneeling in the middle of the chamber, cradling one of the wee beasties in the palm of her hand.
Spotting Merraid’s tray, she murmured to the mouse, “That’s Merraid, come with breakfast. And if ye’re very good, I may give ye a wee bite.”
Of course Lady Carenza was friendly to animals. Merraid shouldn’t be surprised. The lady was friendly to everyone. Everyone except Sir Gellir.
Merraid set the tray on the table, lowered her head, and clasped her hands before her, looking remorseful. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw three more mice skittering along the wall. One more headed toward the hearth.
“M’lady, I must apologize for Davy and Ede and Swannoc. I assure ye their mischief will be punished.”
“I fear I foiled their plot,” she said, smiling.
“Ye see, I have a soft spot in my heart for wee furry creatures.” She set the mouse down on the floor.
It darted off to join its three companions.
“And I understand” she said, coming to her feet.
“I lost my mother when I was a lass, and I was sure my father’s new wife would ruin my life.
I gave her a welcome gift too,” she confided, “only mine was frogs.”
Merraid grinned at that. “Frogs?”
“Much more effective. Especially when you put them between the bedlinens.” She winked.
Merraid’s grin widened, even as her heart cracked. Damn it, she didn’t want to like Carenza. But she did. The lady was so perfect, she was even perfectly mischievous. Gellir would adore her.
Gellir wished he could adore Carenza as much as everyone else did.
Maybe it was because none of them had to wed the lady.
She had finally emerged from her sickbed. Healthy and restored. She’d murmured her thanks for the blue ribbon in her hair, though he couldn’t remember giving her such a thing.
What followed was a sennight in which they were to become acquainted before the wedding would take place.
He’d been accused of being too fierce. Unapproachable. For a warrior—a man whose greatest strengths were the depth of his courage and the might of his arm—it was hard to accept that the battle for his bride couldn’t be won by force.
But he took Merraid’s advice. He softened his manner. He did all the right things. Said all the right things. He was polite. Considerate. Gallant. Gentle.
Somehow that made things worse. Instead of cowering in fear from him, his bride dissolved into tears at the slightest show of tenderness.
Seven days made no difference. They still didn’t wish to marry.
Merraid insisted their reluctance was because that wasn’t enough time to truly know a person.
His cousin Feiyan thought he and Carenza must be blind not to recognize each other’s virtues.
Neither of them knew how he felt about Merraid. How seven days had been more than enough to know her. How his fondness for Carenza paled in comparison with his fascination with the spirited maidservant. How he despaired of ever having a genuinely blissful union.
Still, he was on a path from which he dared not stray. Rivenloch’s allegiance and the plight of Scotland depended upon this marriage. A marriage that would take place in just over a sennight.
Tonight, however, no one was focused on his wedding. Not even pesky Feiyan.
Tonight was Beltane.
As a lad, each year, Gellir had looked forward to the gigantic blazing bonfires of Beltane.
He and his cousins helped to drive the cattle between the two fires and dared each other to leap over the flames.
His wee brother Ian had once thrown a powder onto the fire that had made it spark and smoke.
Their mother had put a quick end to that.
But the night of Beltane had always seemed full of magic and mayhem.
As a grown man, however, Gellir had little enthusiasm for superstition.
He was more concerned about the real threat of war and poverty than he was of faeries and curses.
He didn’t believe the ancient rituals protected crops, purified cattle, and ensured fertility.
His clan had celebrated Beltane for centuries, after all, and yet some years the harvest was poor.
Still, it was a night of wild excitement and mad rulebreaking.
Men drank themselves into brawls. Lads singed their arses on the flames.
Lasses dipped their lashes and raised their hems. And some took the celebration of unbridled fertility as permission to cast seed about indiscriminately.
It was said that bairns conceived on Beltane were blessed.
More than one couple welcomed a bairn nine months after Beltane. Some legitimate. Some not.
This morn, however, Gellir had been compelled to participate in a far less thrilling ritual. Once a fearsome tournament champion, he was currently traipsing through a meadow with a basket of flowers.
According to tradition, it was a man’s duty to deck his ladylove’s window with garlands of blossoms on Beltane. And neither Feiyan nor Merraid was going to let him get away with anything short of full and enthusiastic compliance.
So he begrudgingly gathered the yellow, white, and violet blooms that dotted the lush meadow. They seemed like they would please Carenza.
He sighed. She would likely show her pleasure by collapsing in tears.
After that, he’d be required to join the rest of the clansmen in gathering the nine woods required for the bonfire. He smiled as he remembered how he and his clever cousin Adam had worked out a method for remembering them. HOARY BABE. Holly. Oak. Alder. Rowan. Yew. Briar. Aspen. Birch. And Elder.
He snapped off one final blossom before trudging across the soggy ground toward the keep. He wished Adam were here now. He could disguise himself as Gellir and take Gellir’s place at the wedding. Perhaps he could make Lady Carenza happy.
And who would make Gellir happy?
Coppery hair and clear blue eyes danced through his imagination.
He furrowed his brows. Merraid was so maddeningly close, yet completely out of reach.
The worst part was she would never know how he felt. He would marry Carenza. Take her to Rivenloch. Make bairns with her. Grow old with her. And Merraid would never know that for one sweet and glorious spring, his whole heart had belonged to her.
How could he endure that?
How could he leave her without telling her the truth?
His fist tightened on the basket. He glanced down and spied an odd blossom tucked among the violet, yellow, and white. A single marigold, scooped up in haste. A curiosity.
Merraid was like that. Unique. Brilliant. One of a kind.
In that instant, gazing down at the lovely orange petals—bold, bright, and brazen—he made up his mind.
He was going to bare his heart.
On this mystical night, full of flames and faeries and fertility rites, before he had to wed the woman he didn’t love—the woman who didn’t love him—he had to tell Merraid how he felt.