Chapter 15
Merraid loved Beltane. There was nothing quite as exhilarating as an enormous bonfire. Unless it was two bonfires.
The flames leapt high into the air as the cowherds guided the cattle carefully between the blazes.
The animals’ black bulks were stark against the bright fire.
They lowed in confusion as tongues of flame threatened to lick the fur from their hide.
Purified when they made the passage three times, the beasts were then driven to the summer pasture.
Even more exciting was watching the men trying to leap over the bonfires. More than a few caught fire and had to roll in the sod to douse the flames. Indeed, many a maidservant secretly cursed Beltane for all the burned clothes in need of mending afterward.
But Merraid didn’t mind. It was all good fun.
What she did mind were the drunken lads who used the excuse of Beltane to flex their own fertility.
The combination—free-flowing ale, uncontrolled fire, and rituals encouraging fruitfulness—was dangerous.
Especially for lasses who were tipsy themselves and not inclined to resist the advances of enthusiastic knaves.
Which was why Merraid had appointed herself their protector on Beltane. She abstained from ale to keep a clear head and watched carefully over any stray lambs who were in danger of being devoured by wolves.
It was what Gellir had done for her four years ago. Saving her from brutes who saw her, not as a young lady deserving of respect, but simply a vessel for their lust. Gellir had devoted himself to helping the helpless. And that had been inspiring.
Her vigilance this eve also kept her from dwelling too much on how magnificent Gellir looked silhouetted in front of the towering flames.
The blaze rose high above his broad shoulders and gilded the top of his dark hair.
If she squinted just right, she could imagine he was a great black dragon, breathing the fire to life.
But as she gazed on in amusement, a shadow of guilt crept over her. Her smile drooped. She shouldn’t be staring at another woman’s bridegroom.
Where was Lady Carenza anyway? Why was she not standing beside him?
The lady was one of the stray lambs Merraid should be looking after. Friendly and vulnerable were a bad combination. That Carenza was also beautiful made her an even more desirable target.
Scouring the clearing, she saw no sign of Lady Carenza. But she found Feiyan, watching the fires with Laird Dougal.
“Pardon, m’lady, but have ye seen Lady Carenza?”
“Och aye, she went to bed hours ago.”
“To bed?”
“Aye. She was feeling poorly again. I fear Beltane was too much excitement for her.”
Merraid nodded. But she had to admit she was disappointed. If Carenza collapsed every time there was a wee bit of excitement, Gellir would lead a dull life indeed. God forbid the lady should ever see him fight in a tournament. One scratch might well be her undoing.
She hoped someone had returned with the lady to light her fire. All the hearths and candles had been extinguished in preparation for Beltane.
The clan folk were dispersing now. The less adventurous—those who weren’t creeping off into the forest for mischief—plucked flaming branches from the bonfires to rekindle their hearths with new summer fire.
Her brow creased. She should probably make sure the lady was safe.
In another sennight, Carenza would be in Gellir’s care, body and soul.
But for now, she was still Merraid’s responsibility.
The last thing Merraid needed was for Gellir’s bride to freeze to death before the wedding because no one had fired up her hearth.
She approached the crackling bonfire with caution and pried loose a modest sized branch to serve as a torch. Then she began the trek back to the castle.
She had just stepped onto the path leading through the forest when Gellir swept up behind her.
“Merraid.”
Foolish pleasure flushed her cheeks at the sound of his voice. Hiding it as best she could, she turned toward him. But the grave expression on his face sobered her at once.
Something was wrong. Had something happened to Carenza after all? Had she been attacked? Had she frozen to death? Had she run off?
“Aye?” she whispered, her heart pounding.
“I have somethin’ t’ tell you.”
Now she detected the ale on his breath. The slurring of his words. The subtle swaying of his body.
“Ye’re sotted.”
“Aye,” he said grimly, “that I am.”
Relief let her breathe. Amusement tugged a grin from the corner of her mouth. She’d never seen Gellir drunk before. He was a man of control. Restraint. Honor. It was against his nature to let ale cloud his judgment.
On the other hand, it was Beltane. If ever the driven, disciplined warrior deserved a night of excess, it was this night.
“Is that what ye wished to tell me? That ye’re sotted?”
“Nay.”
“What is it then?”
His brows darkened, lowering over his steely eyes like gathering thunderheads. She’d never seen him so grim.
He worked his mouth and cast a mistrustful glance over his shoulder. For someone with something to tell her, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to spit it out.
“Not here,” he decided.
Behind him, the laird and lady were making their way toward the path.
Gellir seized her wrist, took the torch from her, and tugged her forward.
Ordinarily, her first instinct when a man grabbed her was to resist. But this was Gellir. She trusted him. Even if he was drunk.
She let him guide her through the wood.
They traveled at such a brisk pace, she had to struggle to keep up. The flaming brand was soon reduced to a glowing ember. If not for the well-worn path, it would have been easy to get lost in the trees.
“This way,” he murmured, turning off down the trail that led to the pond and not the castle.
“But the keep is—”
“I know.”
Where was he taking her? And why? It was a long way off course. She was weary. Carenza needed tending. And it was late.
Eventually they reached the pond. By then she was out of breath. And out of patience.
“What do ye have to tell me, Gellir?” she asked, yanking her wrist out of his grip. “Or did ye just want to go for a midnight swim?”
The brief hurt that creased his brow made her regret her harsh words.
“Sorry,” she muttered, meaning it. If he’d taken her this far from the others, he must have something important to say. “What is it?” she asked gently, clasping his forearm. “What troubles ye?”
He looked directly at her then, as if steeling his nerves for what he would say. She was shaken by the intensity of his gaze. It was compelling. And forbidden. And dangerous. Yet she was powerless to look away.
He drew up to his full height and let out a sharp exhale. Bracing himself the way she’d seen him do before a sword battle.
“I have t’tell you,” he decided. His jaw was resolute. His mouth was firm. His eyes were stern. “If I don’t tell y’ now… I ne’er will.”
A warm and wary tingling started at the back of her neck. What did he mean to say?
“Y’ deserve t’know,” he murmured.
Her eyes melted under the scorching heat of his. The warmth wound its way around her throat. Smoldered on her cheeks. Ignited in her ears.
“Y’ deserve…” His gaze burned her with yearning. “So much more.”
There was no mistaking his message. Nor what the “so much more” left unspoken. Too much ale had stripped his mask away. Raw passion blazed in his eyes.
The same desire burned in her. And she longed to answer him. Hell, she’d longed for him for years.
But she wasn’t drunk. And he wasn’t himself. The craving they felt now would be gone in a moment. If they yielded to their baser instincts, the guilt they’d endure would last a lifetime.
She knew the two words that would sober him. Two words that would break the spell of lust. Reverse the wicked curse of desire the Beltane faeries cast upon them all.
She had to utter them. Before it was too late.
They came out like an incantation. “Lady Carenza.”
But they changed nothing.
Gellir didn’t shrink in remorse. He didn’t even avert his gaze.
“She doesn’t love me,” he explained.
His words sounded so bleak it made her heart ache.
“She will,” she promised.
“Nay.” His eyes flattened. “Her heart isn’t mine t’ have.”
“Did she tell ye that?” Damn Carenza. She’d promised Merraid that she’d never reveal that to Gellir. If she’d broken her word…
“She didn’t have t’ tell me.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t love her either.”
Merraid blinked. That was hard to imagine. Everyone in the clan loved Carenza. Even the mice. “If ye just give it time—”
“I love you, Merraid,” he gushed.
“What?”
There it was. The words he shouldn’t have said.
Everything stopped. Her heart. Her breath. The air.
“I said—”
“I heard what ye said,” she whispered, wishing urgently to silence him. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He was only caught up in the lust of Beltane.
“I mean it,” he assured her, taking her by the shoulder. “I love you.”
Her heart fluttered in panic. What if, on this magical night, his perilous whispered words drifted on the breeze? What if mischievous faeries carried them aloft? Strengthening them until they found their way into Lady Carenza’s ear? Magnifying them until they echoed over the land?
She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let careless, drunken murmurs be the cause of pain and heartbreak.
“Ye’re drunk,” she told him. “Ye don’t know what ye’re sayin’.
” She cast off his hand and snatched the torch away.
“’Twouldn’t be the first time a sotted lad tried to steal a kiss off a lass with those words.
” She said it as much to convince herself as to chide him.
Because she very badly wanted to kiss him.
“I don’t want a kiss. I swear.”
“Och aye?” She raised a doubtful brow. Then she summoned up a glare. “Ye weren’t hopin’ for a quick Beltane tryst, were ye?”
He frowned. “I may be sotted. But I still have my honor. You know that.”
She supposed she did.
“I jus’ thought y’d want to know the truth,” he said. “After all, we’re friends, aye?”