Chapter 16 #2
Gradually, the outside world returned. The soft lapping of the pond on the shore. The pungent pine in the air. The bed of leaves, his woolen cloak, and the solid earth beneath.
“Are you all right?” he finally asked.
There were no words to describe how right she felt. She nodded.
“Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head.
He sighed in relief. Wary of his great weight, he carefully withdrew to nestle beside her.
She frowned in dismay, wishing they never had to part.
Merraid thought trysting with Gellir would purge her desire for him.
After all, once she made love to him, she’d no longer have to dream about her magnificent hero.
No longer have to wonder about his kiss.
His caress. No longer have to imagine how his worshipful arms would feel around her. How his cock would feel inside of her.
But she was wrong.
He’d only whetted her appetite for more. Given her a delicious taste of what she’d be missing from now on. And made her realize what a unique treasure he was.
Bittersweet tears gathered in her eyes. She would never again know his embrace. Never again experience the thrill of bursting into flame in his arms. Never again feel the miracle of their two bodies made one.
Eventually, her breathing calmed. Her heartbeat slowed. The chill of the night began to intrude upon their warmth.
She shivered once. He snagged the edge of his cloak and pulled it up over her bare shoulders.
“Thank ye,” she whispered.
“Of course,” he said. “I can’t have you freezing to death. Not on the night we welcome summer.”
“Nay, I meant for…” She left it unspoken.
“Och. Aye. ’Twas my honor.” He added, “And my pleasure.”
She let out a dreamy sigh. Was there any man more noble and gallant than Gellir?
But suddenly his earlier words pricked at something in her memory.
Can’t have you freezing to death.
Shite. She’d completely forgotten about Lady Carenza.
As it turned out, when Merraid crept in to check on her an hour later, someone had lit the lady’s hearth. A wee, cheery flame danced there, reflecting golden light on Carenza’s peacefully slumbering face.
But as she gazed at the lass—the perfect, sweet, innocent lass everybody loved—guilt sat on Merraid’s shoulders like a yoke on an ox.
It was a sin, what she had done. Swiving another woman’s man. And no matter how much it had seemed like the right decision at the time, she knew now it was wrong.
She should never have pressured Gellir into trysting with her. Hell, he hadn’t even been sober. He couldn’t be held accountable for his actions.
It was all her fault. What she’d done was unforgivable. And Lady Feiyan was right. Merraid was better than that.
From now on, she vowed, she would do everything in her power to make certain Gellir’s wedding went smoothly. For Lady Carenza’s sake.
Things were not going smoothly with Lady Carenza. Not at all. And Gellir didn’t know what to do.
Kneeling on the hard stone of Darragh’s chapel—behind Lady Feiyan and Laird Dougal—he stared up at the stained glass in back of the chaplain, as if the saint depicted there might offer an answer.
But he heard no usable advice. Not from Carenza, murmuring prayers beside him. Not from the stained glass saint. And not from the minister, who droned on and on in Latin.
Gellir had tried everything. Bringing her flowers. Taking her riding. Impressing her with his sword skills.
Carenza could not be coaxed from her deep despair. Which made his mood even darker than usual.
On the morrow, they would wed. They’d be handfasted in the courtyard. Then, on this very spot in the chapel, they would seal their vows before God.
He suspected it would not be a joyous affair. For Carenza or him. Even the imminent arrival of his clan could not dispel the gloomy pall cast upon this marriage.
At first, he was troubled by the fear that Carenza had somehow found out about his Beltane tryst with Merraid. That it was the cause of her melancholy. That she had good reason to doubt his devotion and loyalty.
But she made no mention of it.
Nonetheless, if she ever did happen to find out—if by some tragic chance she learned what he’d done and confronted him with it—he vowed he would tell her the truth.
Most of the truth.
He would never disclose his affection for Merraid. Carenza wouldn’t understand. But he didn’t intend to let his feelings for the maidservant stand between them.
He would declare the tryst had been his fault. Aye, he’d been drunk. But not so drunk he couldn’t take responsibility for his actions. He’d known full well what he was doing. He’d let lust and chivalry get the best of him. He’d let his cock make decisions for him instead of using his head.
In his heart, he’d also believed he was giving a gift of charity to a friend. Sparing Merraid the pain of losing her virginity to an incautious stranger. But he wouldn’t tell Carenza that either.
Merraid was not to blame for any of it. Caught up in the spirit of Beltane, Merraid had simply turned to the one she could trust to initiate her. She’d chosen Gellir specifically because she knew he was leaving, that nothing would ever come of it.
There was more about the night he’d never reveal.
How Merraid had made him feel treasured.
How he’d always look back on Beltane with fondness and joy and gratitude.
How he’d hold the memory fast in his heart.
To remind him of what was possible. To remind him that precious love could thrive between a noble knight and a maidservant.
To remind him that there existed in the world a woman who could make him feel like a god.
But he acknowledged the truth. No matter how amazing the night had seemed, he’d been unfaithful. If Carenza found out, he would take responsibility for his actions. And if she could not forgive him for his behavior, he’d make whatever amends she demanded.
For now, however, he’d try to forget about that night. And, as he’d managed to do since Beltane, he’d avoid Merraid.
She seemed to be of the same mind. He’d scarcely seen her in a sennight. She’d kept busy, readying Carenza for the wedding.
The chaplain at long last finished the lengthy prayer.
Gellir came to his feet and gave Carenza his hand, helping her up.
She gave him a brief smile of thanks that dissolved the instant she lowered her eyes. She may as well have stepped on his heart, crushing it beneath her heel.
It was late. Merraid was exhausted.
It was one thing to make wedding preparations. Choosing a suitable gown for the bride. Selecting her jewels. Planning the feast. Laundering linens. Strewing fresh flowers among the rushes.
It was quite another to have to deal with a nervous bride-to-be.
Gellir had done everything humanly possible to let her become accustomed to the idea of marrying him.
For a sennight, he’d courted her with conversation and long walks.
Hawking and archery. A ride at dawn along the froth of the firth.
A late night stroll to gaze at the stars. He’d been gentle. Sweet. Accommodating.
Why then was his bride still so afraid of him?
The closer it grew to the hour of the wedding, the more agitated Carenza became. She should have gone to bed hours ago. Yet she paced hastily back and forth across her chamber, making the flames flicker madly.
“I’m sorry,” the lady muttered for the hundredth time. “Ye needn’t stay.”
“I’m not leavin’, m’lady,” Merraid promised. “I said I’d get ye through this, and I meant it.”
“Ye’re a good friend,” she said with a bleak smile.
She didn’t feel like a good friend. She felt like the worst sort of betrayer.
Ever since that incredible Beltane night, she hadn’t been able to look at Lady Carenza without the bitter taste of shame filling her mouth. The least she could do was stay up with the lady until she exhausted herself with worry.
She’d offered every reassurance she could.
She’d told her what a beautiful couple she and Gellir were going to make.
She’d regaled the lady with glorious stories about her bridegroom’s bravery and humorous tales about his childhood.
She’d raved over Carenza’s lovely and lovable nature.
She’d extolled the virtues of the clan she’d be marrying into and shared what she’d heard about the magnificent Rivenloch castle.
Nothing calmed Lady Carenza. She chewed at her lip and continued to pace.
Then, all at once, a fresh possibility occurred to Merraid.
Perhaps the lady was afraid of the wedding night.
Perhaps she knew nothing about what was to occur in the marriage bed. What it would be like to make love to a man like Sir Gellir.
Merraid gulped. She knew exactly what it was like.
Should she share her experience? Not specifically, of course. But generally? Would that help to ease Lady Carenza’s worries?
“M’lady,” she ventured, “are ye fretful about what’s to come ’tween the sheets?”
The lady suddenly stopped pacing.
Perhaps Merraid was onto something. She continued. “Because I have a wee bit of experience.”
The lady stood frozen, facing the window.
Merraid licked her lips, unsure how to proceed. “It can be quite…pleasurable. There’s only a wee bit o’ pain at first and then…”
She paused when the lady’s shoulders began to quake. Was it from fear? Or was she weeping?
“And then,” Merraid remembered, “’tis like…like a beautiful journey…with grand adventures along the way.”
Carenza’s shoulders shook harder. Merraid decided she was crying. It was just as well. Maybe she’d tire herself that way and get some sleep before the morrow.
“There’s naught to fret about,” Merraid said, “e’en if ’tis your first—”
When the lady wheeled about, Merraid was startled speechless. Carenza wasn’t crying. She was laughing.
“My first?” Lady Carenza said with a giggle.
Perplexed, Merraid could only stare, which amused the lady all the more. A particularly loud laugh burst from Carenza’s mouth, and she covered it with both hands.
Merraid frowned.
When Carenza was finally able to catch her breath, she clapped a hand to her breast. “Och, Merraid,” she said fondly, “whate’er will I do without ye?”
Just about the time Merraid was feeling like the butt of some jest she didn’t understand, Carenza’s face crumpled, and her laughter evolved into sobs.
“Och nay, nay, m’lady,” Merraid said, rushing forward to comfort her with pats to her hand.
“I have to tell ye, Merraid,” she sobbed. “I have to tell someone.”
A shiver of apprehension ran up her spine at those words. Nonetheless, she replied, “What is it, m’lady?”
“I’ve done a terrible thing,” she confessed.
In the realm of terrible things, Merraid was fairly sure sleeping with someone else’s bridegroom was worse.
How bad could the transgression of a perfect bride be? Had Carenza had impure thoughts? Lied about her age? Accidentally stepped on one of her pet mice?
“Come sit, m’lady,” Merraid said, patting the pallet.
Carenza sank down onto the edge of the bed and stared at her clasped hands.
“What is it?” Merraid asked. “What’s this terrible thing ye’ve done?”
“Ye mustn’t tell a soul.”
“Ye can trust me, m’lady.” Who could deny those tear-filled violet eyes?
Between sobs, Carenza said, “Ye remember…I told ye…my heart…belongs to another?”
“Aye.”
Her brow creased. More tears squeezed from her eyes.
“Well, I’ve got somethin’ else that belongs to him,” she said, placing a hand on her belly. “I’m carryin’ his bairn.”