Chapter 18
“Come,” Gellir replied to the knock on the solar door. He figured it was a servant summoning him to his wedding, now that he was bathed and dressed in his finest indigo velvet.
He was half right. It was a servant. A particularly pesky maidservant. Merraid seemed to be here to torment him one last time.
And torment him, she did. Scanning him from head to toe with bold admiration. Gazing at him with breathless awe and naked longing.
The mere sight of her made his heart race. Desire stirred between his thighs.
“Ye look…” she said in a strained voice, “quite suitable.”
His brow creased as she closed the door behind her. He dared not encourage her attentions. So he turned his back, picked up a comb from the table, and ran it back through his damp hair.
“Why have you come?” he choked out.
“I have to speak with ye about goin’ to Rivenloch.”
“I thought we agreed ’tis a bad idea.”
“We did,” she said, “but Carenza did not. She’s been beggin’ me all day to come with her.”
He grunted, threw the comb onto the table, and pounded the back of his fist once against the stones of the hearth.
Merraid sighed. She sauntered along the solar wall, running an idle hand over the weapons Feiyan had hung there. “Perhaps we could vow ne’er to be alone together.”
He didn’t answer. He picked up the fireplace poker and jabbed at the peat coals. The fiery sparks mirrored his mood.
Having beautiful Merraid underfoot at Rivenloch while he tried to make a difficult marriage work was unthinkable.
He’d spent the last sennight trying to purge thoughts of the winsome maidservant—panting beneath him, kissing him, letting him sink his aching cock into her warm, welcoming womb—from his brain.
“She’s afraid,” Merraid said. “That’s all.”
“She won’t be afraid after tonight,” he growled. Then he lowered his eyes and his voice. “You should know that.”
Her tiny shocked gasp made him regret his words. He didn’t dare look at her, for fear he’d detect a smoldering memory in her eyes.
He scowled at the fire. The heat and smoke irritated his eyes. Still, it was better to keep his gaze on the flames than stoke the fires of his love for the temptress before him.
“I’d only stay for a short while,” she countered, “just until she’s used to bein’ a wife.”
There was no way he was going to grant his bride her request. Inviting Merraid to Rivenloch as her handmaiden was as foolish as welcoming a fox into a doocot.
“Nay,” he grunted.
Merraid made no reply. But he noted the tense twisting of her mouth as she ran her fingers over the various daggers and shackles and flails on the wall. She was displeased.
“Hear me, Merraid.” As he spoke the words, he engraved the plans into his mind. “In another hour, the deed will be done. Carenza and I will be wedded. I will consummate the marriage. Here. Tonight. As is my right. On the morrow, my bride and I will leave for Rivenloch. Alone.”
“But—”
“Nay.” He held up a hand. “That’s final.”
It would be so much easier to say aye. It was what his bride wanted. It was what Merraid wanted. But he knew better. Merraid’s proximity would lead to nothing but dishonor and disaster. He had to stay firm. No matter how alluring the proposition was.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Merraid pull a halberd away from the wall to inspect it.
“What if I told ye she doesn’t intend to swive ye tonight?”
The fire popped, as startled as he. “What?”
“She might not,” she said with a shrug, replacing the halberd.
“She will. She’ll be my wife. ’Tis my right.”
“Ye’d take her against her will?”
“Are you so certain ’twill be against her will?” He closed his eyes to smoky slits.
She blinked and averted her gaze, fumbling with the shackles hung on the wall.
“What if I said she was…in her monthly courses?” she asked.
He crossed his arms over his chest in challenge. “Is she?”
She hesitated long enough to make him doubt her claim.
“All I know is,” she finally blurted, “she doesn’t want ye to bed her tonight.”
He furrowed his brows, staring hard at her. There was a glimmer of desperation in her gaze. A reckless prayer of hope on her trembling lips. Desire casting a sinful shadow on her soul. Now he understood.
“Nay,” he said softly, “I think ’tis you who doesn’t want to me to bed her.”
By the crease in her brow, he saw he’d hit upon the truth.
But she denied it. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she hissed. “Ye’re marryin’ a great lady. One the whole clan adores. What kind of a friend would I be to ruin that?”
He gave her a tender smile. “The kind who would do whatever it took to make sure I was happy.”
She gulped. Then she came near. Looked up at him with liquid blue eyes.
Gave him a faltering smile that was sad and beautiful and caring.
“I do care for ye. And I want ye to be happy. But ye must believe me when I say I want her to be happy as well.” She placed one hand on his chest and whispered, “Is there truly no way I can change your mind?”
Beneath her hand, his heart beat like a prisoner pounding to be free. The truth struck him with the force of a battering ram.
Bloody hell. This was the woman who made him happy. The woman he loved. This fresh-faced, fiery-haired, foul-mouthed runt of a maidservant.
She was the one who made his heart race.
Who left him breathless.
Who held his joy in the palm of her hand.
But it was not to be.
They both knew that.
Still, it was up to him to say the words she could not.
“We have to say farewell,” he murmured. “We have to end this.”
Her eyes teared.
He felt a choking lump in his throat.
“Don’t you see?” he said. “’Twill destroy me, having you so near…and ne’er being able to…to touch you.” He shook his head. “God knows I’ll ne’er have a…a friend,” he choked out, giving her a shaky smile, “quite like you.”
She caught her lip under her teeth and lowered her gaze.
He blew out a sharp breath then, dammed his tears, and straightened. “But I’ve made a vow to my clan. To my king. To my country. To my wife. I won’t break that vow. Not even for you, Merraid.”
As miserable as he felt, having to make that statement, at least he had closure. He may have broken Merraid’s heart. But in life, as in battle, it was always best to make a clean break. To take swift, decisive strikes rather than dragging out a man’s death unnecessarily.
In the end, there was always less suffering. Less guilt. Less torment.
He reached up to give Merraid’s hand one last fond squeeze, congratulating himself for handling the matter in such a forthright manner, when he felt the icy clasp of iron around his wrist.
“What the…?”
It took an instant to realize it was a shackle.
Another instant to see its twin enclosed Merraid’s wrist.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. That was what Merraid told herself as she braced for his anger.
To be honest, she’d acted completely on impulse. It was a simple fact that as long as she was shackled to Gellir, there could be no consummation of his marriage. And that meant Carenza wouldn’t need to tell him the truth about her condition. At least not tonight.
What would happen after that, she didn’t know. But if she could stave off the confrontation until they got to Rivenloch, she felt like she might at least have more time for diplomacy.
She wasn’t prepared for the depth of Gellir’s fury.
When he realized what she’d done, his eyes widened. His brows lowered like angry thunderclouds. His nostrils flared. His chest heaved. He ground his teeth. Stabbed her with his eyes. Took a great breath, as if preparing to lash her with a ferocious gale of fury.
Now she knew why they called him Grim Gellir.
Before he could roar out his wrath, there was a rapid knocking at the door.
He exhaled sharply, the wind knocked out of his angry sails. Then he thrust their shackled hands down, hiding them in the folds of her skirt.
“Come,” he bit out between clenched teeth.
Lady Feiyan rushed into the solar, frantically glancing around the chamber. “Where is Lady Carenza?”
Merraid’s heart leaped into her throat. “Is she not in her chamber?” When Merraid had last seen her, the lady had been alternately weeping and pacing before the hearth.
Lady Feiyan shook her head.
“Have ye tried the chapel?”
“Aye.”
“The garden?”
“Aye.”
“The wall walk?” Merraid’s words trailed off as she wondered if Carenza was distraught enough to do something dire. Something deadly.
“I’ve looked everywhere,” Feiyan murmured. “She’s nowhere to be found.”
Gellir’s sigh was full of defeat. “She’s run away.”
“I’m sure she’s here,” Merraid said, only half sure. “Maybe she felt ill. Maybe she’s closeted in a garderobe somewhere.”
“We’ve got to find her. Quickly. And quietly.” Feiyan shook her head. “I can’t have the Laird of Dunlop finding out we’ve lost his daughter.”
“I’ll check the garderobes,” Merraid offered.
Lady Feiyan nodded and left.
Merraid turned to Gellir to assure him, “She wouldn’t run away.” At least, she was fairly certain Carenza wouldn’t do that. She seemed like a woman of honor.
Still, Gellir looked crestfallen. Who could blame him? He’d had lasses pursuing him half his life. And the one lass he needed to fall in love with him was incapable of feeling anything for him but heartbreak.
They searched every garderobe in the castle, not an easy task in shackles. Then they checked all the outbuildings. The gardens. The orchards. The tiltyard. The stables. The underground passage to the firth.
She was nowhere to be found. And the clans were already gathering at the chapel for the ceremony. The Laird of Dunlop had a worried furrow between his brows. He no doubt suspected something was amiss with his daughter, whom he hadn’t seen since his arrival.
Merraid had never seen Gellir look so downtrodden. His eyes were flat and emotionless. His shoulders were stiff. His jaw was tense.
“Let’s check the armory one more time,” she murmured, eager to get him away from the suspicious gaze of the bride’s father.