Chapter 19
If Gellir’s hands hadn’t been shackled, he would have punched the stone wall of the armory in frustration.
Part of him wanted to throttle his cousin.
Part of him wanted to haul Hew off to safety.
When they were younger, Gellir had always been the one to rescue Hew, who was always getting himself into trouble over a lass.
Sometimes Hew had pursued another man’s mistress.
Sometimes he’d mistaken a harlot for an admirer.
Once he’d fallen in love with a nun.
With his heart laid bare and his cock as a compass, Hew was constantly wandering into dangerous quarters.
But this was a step too far.
First, Hew had never before interfered with Gellir’s romantic pursuits. It was a hard and fast Rivenloch rule to never let courting come before clan.
Second, the fact that Hew felt the need to protect Lady Carenza from him…his own cousin… That was a blow to Gellir’s pride.
But the situation was far worse than that. Hew was defying the king. What did he think would happen when King Malcolm found out Carenza was a runaway bride? That Hew had helped deliver her to another man?
Damn the fool! Malcolm would hunt Hew down.
He would be punished. Carenza would probably be sent to a nunnery.
God only knew what would happen to her lover.
As for Gellir, all of Scotland would know he’d been spurned by his bride.
And all of Rivenloch would have to bear the shame of what Hew had done.
Gellir had to stop him.
He jerked at the shackle yet again, hoping to find some weakness in the iron. But it held fast.
He could call out until someone found him. The heavy chain would eventually break under a sledgehammer. But he’d prefer to find a way to intercept Hew without alerting anyone to his sabotage. His cousin might be a fool, but he was a well-meaning fool.
Gellir had to protect him.
He had to protect the clan.
There was only one thing to do. One thing that would salvage Lady Carenza’s honor and keep the king’s eye off of Hew.
Gellir had to take the blame for Carenza’s desertion.
He had to claim it was his idea to call off the wedding.
He’d say he had rejected her, and that was why she’d run away.
It wasn’t a very convincing story. What man in his right mind would turn away a woman as beautiful and charming as Lady Carenza?
But he was Grim Gellir. He could speak the lie with a grave face. Especially considering what was at stake.
It would mean disappearing for a time. Avoiding the tournament circuit. Keeping to the shadows. He’d have to leave Darragh. Perhaps leave Scotland. Distance himself from the clan so as not to tarnish them with his dishonor. Live like a fugitive. Hide like an outlaw.
In a year or two, perhaps Gellir’s transgression would be forgiven and forgotten.
Perhaps King Malcolm would awaken from his dream of an English alliance and would no longer seek to marry his Scottish nobles to the enemy.
By then, Lady Carenza would be wed to her lover. Hew would congratulate himself for having rescued another maiden in distress. Maybe Feiyan would assemble another round of marriageable noblewomen for Gellir’s consideration.
Not that he was in a rush to resume courting.
He was sick of romance.
That so much sacrifice and heartache could come from a loveless alliance made him less than eager to swim in those waters again.
He expelled the last of his hope on a sigh of surrender.
“What are we goin’ to do?” Merraid ventured.
He gave her a rueful smile. “We’re not going to do anything.”
As much mischief as the maidservant had caused, none of this was her fault. Hell, she’d even tried to stop Hew with the combat tactics she’d learned from Feiyan. In skirts. And a shackle. She’d acted like a friend. He believed she truly meant to see him happy.
“We’ve got to do somethin’, she insisted. “Ye can’t let your bride just…run off.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Well,” she said, biting the corner of her lip. “Actually, ye do.”
He arched a dubious brow. “Do I?”
She worried her bottom lip under her teeth. “Ye promise ye won’t be angry?”
He frowned. “About what?”
“Ye have to promise.”
What was she up to? “You know I can’t promise that.”
“Well then, at least promise ye won’t go chargin’ off to kill your cousin?”
“Hew? I might beat the holy hell out of him, but I won’t kill him. What’s this about?”
“There may be a way…”
She lowered her eyes to the ground, lifted her skirts, and moved her boot aside. Under it was a key.
“Is that…?”
“The key to the shackles.”
“How did you…?”
“I kicked it out of his belt.”
For one instant, he felt a surge of admiration for the crafty lass. Then the truth hit him. “That was an hour ago.”
“Ye were terribly angry.”
He felt steam rising in his ears. She’d had the key all this time and hadn’t said a word. If she thought he was angry then…
She added, “I was afraid ye’d do somethin’ reckless. Somethin’ ye wouldn’t be able to undo.”
He managed to bite back the oath simmering on the tip of his tongue. But it took all his willpower to keep his ire from boiling over. To be reasonable.
Merraid had done what she thought best under the circumstances.
She didn’t realize he would never kill his own clansman. She only saw that having Hew’s blood on his hands would irreparably damage him.
She didn’t realize that Hew absconding with Carenza was tantamount to treason. She only saw that his cousin was rescuing a lovelorn lass.
She didn’t realize that her delay in giving him the key, letting him go after Hew, and allowing him to retrieve Carenza changed his future forever.
It was too late now.
What was done was done.
And it was futile to blame Merraid for what she couldn’t understand.
His anger dissolved, and he lifted a brow at her. “Are you going to give me the key now?”
“Ye vow he won’t do anythin’ rash?”
“Aye,” he lied.
She picked up the key and handed it to him. He unlocked the cuff around his wrist and freed himself from the shackles.
“So what are we goin’ to do?” she repeated.
“You’re not going to do anything,” he said.
“Ye can’t go anywhere without me.”
“Ah, but I know something you do not.” He held up the key. “This works on all Darragh’s shackles.”
Before she could decide whether that news was good or bad, he inserted the key into the cuff around his wrist.
“You’re going to stay out of trouble,” he murmured, turning the key to open the cuff, “and look after Feiyan.” Lowering his gaze to her mouth, remembering the taste of her kiss, he slipped his hand free.
“Forget me,” he said, memorizing the innocent blue of her eyes as he linked the two unlocked shackles.
“Find a good man to marry.” He closed the distance between them to brush her brow with a kiss. “And have a dozen children.”
“Wait. Where are ye—”
The cuffs connected with a decisive click.
He was free.
And she was chained to the armory wall.
“Nay!” Merraid cried.
Panic and fury warred in her breast as Gellir shot her a look of apology.
Before she could fully understand what he’d done, he tucked the key into his belt and whirled away.
“Damn ye, Gellir!” she yelled after him, thrashing against her constraints and prying at the interlocked cuffs with her free hand. The chain jangling against the wall echoed the jangling of her nerves.
What was he doing?
Where was he going?
Did he mean to track down his cousin?
Would he return with Hew—bloody and battered and hanging his head in shame—and a sobbing Carenza?
Merraid didn’t think so. What he’d said to her… Look after Feiyan. Forget me. Find a good man… Those were not the words of a man planning to return.
So what did he intend?
Surely his honor demanded he be wedded as the contract of marriage decreed—to the daughter of the Laird of Dunlop, at the pleasure of the king.
How could a loyal vassal walk away from that?
The idea was inconceivable, especially for a man like Gellir.
Yet it seemed that was exactly what he’d done.
She struggled with that impossibility for nearly an hour, until a handful of Darragh men came to see what had become of the bridegroom and found her chained in the armory.
Flinching against the sparks the armorer struck as he pounded his sledgehammer again and again to break the iron chain that bound her, Merraid struggled to accept the fact that Gellir was gone for good.
Lady Feiyan carefully questioned her after she was free.
But Merraid feigned ignorance. She refused to betray Gellir’s secrets.
Nor would she reveal anything about her own misguided attempts at matchmaking—the love notes she’d dictated, the promise she’d made to Carenza to accompany her to Rivenloch, or her desperate plan to shackle herself to Gellir to keep that promise.
She wouldn’t breathe a word about Carenza’s secret bairn. Or about Hew’s efforts to reunite her with her lover. And she would never confess her own deep feelings for Gellir. Feelings that had led her to swive him on the night of Beltane.
Unwilling to expose so many unforgivable transgressions, she was tormented by uncertainty.
Conflicting emotions raged inside her, alternating between remorse and anger, worry and woe.
The hours dragged on, filling her with crushing guilt and immeasurable sorrow.
Jaw-clenching fury and crippling anxiety.
The Laird of Dunlop was beside himself with worry. His face was ashen. His mouth was tense. He’d already lost his wife. He couldn’t lose his daughter. Though he didn’t blame the Rivenlochs for her disappearance, Merraid knew the fault would lie with them if Carenza wasn’t found.
Laird Dougal assured him that the Darragh men would find his missing daughter. Laird Deirdre offered up the best trackers of Rivenloch. Several contingents were sent to search the surrounding countryside.