Chapter 20
Forced to flee in great haste, Gellir had had no time to gather weapons or supplies. No time to even change out of his wedding attire. He tucked one precious souvenir of Darragh into his leine before he left. But he was ill-prepared for travel or combat.
His velvet tabard and silver jewelry ultimately did prove useful. When he reached the village, he sold them in exchange for the finest Toledo sword he could afford, a serviceable coat of used chain mail, humble rags, a pair of sturdy boots, and the purveyor’s silence.
He spent the first day trudging northeast through the woods, getting as far away from Darragh as possible. Along the way, he performed small labors for food—cutting peat, moving stones, scouring pots—anything that required a strong back and a good work ethic.
Eventually he planned to take a false name and hire out as a free lance for whoever needed a swordsman to enforce a contract or settle a dispute.
He’d draw the line at committing murder, however. He still had his honor. He might give up his name. His clan. His dignity. But he would never surrender his honor.
Even when it meant finding shelter in a barn that first night, nestled in the straw amongst piglets and lambs.
On the second morn, he dug a burial plot in a monastery orchard in exchange for use of a monk’s quill, ink, and parchment.
There he wrote a missive of confession to his cousin Feiyan.
Then, concealing himself at a crossroads, he stopped a shire-reeve who was traveling past Darragh and begged him to deliver the missive to the castle.
As the shire-reeve continued down the western road, Gellir diverted east into the woods.
It had been a long while since he’d slept on the forest floor.
A champion as esteemed as Sir Gellir Cameliard of Rivenloch was usually a highly desired guest, housed at the best castles.
Even his tournament pavilions featured lavish appointments—feather pallets and soft bedlinens, rich victuals and freeflowing ale.
But as he gazed up at the cloud-ringed moon from his makeshift bed of moss and pine needles, though his body was restless, his mind and heart were at peace.
Humility was the price of his gift to Rivenloch.
His personal disgrace would preserve the collective honor of the clan.
So the hard ground was of some comfort to him.
“Shite!”
The hiss of Merraid’s impatient oath and the angry whirl of her skirts disturbed the thick morning fog as she abandoned the taijiquan for the third time. Her mind was unfocused. Her thoughts were scattered. Her limbs moved with a will of their own.
In her first attempt, she’d tripped over a crack in the walk.
Then she’d bumped her elbow on the stone wall.
This time she completely forgot the order of the movements.
She shook her arms and blew out her tension on a long breath as she paced back and forth along the wall walk, making tumultuous patterns in the mist.
The world was hidden to her eyes this morn. Except for the distant sounds of seabirds crying and the loch lapping on the shore, the castle might have been perched on a mountain of clouds.
The future was likewise obscured by mist. Merraid felt trapped in a veil of uncertainty and indecision. Frozen in time. Unable to move in any direction for fear of stepping off the edge of those clouds.
She tried to tell herself all would be well. So Isabel had told her. So Brand believed. Gellir’s siblings placed great trust in his ability to survive.
But his future depended on more than his skill with a sword.
Did no one else understand that Gellir’s highly developed sense of duty might be his undoing? That his honor might lead him to make a noble sacrifice? One that was irreversible? Or were they so blinded by his brilliance that they could not see the hero’s path he might choose?
She swallowed hard, staring out at the impenetrable fog. Feeling isolated. Uncertain. Helpless.
Then, with a growl of exasperation, she closed her eyes and banished all self-destructive thoughts from her mind. There was no point in dwelling on what she didn’t know. What she couldn’t change.
Taking in a cool, calm breath, she bent her knees, opened her eyes to focus on the fog-shrouded firth, and started the taijiquan for the fourth time.
“Merraid!” Feiyan hissed.
Merraid spun around. The lady was out of breath from rushing up the steps. She clutched a missive in her hand. And her face was as white as the fog.
An icy dagger of fear stabbed Merraid in the heart. “Is he…?” she breathed.
Her terror must have shown on her face. Feiyan grabbed her forearm in reassurance. “Nay, he’s fine. The missive is from him.”
Merraid clapped a hand to her breast as she swayed on her feet. She hadn’t realized how afraid she was until this instant. It felt as if she’d been holding her breath for three days.
“What news, m’lady?” she asked, though she’d already deduced what he’d done. It was what he’d always done. Sacrificed his own well-being for that of his clan.
As she’d predicted, Gellir had taken responsibility for the whole debacle in order to save Hew’s honor and Carenza’s reputation. His note only filled in the gaps.
“My beloved cousin, I pray you share the contents of this missive with the Laird of Dunlop,” Feiyan read.
“It is with deep regret that I inform you I have had a change of heart regarding my marriage. I have decided I am not yet ready to take a wife. I thereby release Lady Carenza from our betrothal arrangement.”
Merraid felt ill. How it must have tormented him to make such a false confession.
“Furthermore,” Feiyan continued to read, “I have learned the lady fled Castle Darragh in tears. I wish you to know I have sent my cousin Hew to retrieve her, as I trust he will keep her safe.”
Merraid bit back tears. She wondered if Hew would ever recognize the great sacrifice Gellir had made for him.
“I intend to roam the countryside,” Feiyan read, “to enjoy the last of my freedom, to lend my sword to whoever needs it, to follow the advice of Plautus and sow wild oats while I may.”
Feiyan looked up to catch Merraid’s eye. They didn’t even need to speak. They both knew that was an outright lie. They also knew it was fruitless to try to disprove it. Once the clan heard his words, his fate would be sealed.
“Will ye share the missive with Rivenloch, m’lady?” Merraid asked.
“I can’t keep it secret. Laird Deirdre deserves to know what’s become of her son.”
“But Gellir’s honor…”
Feiyan nodded. Her lips were compressed. “I know.” She lowered the missive. “At least he’s safe.”
Giving her arm a squeeze, Feiyan turned and trudged back down the steps.
But Gellir wasn’t safe, donning the shame of his clan like a mantle over his armor. He’d simply decided he was better fortified than Hew to bear the weight of dishonor.
He wasn’t wrong about that. Hew’s nature was volatile. He was easily swayed by his passions. Gellir’s integrity, however, was etched in stone.
Because of his stainless reputation, in time, Gellir’s sins would be forgiven. If and when he eventually rejoined the tournament circuit, he’d be welcomed as a returning hero. His honor would be restored. His glory would be rekindled. He would be redeemed.
But Merraid couldn’t help but wonder…
How long would it take?
How many weeks or months or years would Gellir spend as an outcast?
How long would he be forced to languish in loneliness and obscurity?
Would he ever feel it was safe to return?
That he even deserved redemption?
Perhaps, forever wary of the king’s wrath and fearful of possible revenge upon his clan, Gellir would never return.
Her throat thickened with grief. She gripped the damp edge of the parapet, shivering in the forbidding cold. A gull swooped past the castle, doubling in her watery vision.
This couldn’t be the end.
He couldn’t be gone forever.
That would mean all her efforts had been for naught.
All her pining and patience, all her dedication and discipline, the hours she’d spent training for him, looking out for him, writing verse for him, coaxing his bride…
Still, deep within her sorrowing breast, where her hopes rapidly dwindled, a tiny spark of stubborn determination was kindled.
She couldn’t sit back and let destiny take its course.
She was a woman of action.
She was done with waiting. She’d waited four years for Gellir Cameliard. She wasn’t going to let four more precious years slip past.
Pushing away from the wall, she faced west, sniffed back her tears, and began the taijiquan.
She swept a hand across the horizon, as if clearing away all the obstacles in her path.
Transferring her weight from one leg to the other, she twisted and advanced with two slow punches. Clouted despair with her left fist. Knocked back uncertainty with her right.
Pivoting, she pressed her palm forward, shoving away self-doubt.
As she moved with new grace and confidence through the movements, the mist began to clear. She gazed out at the gray waves of the firth, kissed by the light of the sun breaking through the clouds. She felt its touch on her shoulder as well. Warming her. Invigorating her. Inspiring her.
Perhaps there was something she could do.
Perhaps she didn’t have to wait for fate.
She lunged to the right, following with her arms as if brushing aside a cloak.
She’d wanted a chance to prove her worth.
She’d always imagined it would be in the tournament lists.
She lunged slowly to the left, bringing her arms forward.
But perhaps she could do something more meaningful.
Something to repay Lady Feiyan, who’d taught her everything she knew.
Something to earn Merraid the respect of the Rivenloch clan.
Something to show Gellir how much she cared for him.
Raising her arms high, she lifted her right knee, balancing.
She’d gotten Gellir into this coil. She’d meddled in his courtships. Spied on him. Manipulated conversations. Written love notes. Steered him toward what she imagined was his best prospect.