Chapter 21 #2
Her hopes collapsed. “That could be months.”
“There’s no other way.”
There was one other way. A conniving maidservant’s way. A few words whispered in the right ears could start a major battle among the clans. And while they were embroiled in their own skirmish, she might be able to slip into the keep.
But she quickly dismissed that idea. It was the sort of bold idea Lady Feiyan was always scolding her for. The sort of idea Feiyan called using a trebuchet to kill a fly.
So what would sly Feiyan do?
Merraid had been trained to use an opponent’s power against them. To learn their weaknesses. To harness their strengths. To divert rather than stop blows. To use grace, balance, and redirection instead of brute force.
But even more key than battle skills, Feiyan had taught her to avoid conflict. If a matter could be solved by evasion, it was better to walk away from a fight. And if it could be solved through diplomacy, it was better to wield words than swords.
“What if I ended the siege?” she asked aloud.
“How would you do that?”
“By brokerin’ peace.”
She could tell by Adam’s uncertain grimace that he didn’t believe she had the skills for that. But he remained silent.
“Whose authority is higher than the king’s?” she asked him.
“No one’s.”
“Ah, but ye’re wrong.”
He puzzled over that for an instant, then replied, “The church.”
She grinned.
His furrowed brow was dubious. “You think the church can end the siege?”
“I do.” She had a plan. One that even Lady Feiyan would approve. “But I’ll need your help. And parchment. And a quill. And ink.”
No sooner did she speak the words than Adam reached into his satchel and pulled out the requested items.
She stared at him in open-mouthed wonder.
He shrugged, explaning, “I come prepared.”
“What else have ye got in there? A horse and cart?”
It would take some time to consider the perfect words. But Merraid knew if she could court a titled lady with romantic verse, she could sway six earls and a king with carefully crafted flattery. Especially if it came from the most powerful man in the world.
At midday, Gellir at last emerged from the woods on the main road to Perth. His breath caught at first sight of the castle. Surrounding the palisade, dozens of pavilions spread across the sward like heather blanketing the hills.
There were more of them than he’d expected. Enough to make him reconsider his brash intention to challenge the rebellious earls. Apparently they’d come, not as diplomats, but with their entire clan armies, ready to wage war.
In the end, it would make no difference. Gellir fully expected to die in the attempt. But his death would be in service to the king. Thus it would restore honor to Rivenloch.
Straightening his shoulders beneath the ragged coat of mail that was still rusty despite scrubbing it with sand, he took a deep breath and strode boldly across the mist-covered grass.
He immediately recognized the first banner.
“Ferteth!” he bellowed, unsheathing as he came.
Servants fled in the wake of his grim scowl and naked blade. Soldiers frowned and clapped hands on their swords. A scrawny lad scrambled into the finest pavilion to fetch the earl.
A moment later, Ferteth burst through the canvas flap with an indignant glower.
“What is the meaning of th-…” His eyes widened. “Gellir?”
Gellir would never attack an unarmed man. Especially Ferteth, who was as old as Gellir’s father. But neither would he allow treason to go unpunished.
“In the name of the king,” Gellir bit out, “I demand satisfaction.”
The earl’s face reddened with rage. “What? You would defend that Sassenach-lover?”
“I’m King Malcolm’s vassal. As are you.”
“He broke bread with the enemy,” Ferteth sneered.
Gellir narrowed his eyes to slits. “Arm yourself,” he growled.
“Bloody hell,” Ferteth grumbled. “Donald, fetch me my sword and armor.”
While Donald bowed into the pavilion to do Ferteth’s bidding, another lad bolted away, probably off to spread the news of the challenge.
Before Ferteth could finish donning his chain mail, another earl burst from between the pavilions, carrying a bare blade in his hairy hand.
“Is it true, sirrah?” the new arrival demanded of Gellir. “Are you challenging us?”
“Aye,” Gellir declared, eyeing the soldiers who had begun to gather. They hadn’t unsheathed. Yet. Perhaps it would be a fair fight after all.
“James!” the second earl called over his shoulder. “Here!”
James, the third earl, arrived. He had a shock of red hair, blue fire in his eyes, and an iron grip on his sword.
“I know you!” he spat. “You’re Deirdre’s son! Good God, man! Does Rivenloch know what you’re up to?”
Good, Gellir thought. At least they knew who he was. The king would know which clan was loyal. Which clan had come to his rescue.
The fourth earl was only half-dressed. He was young, fit, and fine-looking. And by the terrified expression on the sweet face of the disheveled lass trailing after him, he had good reason to be only half-dressed. He nonetheless carried a weapon.
While the fourth earl was catching his breath, a fifth stomped into the clearing. He was as big as an ox, with hair as black as peat. Drawing his sword, he let out a wordless bellow.
As if summoned by that bellow, a sixth earl scurried to join the others. He stood a full foot shorter than his companions, and his blade quivered in his pudgy hand. But he prepared for combat, pulling his visor down over his round face. Gellir wondered if the visor was to hide his flinches of fear.
Gellir blew out an uneasy breath as he scanned the warriors surrounding him now with their blades drawn. Even if he somehow managed to best the six earls, armies of their loyal clansmen stood behind them with their hands on their hilts, ready to finish him off.
“Look!” Merraid hissed from inside Adam’s ill-fitting helm, stopping in her tracks halfway across the green. “’Tis the earls, aye?”
Adam, having exchanged his armor for Merraid’s robes, pushed back the hood to take a closer look at the men gathering between the pavilions. “Aye.”
She chuckled once. “They’ve already gathered. That’s convenient.”
“Not really. They’ve drawn their swords.”
“Drawn their swords?” She raised her brows, and the helm slipped down over her eyes. She pushed it back up to peer at Adam through the slit. “Why?”
“I’m guessing they mean to…stab somebody?”
Merraid gasped. “’Tisn’t the king in their midst, is it?”
“Hard to tell. Let’s get closer.”
Merraid’s heart thumped in her breast. She bore no great love for King Malcolm. But if the earls killed him, she’d never get the chance to restore Gellir’s honor.
Emboldened by her new disguise, she strode across the sward with manly confidence. Adam scrambled after her in his cowl, clutching the rolled parchment in his hand.
They’d just reached the back of the crowd when she glimpsed, in the midst of the earls, a dark head of hair she’d recognize anywhere.
For one terrifying instant, long enough to mouth the word, “Gellir,” she froze.
Then the dull gleam of a steel blade rose above his head, and her body sprang to life.
Tearing away from Adam, shouldering soldiers aside, she drew her sword as she charged. Before the earl’s blade could descend upon Gellir, she rushed in to knock it away with her weapon.
Whirling, she faced another earl’s threatening slash, which she deflected from Gellir’s chest. The third blow, struck by a young man who was only half-dressed, knocked her helm askew and narrowly clipped her shoulder before she could duck out of the way.
Gellir immediately understood he had an ally. “Back to back!” he shouted.
Adjusting her helm, she spun round. Their backs collided to create a two-faced enemy, harder to defeat.
Nonetheless, they were two against six. And should they manage to defeat the six, there were still their clansmen to contend with.
But she didn’t dare think about that. Not while steel whistled and clanged and sparked all around her.
She lunged and lashed at one foe while the other two recovered. But their attacks came faster and faster. With her jian, she could have made minced meat out of the earls. Hampered by armor that didn’t fit well and a Scottish sword she’d never used before, her defenses were slow and awkward.
“The king!” someone shouted.
She only had time for a quick glance, but high upon the parapets of Perth Castle, a noble figure watched the fight.
Reinvigorated by a royal audience, Merraid redoubled her efforts, pummeling the helm of the shortest earl and leaving a nasty scratch across the bare chest of the youngest.
She still couldn’t see properly out of Adam’s oversized helm, which kept slipping down over her eyes. But if she was going to be vanquished in this hopeless battle, she supposed it didn’t matter if she tore it off and revealed her identity.
With her free arm, she wrenched the helm from her head and flung it hard at the spitting, furious, redhaired earl.
As he dropped onto his arse and grabbed his nose in pain, she used her leg to sweep the short earl off his feet and onto the ground with a thud.
And while the half-naked earl was gaping in wonder, she knocked him back with a punch to the chin that sent him to the land of dreams.
With three of them dispatched, she tossed back her braid and swiveled round to help Gellir with the last three.
“Merraid?” Gellir said, startled.
In that instant of distraction, the hairy bear of a man he was fighting charged forward.
But Gellir’s incredulous eyes never left her as he handily jabbed the man’s throat with the pommel of his sword.
It was a simple matter, once the bear was gagging and swaying on his feet, for Merraid to finish him with a swift sideways shove.
“What are you doing here?” Gellir asked in wonder. His expression was a curious mixture of disbelief and pleasure, horror and relief.
She gave him a quick wink. “Bein’ your good friend.”
But there was no time for chat. The second earl attacked.
He was an older gentleman, but an excellent fighter. And he seemed to have no qualms about fighting a woman.
Merraid thrust and dodged and deflected his attacks with great skill. Still the man met her, blow for blow. He would not go down easily.
Gellir, however, could be of little assistance. The earl he fought was a beast. He was at least six inches taller than Gellir, with shoulders as wide as an oxcart. His hair was black. His eyes were beady. And he was frothing at the mouth, practically choking on fury.
While Merraid leaped and kicked and finally began to weary her opponent, she could see that Gellir was getting nowhere with the beast.
Between blows of her own, she studied the hulking ox assailing Gellir. He might be able to pound a man into the ground with one fist. But he moved like a slug. He might have the shoulders of a blacksmith. But the weight of his body made him clumsy.
“Let me!” she decided, facing off against the beast, giving Gellir no choice in the matter as the old earl shifted to attack him.
She smiled at the frothing beast, which only goaded him into charging her. One quick sidestep, and he sailed past, colliding with the crowd like a ball striking ninepins.
Righted by his clansmen, he shivered with rage, raised his blade, and charged again.
Again, she sidled out of the way, and he crashed into the side of a pavilion, collapsing it.
While Gellir continued to do serious battle, she tangled with an oaf who seemed more like an unruly child. An enormous child, to be sure, but one who didn’t understand anything but brute force.
But Merraid’s training had taught her that the greater the power a foe had, the greater a weapon she had against him. And for a man of truly enormous power…
Once he extricated himself from the pavilion wall, he let out an animalistic growl and thundered toward her.
This time, instead of stepping away, she dove at his feet.
He tripped over her, dropping his sword, and fell with earth-shaking force onto his hands and knees.
She hopped up and waited for him to rise while Gellir backed his tiring opponent against a pavilion wall with a series of admirable, swift strikes.
When the beast found his footing, he didn’t bother trying to locate his weapon, but recklessly charged her again.
She didn’t need her sword either. She dropped it and charged in under him, aiming for his belt. Momentum carried him over her rounded shoulder, and he slammed to the ground on his back with such stunning force, it sapped the breath from him.
At that moment, Gellir gave the last remaining earl a hard clout to the helm with the butt of his sword that made the man slither to the ground.
Their enemies defeated, they faced each other, breathless and battered.
As they exchanged glances, she felt his gaze speak to her.
I love you, it said.
I missed you.
I thought I’d never see you again.
But then his eyes widened.
And that was when she saw it.
The clan armies around them were slowly advancing.