Chapter 25
A fortnight later, King Malcolm was still almost as excited about the wedding as Merraid.
He’d insisted it be held at Perth. Of course, that had more to do with his organization of a grand tournament on the day to follow.
His advisors said such an event would serve to strengthen the newfound alliance between the king and the earls.
But it also appealed to Malcolm’s love of knightly displays, particularly by the legendary Rivenloch warriors.
It suited Merraid as well. This sunny morn, seeing the dozens of Rivenloch competitors riding through the gates of Perth stirred her love of battle to a fever pitch.
That wasn’t the only love that had been stirred to a fever pitch.
She and Gellir had been separated for the most part over the last fortnight.
Between Merraid’s rushed wedding preparations and training for the tournament and Gellir’s fittings for armor and new wedding garments to replace those he’d sold, they hadn’t had a moment together to let their new reality sink in.
Now, as Isabel flitted around her, pinning bluebells into the tiny braids framing her loose hair, Merraid felt a touch of worry.
What if Gellir changed his mind? What if he realized he’d spoken in haste, in the heat of the moment, and didn’t consider what he’d given up?
She looked down at the richly embroidered green velvet gown she’d been given by Laird Deirdre. Merraid had never worn such finery. She had no dowry. She owned no land. Her parentage was questionable. What sort of a strategic partnership was that?
Her concern must have shown on her face.
Isabel stopped before her. “What’s this, sister?” She’d insisted on calling Merraid sister since the day she’d arranged the match. “Are you afraid?”
“Nay.” Merraid wouldn’t admit it if she was.
Though they’d been alone in the solar for an hour, Isabel glanced about to be sure no one was listening, then whispered, “Are you nervous about the marriage bed?”
Merraid almost choked. It was the same thing Merraid had asked Carenza. Carenza, who had a bairn in her belly at the time.
Isabel continued, “Because I know a bit about it.”
Merraid lifted her brows in surprise.
“Och!” Isabel yelped. “Not because I’ve done it.” She shuddered. “But I’ve got eyes. And some of the servants aren’t too cautious.”
Merraid didn’t know what to say to that. Isabel was right. Merraid was a servant. And she’d certainly been less than cautious.
“Anyway,” Isabel said, “I’ll speak to Gellir and make sure—”
“Nay!” The last thing she needed was Gellir’s little sister giving him marriage advice. “Nay, I’m fine.”
Isabel cocked a dubious brow.
Merraid sighed. Gellir’s sister could be meddlesome and dramatic. But she also had an inuitive sense about people. She’d foreseen more than one of the Rivenloch marriages. Perhaps Merraid could trust her.
“’Tis only that I fear your brother may harbor regrets.”
“Regrets?” Isabel said, incredulous. “He’s loved you since the battle at Darragh.”
She scoffed. “I was only a silly wee lass to him then.”
“Nay. He defended your honor. He comforted you in your time of need. He even gave up his spot in the battle just to look after you.”
That was all true.
But Merraid shook her head. “He only did it because ’twas the right thing to do.”
“Ballocks.”
Isabel adjusted the sapphire pendant on Merraid’s bosom, the one Gellir said matched her eyes.
“I…know things. I feel them. I’ve always felt the connection between the two of you.
I wasn’t sure how ’twould happen. After all, ’tisn’t every day the son of a laird weds a maidservant.
But when Lady Carenza ran away, it all became clear.
” She clasped Merraid’s hand and looked into her eyes.
“I feel it in my bones. Your love was meant to be. For Gellir, you are The One.”
Her words were strangely reassuring. “I hope ye’re right.”
Isabel suddenly uncovered Merraid’s bare hand. “Och! The ring!” She dug in her satchel and pulled out a small gold ring with Amor vincit omnia inscribed on it, exactly as Merraid had always envisioned it. “Come on. They’ll be waiting by the chapel. I’ll have Ian give it to Gellir.”
They whirled down the stairs in a flurry of dark green velvet and pale yellow sendal.
By the time they emerged onto the courtyard, at least a hundred clanfolk stood elbow to elbow, awaiting the ceremony. All of Rivenloch had come to see the next laird wed.
Gellir’s aunt Helena had come with Colin—the husband she’d famously abducted—and Jenefer’s siblings, Logan, Nichola, and Neyll. The lady seemed uneasy, since her son Hew was yet to be found.
Lady Feiyan’s mother Miriel had come with Rand—the husband she’d once robbed—and four of their children, Tian, Alexander, Gavand, and Merewen. They were unsurprised to learn their fifth, Adam, was currently missing.
Gellir’s older sister Hallie had come with Colban—the husband she’d notoriously held for ransom.
Merraid had never abducted Gellir. Or robbed him. Or held him for ransom. But she could no longer deny the reality.
She was about to become part of the Rivenloch clan.
Her gaze lit upon Gellir, speaking with the priest by the chapel steps, and she froze.
His blue velvet finery was worth more than she’d earned in a lifetime.
He was tall and handsome, with a noble bearing that would turn the head of a queen.
The blood of Vikings ran in his veins.
He was a Rivenloch. The son of a laird. The champion of Scotland.
An ugly voice inside her whispered, Why would he want you? Why would he want you when he could have anyone?
Her heart, suddenly as heavy as an armorer’s anvil, sank to the pit of her belly.
Her step faltered as she glanced down at her borrowed finery, at her work-roughened hands, at her bright, coarse, unruly hair.
She wasn’t good enough for Gellir.
For one instant, she considered running away.
But then Gellir spotted her.
He halted mid-sentence, and his eyes quickly scanned her from head to toe.
His face slowly lit up with pleasure—as if they were the only two people in all the world.
Her worries suddenly vanished, and her heart grew light.
There was so much love in his eyes. So much happiness.
Isabel leaned near and whispered, “See? For you, he’s The One.” She gave Merraid a wink and skipped away like a butterfly leaving a flower.
All at once, with the way Gellir was staring at her, Merraid felt like a flower. As she walked forward, his adoration shifted ever so subtly into desire. His sparkling eyes were veiled by passion as he let his gaze roam the length of her.
She’d never felt more beautiful. More wanted.
That feeling persisted throughout the ceremony as they spoke the vows of marriage, gazing into each other’s eyes.
As he eased the ring onto her finger with suggestive grace.
As the priest blessed their union with words that sealed their fate.
By the time they were expected to kiss, Merraid’s pulse was racing. An exhilarating vibration sang through her body. And the heat engulfing her was not from the meager spring sun.
He captured her cheek in his sword-callused palm and tilted his head, lowering his lips to hers in the most gentle and respectful of caresses.
She knew that was proper. She knew their clanfolk surrounded them. Laird Deirdre was watching. The priest was watching. The King of Scotland was watching.
But she hadn’t kissed him in a fortnight. She couldn’t be blamed for wanting more than a quick peck.
Before he could slip away, she snagged his surcoat in her fists, crumpling the expensive velvet, and drew him closer.
With a soft moan of need, she pressed his perfect mouth open with hers to deepen the kiss.
Desire rose in her veins, and she fed it, letting her tongue play with his until she felt an urgent longing building betwixt her legs.
He groaned softly in reply, clutching her closer with an arm around her back, holding her against that part of him that hardened with need.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard rising laughter and the amused voice of the king.
“Perhaps you should make haste to your bridal chamber, Sir Gellir.”
Gellir abruptly broke off the kiss. For one awful instant, she feared she’d humiliated him. Made a fool of him in front of his clan and his king. She feared he’d never forgive her.
But he only gave the king a brusque nod. “Your Grace.”
Then he swept her off her feet, striding with her through the chuckling, cheering crowd, dissolving her fears.
The chamber was no doubt beautifully appointed. Perth was the residence of the king, after all. But as Gellir burst through the chamber door, carrying her in his arms, Merraid saw none of it. She only had eyes for her new husband.
He kicked the door closed behind them and murmured, “Och, wife, you are an irresistible temptation.”
She shivered with passion as he carried her toward the bed.
There was supposed to be an hours-long feast, followed by entertainments. Afterward, her new clan sisters were supposed to undress her with great ceremony and prepare her to be bedded by her husband.
That obviously wasn’t going to happen.
Gellir began ravishing her with his hungry mouth.
Breathless, she scrabbled at his surcoat, as if by sheer dint of will she could remove it.
He fell with her onto the bed. Kissing her. Caressing her. Groaning against her mouth.
His warm breath filled her with desire. His arousal, rigid against her thigh, drove her wild with yearning. Her breasts tingled as he squeezed them tenderly through her velvet gown. The ache between her thighs intensified as she arched and writhed upon the pallet.
She wanted him now. She could wait no longer.
Somehow he managed to tear loose long enough to whip up his surcoat and untie the laces of his braies.
Then he dragged her skirts up and knelt betwixt her legs.
She held her breath in mindless anticipation as his skilled fingers moved between her thighs to find the swollen fruit of her desire, ripe and aching for his touch.
With bold eagerness, he spread her nether lips and pressed the tip of his cock against her willing flesh.
Unable to endure any more, she surged upward, sheathing him like a welcome dagger inside her.
His deep groan sharpened her passion.
His thrusts, tentative at first, rapidly became more forceful, driving her to a frenzy.
Gasping and grunting, they collided again and again.
Every inch of her skin felt alive. Every pore seemed to sweat desire. Every breath took her a step closer to heaven.
And then she felt him squeeze and strain in all his muscular glory, catapulting her across the skies of yearning, until they both reached that infinite, shuddering place of pure ecstasy.
Then together, they floated gently back to earth.
For a long while afterward, they could do no more than lie in a boneless heap and gasp for breath, like combatants weary of war. Merraid had no wits left to think, much less speak.
Eventually, Gellir rolled off of her and drew her into his arms. She dozed for a long while, falling asleep with a smile on her face.
When she woke, the sun was already low in the sky, streaming in through the window. Gellir was on one elbow, looking down at her with amusement.
“What?” she asked drowsily.
“Sooner or later, we have to join the feast.”
“Shite.”
She’d much rather stay in bed with her new husband. Indeed, since she was awake now, she was keenly aware of his long, lean, muscular warrior’s body pressed against hers.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?” she said, all innocence.
“Like you want to spend the rest of the night ravishing me.”
“I do want to spend the rest o’ the night ravishin’ ye.”
“Fine.” He began to take his surcoat off over his head. “But don’t blame me if you have no strength left for the tournament tomorrow.”
“Och, the tournament!” She sat up. She’d almost forgotten. And now that he mentioned it, she probably should be a bit more judicious about how she expended her energy.
He laughed and let his surcoat fall back down.
“Ye’re right,” she said, standing up and smoothing her skirts. “We should go down to the feast. Do I look all right?”
Gellir grinned.
Her velvet surcoat was crumpled. So was her linen underdress. And her hair? Sprays of coppery tendrils and wee wilted flowers escaped the tangled nest of braids.
“You look lovely.”
It was the truth.
He realized it had always been the truth.
Even four years ago, as a scrawny lass of fifteen—with her freckled face and her wild orange hair and her broken nose—Merraid had had a beautiful heart.
A kind heart that had made her attend to his every want as she brought him breakfast. Bandaged his cuts. Polished his armor. Listened to his ideas.
A patient heart that had made her believe in his love and wait for his return.
A selfless heart that had made her sacrifice her own happiness by seeking a bride who would make him content.
A noble heart that had given her the courage to face the king and plead for his redemption.
And now?
Whether she wore a maidservant’s apron or a suit of armor or a rumpled wedding gown, Merraid would always be the most beautiful woman in the world to him.
“Why are ye lookin’ at me like that?” she asked.
“Because I love you.”
She melted with a smile. He could feel her affection from across the room.
But as she passed him on her way to the door, she added, “Ye won’t love me on the morrow when I’ve tossed ye on your arse in front o’ the king and all your kin.”