Page 104 of Laird of Steel
The gates swung wider. Like a pack of rambunctious hounds, scattering the servants in their wake, Gellir’s clansmen spilled into the courtyard. They surrounded Gellir, clapping him on the shoulder and all talking at once. Merraid found their enthusiasm dizzying.
“’Tis about time, champion!”
“Congratulations, lad!”
“I’m so happy for you, cousin.”
“I thought you’d never find a wench.”
“Who, Gellir? The greatest swordsman in all Scotland?”
“Oho! Not for long! Brand’s a close second.”
“Is this her? Is this your bride?”
They all silenced and looked at Merraid.
“Nay,” said a well-muscled, dark-haired young man with a familiar face. “I know her. I know you. You’re that maidservant. Merraid, aye?”
She squinted at him. He’d grown since the last time she’d seen him. But she was sure it was Feiyan’s brother Adam, who had cleverly disguised his way into the castle with Gellir four year ago. “The rat-catcher?”
Everyone laughed.
“Aye,” Adam said, grinning and bowing. “At your service.”
“Gellir.” The statuesque blonde woman who came forward was Deirdre, Gellir’s mother and the Laird of Rivenloch, the fierce warrior in command of the forces that had saved Castle Darragh. “Where’s your lovely bride?”
Gellir hesitated. Carenza had been crying in her chamber all morn.
Merraid saved him. “Och, he hasn’t seen her, m’lady. At Darragh, ’tis considered bad luck for the bridegroom to see his bride before the weddin’.”
That wasn’t true at all. But it made Laird Deirdre laugh.
“’Tis a good thing Sir Pagan didn’t get to seehisbride before the wedding,” she said.
Everyone chuckled, and her husband Pagan smiled with good humor. “I’ve got no regrets.”
Merraid had heard the story from Lady Feiyan. To save her sister from marriage to Pagan, Deirdre had disguised herself, tricking him into marryingherinstead.
Another group of guests flooded through the gates. Deirdre introduced Lady Carenza’s father and her clan from Dunlop.
“Hew,” Gellir called out to a man lurking behind the rest. “’Tis been too long.”
“Gellir.” The crowd parted to reveal Gellir’s tawny-haired cousin, the one who’d been living at Dunlop, in hiding like Gellir. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a warrior’s build and a handsome face to stir a maiden’s heart. But he had no smile for Gellir. Bitterness smoldered in his eyes. “’Twould seem your fate is sealed. I’ve only to await mine now.”
“Och, Hew.” An auburn-haired woman with a bow slung over her shoulder rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there are a few good lasses left in Scotland who haven’t yet broken your heart.”
Subtle pain streaked across his eyes for an instant and then vanished. “Not all of us can find love at first sight, sister.”
The great bear of a man beside the female archer burst out laughing at that. “First sight, was it? Ye mean after she sought to steal my keep? Or after I held her hostage?”
Merraid remembered their story too. Jenefer of Rivenloch was the hot-tempered lass who had battled with Highlander Morgan Mor mac Giric over a castle. They’d ultimately settled the matter, not by combat, but by marrying and sharing the keep.
A sweet-faced lass patted Hew’s arm in sympathy. She was a few years younger than Merraid, with tresses as pale as wheat and earnest brows. “Don’t mind them, cousin. I know you’ll find…” She sighed. “The One.”
“He always does,” Jenefer quipped, which earned her a simmering glare from Hew.
A lanky lad with light hair frowned thoughtfully. “I could do the calculations. Determine how many lasses he’s courted as a fraction of all the available lasses in Scotland…”
