Page 118 of Laird of Steel
“I’m not. And you needn’t worry either,” he said. “With a sword at his side, no one can conquer my brother. He’ll be bested by neither man nor beast.”
Merraid gave him a wan smile. Brand clearly admired his illustrious sibling.
But she wasn’t worried about men or beasts.
She was worried about a king whose will had been challenged.
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 thetaijiquanfor 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 thetaijiquanfor the fourth time.
“Merraid!” Feiyan hissed.
