Page 128 of Laird of Steel
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?”
