Page 135 of Laird of Steel
How could such an insignificant man hold Gellir’s future in his hands? How did he have the authority to command earls? To steer the fate of a country?
It was no wonder the earls had rebelled when the young king started parceling out land to the enemy English. It left a bitter taste in her mouth to realize, now that Gellir had openly supported the king, it was even more likely Malcom would wed him to an English noblewoman.
The idea sickened her. Which made it even more critical for her plan to work.
“Listen,” Gellir murmured, taking her chin between his finger and thumb and capturing her eyes with his own. “If your plan doesn’t work…”
Placing her hands on his chest, she tried to protest. But he slid a silencing thumb across her lips.
“If the king isn’t willing to bend…” he continued. “If the earls are too greedy or Adam’s identity is revealed…” He looked at her with such intensity, she felt overwhelmed, as if a wild storm had torn the breath from her lungs. “I want you to know,” he said, as if he meant to impress his words upon her soul, “’tis not your fault.”
She felt her chin wobble. But she refused to cry. She might not be a maid of Rivenloch. But she’d be damned if she would weep in front of him. Not when she needed to be strong.
He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I’ve always known my destiny was not mine to command.”
She felt her grief curdling into anger. “Ballocks,” she muttered. “’Tisn’t fair.”
He lowered his hand to capture both of hers, holding them against his chest and kissing the top of her knuckles. “Life seldom is.”
Then, just as her heart was breaking for her noble hero who deserved love more than anyone, she heard, for the third time in a sennight, the all too familiar click of shackles closing.
Chapter 23
Gellir hated to resort to such brutal tactics. He felt like the worst sort of betrayer. But he had to get Merraid to safety. And he knew very well she wasn’t going to listen to reason.
Finding the shackles among Adam’s things had been a stroke of good luck. On the other hand, considering his cousin could produce almost anything out of his infamous satchel, it should not have been surprising.
She still fought him, of course. She screamed with rage and flailed and kicked at him. It would have been easier to catch an eel with his bare hands than to subdue the wily, writhing lass who’d learned all of Feiyan’s sly tricks.
In the end, with her arms bound and in overlarge chain mail that hampered her efforts, he managed to wrest her to the ground and pin her there with his weight. Then he used a piece of rope from Adam’s satchel to bind her ankles.
She spat and cursed him to the devil. But what nearly unmanned him was the hurt he saw in her eyes. Hurt that no amount of vehement oaths could hide.
Eventually she silenced. Eventually she stopped struggling. Then she resorted to her deadliest weapon of all—impaling him with the sharp blue daggers of her eyes.
He told himself it didn’t matter if she despised him. Her hate was far less dangerous than her love.
Still, he strained to choke out his words. “Go, Merraid. Go back to Darragh. Live your life. Be free.”
An angry tear slipped from the corner of her eye and dripped onto the ground. “Ye’re makin’ a mistake,” she bit out.
“’Tis mine to make.”
“So yewantto be married to a Sassenach?”
He blinked. That was what she was worried about? That he’d be wedded to an enemy against his will?
Shite. He doubted he’d live to be married. Malcolm wasn’t going to compromise. He wasn’t going to return the lands he’d given to England to the earls. Not after the English king had rewarded him with knighthood. And once the earls learned that, they would take their rage out on Gellir and probably tear him to pieces.
But he couldn’t tell Merraid all that. He couldn’t tell her her plan would never work.
“I don’t care who I wed,” he lied. Then, seeing the disappointment in her eyes, he decided it wasn’t enough to encourage her to go. He had to push her away. Swallowing back regret and cursing the circumstances that drove him, he told her coldly, “I never have. ’Twas entertaining for a while—Feiyan bringing me prospects, you reviewing each one. But to be honest, as long as my bride spreads her legs and gives me bairns, she can be a Welsh hag for all I care.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered.
It took all his willpower to ignore her. But he had to stay strong. He couldn’t let her powers of persuasion divert him from his course.
He sighed. If she hated being bound, she was going to detest being gagged.
