Page 136 of Laird of Steel
He used a silk veil from Adam’s satchel, one that by chance matched the color of her glaring eyes. Though she resisted biting him, she didn’t make the task easy.
Then, scanning the pavilions, he spotted a peasant beside a two-wheeled haycart, chewing on a piece of straw and watching the altercation with mild interest.
“You!” Gellir called out, gesturing him forward.
He dug in the satchel and found a few loose coins. “These are yours if you hide her in your haycart and take her to Kinross.”
Merraid squealed in protest.
The man’s eyes widened as he licked his lips and reached for the coins. Gellir closed his fist. Then he held up his sword. “This is yours if you fail.” The man hesitated. “Do you understand?”
“Aye, sir.”
He opened his hand and gave the coins to the man. Then he hefted up Merraid, carried her unceremoniously to the cart, and placed her among the sheaves of hay.
“Be safe,” he wished her before shifting hay over her glowering face.
Merraid had no intention of riding all the way to Kinross in a haycart.
She might be shackled. And bound. And gagged. And half-buried in hay. But she was a fighter. One way or another, she meant to escape and return to Perth to speak to the king. And to rescue Gellir. Even if he didn’t want rescuing.
The way the warp-wheeled cart limped along the rutted road impeded her efforts. She swore the man chose to trudge over every bump and pit along the way. Thankfully, he was too preoccupied with singing to notice her movements. And at last she thrashed her way free of the hay.
By then, they were already in the forest. The treetops peered down at her as she lay there, as if wondering how she’d come to be so helpless.
But helpless she was not. If she could manage to maneuver onto her knees, she could loop the chain of her shackles around the man’s throat and force him to stop.
She twisted onto her belly. Then, using strength developed from her disciplined training, she slowly inched her hips up and slid her bound ankles forward until her knees were under her.
The wheels hit a rut, and she banged her knees on the bottom of the cart. But she bit back a curse and stayed rigid, determined not to lose the progress she’d made. Then, pushing against the wood with her shackled hands, she began to transfer her weight to her knees, uncurling her spine.
Balancing carefully, she straightened. Then, without a sound, she lifted her shackled hands above her. The oblivious humming haycart driver was inches away. All she needed to do was lunge forward. Drop the shackles down over his head. And pull the chain back against his throat.
In another instant, she could have done it.
But someone suddenly leaped down from the trees and shouted, “Halt!”
Shite. An outlaw.
The startled driver stopped abruptly and dropped the cart handles, which sent Merraid hurtling forward out of the cart and tumbling onto the road face-first.
She groaned in pain as her shin scraped on the edge of the wheel and her cuffed hands were crushed beneath her.
But she was more angry than hurt. The outlaw’s timing could not have been worse. Why the devil would a thief want to rob a haycart?
With her cheek lodged in the dirt, she spit the dust from around her gag and opened one eye.
The black boots planted just inches before her were familiar. As was the voice.
“Merraid?” Feiyan pulled down the black mask obscuring her face and crouched beside her. “What are you doing here?”
Relief flooded her veins. Feiyan had come. She would understand. She would make Gellir see he was making a mistake.
Merraid grunted, indicating her gag. Feiyan reached behind her head to untie it.
“M’lady,” she choked out, “ye have to save him.”
“Save who?”
