Page 142 of Laird of Steel
The Rivenloch warriors stiffened, poised for battle.
Malcolm continued. “By royal decree, let it forthwith be known that no dishonor shall stain either clan for this mutual…indiscretion.”
A collective sigh filled the air. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted off Merraid’s shoulders.
She’d done it.
She’d saved Gellir’s honor.
Now he was free.
He could do what he loved best. Whether that was pursuing glory on the tournament field.
Or going home to Rivenloch with his head held high.
Or even resuming his search for a bride—whom his sister Isabel called The One.
While the crowd began to chatter in speculation, Merraid turned to look at Gellir. Her lips trembled in an uncertain smile. He had every right to be vexed with her for exposing the truth. But she hoped he would realize the outcome justified the deed.
What she didn’t expect was the awe and disbelief and gratitude she saw in his gaze. No longer grim and foreboding, his face shone with an inner light. His clear and earnest eyes were full of admiration and respect. Adoration and pride and wonder.
“You did this for me,” he murmured.
Her heart filled to overflowing at his precious words.
All her efforts had been worthwhile after all.
All the spying she’d done.
All the missives she’d written.
All the miles she’d trudged on his behalf.
She’d been able to give him the gift of redemption.
She’d never loved him more.
But she couldn’t say that.
Instead she shrugged. “’Tis what friends are for.”
Deep in her soul, she knew she was far more to Gellir. And a twinge of pain twisted her heart, reminding her he could never be hers. Still, she counted herself the luckiest woman in the world to be able to stand in the bright light of his affection. To call herself his friend.
“What about you, Grim Gellir?” the king sang out, interrupting her thoughts and halting the conversation around them. “What reward do you seek for your loyalty in defending us?”
Merraid knew chivalrous Gellir would ask for nothing. He would claim the mere honor of defending his king was reward enough. It was the way he was. Noble. Worthy. Gallant to a fault.
As she expected, he placed one hand across his heart and said, “I ask no reward for myself.” Then he added, “But if it pleases Your Grace, I would request a special dispensation on behalf of your loyal subject.” He indicated Merraid.
She was dumbstruck. She could hardly be called a loyal subject. She’d only met Malcolm. And before today, she’d had her ears filled with mostly disparaging comments from Feiyan about the Sassenach-loving Scottish king.
“A special dispensation?” the king asked.
Merraid wondered about that as well.
Gellir straightened and said, “Though Merraid of Darragh is of humble birth, she is of noble heart. I know she would be most grateful, Your Grace, if you bestowed upon her the honor of knighthood.”
Merraid blinked. Surely she’d heard wrong. The murmurs around her said otherwise.
