Page 144 of Laird of Steel
The Rivenloch warriors mumbled together. Some shrugged. Some shook their heads.
Not wishing to be involved in what appeared to be delicate negotiations, Pagan, Morgan, and Brand stood aside.
Young Ian watched with calm interest, finally voicing a verdict that Laird Deirdre and everyone else could agree upon.
Isabel gave a wee squeal of victory. She rushed up to Gellir to whisper in his ear. After she spoke, she gave him a giddy grin, laughing aloud.
But he could only stare at her in wonder. Was what she said true?
He glanced over at the Rivenlochs. At the warriors. At his parents. All the clan stood of one accord. Laird Deirdre was beaming at him.
Itwastrue.
He let his gaze drift back to Merraid. Beautiful, bright Merraid. Who made his heart swell. Who made his spirit soar. Who made his soul feel complete.
“Your Grace,” he called out, “may I make one other request?”
“What is it?”
He locked eyes with Merraid as he addressed the king. “If she’ll have me,” he said, “I should very much like to be wedded to your newest noble knight.”
Merraid’s happy gasp was answer enough. And the rapture in her eyes was so compelling and so blinding that Gellir didn’t much care whether the king approved or not.
Chapter 25
A fortnight later, King Malcolm was still almost as excited about the wedding as Merraid.
He’d insisted it be held at Perth. Of course, that had more to do with his organization of a grand tournament on the day to follow. His advisors said such an event would serve to strengthen the newfound alliance between the king and the earls. But it also appealed to Malcolm’s love of knightly displays, particularly by the legendary Rivenloch warriors.
It suited Merraid as well. This sunny morn, seeing the dozens of Rivenloch competitors riding through the gates of Perth stirred her love of battle to a fever pitch.
That wasn’t the only love that had been stirred to a fever pitch. She and Gellir had been separated for the most part over the last fortnight. Between Merraid’s rushed wedding preparations and training for the tournament and Gellir’s fittings for armor and new wedding garments to replace those he’d sold, they hadn’t had a moment together to let their new reality sink in.
Now, as Isabel flitted around her, pinning bluebells into the tiny braids framing her loose hair, Merraid felt a touch of worry.
What if Gellir changed his mind? What if he realized he’d spoken in haste, in the heat of the moment, and didn’t consider what he’d given up?
She looked down at the richly embroidered green velvet gown she’d been given by Laird Deirdre. Merraid had never worn such finery. She had no dowry. She owned no land. Her parentage was questionable. What sort of a strategic partnership was that?
Her concern must have shown on her face.
Isabel stopped before her. “What’s this, sister?” She’d insisted on calling Merraid sister since the day she’d arranged the match. “Are you afraid?”
“Nay.” Merraid wouldn’t admit it if she was.
Though they’d been alone in the solar for an hour, Isabel glanced about to be sure no one was listening, then whispered, “Are you nervous about the marriage bed?”
Merraid almost choked. It was the same thing Merraid had asked Carenza. Carenza, who had a bairn in her belly at the time.
Isabel continued, “Because I know a bit about it.”
Merraid lifted her brows in surprise.
“Och!” Isabel yelped. “Not because I’ve done it.” She shuddered. “But I’ve got eyes. And some of the servants aren’t too cautious.”
Merraid didn’t know what to say to that. Isabel was right. Merraid was a servant. And she’d certainly been less than cautious.
“Anyway,” Isabel said, “I’ll speak to Gellir and make sure—”
