Page 15 of Laird of Steel
For his cousin’s sake, he’d acted nonchalant about the matter of his marriage. He didn’t intend to burden her with the responsibility of finding him a wife. But the truth was, even though the eventuality of taking a bride had always been an inevitable part of his life, he suddenly felt as if it had been thrust upon him.
The details had never seemed to matter before. But now that his destiny was fast becoming a reality, he had questions.
Whatwouldhis wife be like? How would she feel abouthim?Would she be sweet and gentle? Or hot-tempered and bitter? Cruel? Or kind? Given to laughter or tears? Clever or dull-witted? And though he’d said it was of little consequence, he had to wonder… What would she look like?
Unbidden, a vision of lush gingery hair, dainty freckles, and sky-blue eyes stole into his mind.
He couldn’t help but smile. Merraid might not fit on Feiyan’s list of prospects. But she’d make some man a happy bridegroom indeed.
She was charming and challenging. Spirited. Brave. Beautiful. Who would not wish to be wed to such a lass?
She was also blessed with soft skin. Tresses that tickled his cheek. Full lips that had once yielded to his in a sweet kiss.
He sighed. It was a fool who dwelled on things he couldn’t have.
And Gellir was no fool.
All the way to the kitchens, a silent battle raged inside Merraid’s head.
She thought her passion for Gellir had grown cold. But a tiny ember must have been glowing inside her all these years, for now she longed to melt into his arms.
He’d shown her the uncommon chivalry and respect she remembered from long ago. He’d accepted his defeat with grace and dignity, humility and honor. And he’d reignited memories of the brave and forthright young warrior she’d once adored.
“Merraid!” the cook barked, startling her from her thoughts. “Linens for the table. And wine. Thyme and rosemary from the garden. Take Swannoc and Ede.”
Setting aside for the moment all thoughts of whom the preparations were for, Merraid took refuge in busying herself with the tasks at hand. She brought four dusty-shouldered bottles of French wine from the buttery. Then she snagged the two wee lasses to assist her in arranging linens atop the trestle tables.
But her hopes of distraction were short-lived. Young Swannoc and Ede were bursting with excitement over the guest of honor.
“Did ye see how wide his shoulders are?” Ede whispered as she folded a napkin.
“Aye,” Swannoc replied, smoothing the tablecloth. “He’s grown since he was here last.”
Ede gasped. “Ye remember him from before?”
“Oh aye,” Swannoc said. “I was twelve, but I remember him well.”
“I was only nine.” Ede sighed. “I wish I could have seen Grim Gellir fight for Darragh.”
“’Twas brilliant,” Swannoc gushed. “He was like lightnin’ with his sword and—”
“Less tongue-waggin’ and more napkin-foldin’, if ye please,” Merraid scolded.
They obliged, but it wasn’t long before Ede asked, “Do ye remember Sir Gellir, Merraid?”
Before she could answer, Swannoc replied, “Oh aye, Ede. Don’t ye know? ’Twas Merraid herself who brought him a sword for the big battle.”
“Ye did?” Ede squealed.
“Aye,” Merraid admitted, straightening the tablecloth.
“And did ye see him fight?”
“I did.”
Ede’s eyes lit up. “What was he like?”
“He was…” Fierce. Powerful. Brave. Magnificent. “A good fighter.”
