Page 2 of Laird of Steel
Lady Feiyan nodded toward the departing travelers. “Keep an eye on them till they’re out of sight, will you? Make sure they get away safely into the woods.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Merraid dipped her head.
The lady’s command was laughable, of course. The Rivenloch clan hardly needed Merraid’s protection. Only a fool would attempt to cross the renowned warriors. Besides, there were a dozen tasks she should be doing instead. Polishing the oak chests. Sweeping out the rushes. Harvesting herbs for supper.
Lady Feiyan had taken pity on her. She probably dismissed Merraid’s affection for Gellir as trivial. The fleeting sentiments of a lovestruck lass. She probably figured there was no harm in letting Merraid feast her eyes upon her hero one last time.
The lady was wrong, of course. Merraid’s affection was anything but trivial. Her love for Gellir was true and everlasting. Merraid knew it. She could feel it in the depths of her soul.
“When they’re gone,” Lady Feiyan continued, “come to the courtyard. I have a gift for you. Something my cousin thought you should have.”
“A gift?” Merraid was so astonished, she stared at the lady like a gape-mouthed salmon.
A gift from Gellir? What could it be? Her heart soared as she contemplated the possibilities.
A ribbon for her wild hair he complained was always escaping its braid?
A new apron to replace the one he’d torn when he’d saved her life in battle?
A ring inscribed with the Rivenloch motto,Amor vincit omnia,Love conquers all, and a promise to return for her hand in marriage?
She bit her lip. She mustn’t let hope make a fool of her.
“I’ll see you below.” Lady Feiyan gave her a secret smile as she slipped down the steps.
Merraid turned back to the departing company in the distance. Summoning all the intensity of her passion, she narrowed her eyes. She stared hard, sending a formidable message of desire toward the target of her love. She fired it across the grassy sward like an arrow aimed at his heart.
To her surprise, he turned her way.
Her breath caught. He’d received her message.
There could be only one reason for that. There was aconnectionbetween them. A mysteriousbond.Their love wasmeant to be.
He was too far away to hear her call out. But he gave her a wave and a nod. Then he reined his mount about again and plodded into the trees.
Her pulse was still pounding as he vanished into the forest. She was left with a thirst that would fever her dreams and remain unquenched until thatone daywhen she saw him again.
She wiped away a stray tear. But her sorrow was softened by a thrill of hope in her heart. She clambered down the stairs, eager to discover the gift her magnificent champion had left for her.
Gellir was eager to get home to Rivenloch.
It wasn’t that he disliked Castle Darragh. It was exciting to train warriors who admired him. Men who didn’t scoff at the fact he was only seventeen summers old. Not even a proper knight yet. Warriors who welcomed his instruction. Who worked hard to improve. And it had been rewarding to know that in just a few short months, he’d molded Laird Dougal’s clansmen into a respectable fighting force.
But he missed his brothers, Brand and Ian. He missed Hew and Adam, his oldest cousins. And he missed the challenge of sparring with knights who could actually best him.
Aside from the fierce Laird Dougal, none of Darragh’s men could put up the kind of fight he liked. A fight that made his heart race. Fired his blood. Imbued him with a healthy fear for his life.
The remote Westlanders simply didn’t face the kind of battles Gellir had grown up with at the Borders. Where he lived, war was a way of life. Gellir may have taught them the skills to hold off an English army. But the Darragh clan weren’t likely to tussle with more than an occasional band of Highland reivers.
Indeed, Gellir feared if he lingered much longer in the peaceful, boring, impressionable Westland, he’d grow fat and lazy, inclined to rest on his laurels.
Already he was treated like a paragon among men. Dogged by packs of wee lads who wanted to be just like him.
Wee lads weren’t the only ones hanging on his every word. Following him about like orphaned pups. That sweet-faced, redheaded maidservant Merraid was never far away. Gazing at him with adoring eyes and a dreamy smile.
He’d been kind to the lass, of course. Chivalry had always come as naturally to him as breathing. In the great battle to save Castle Darragh, he’d comforted her when a brute had broken her nose. He’d protected her from villains who sought to have their way with her. He may have even given her a harmless, celebratory kiss or two in the heat of victory.
Afterward, she’d brought him breakfast every morn. Made sure his armor was always polished. Listened to his strategies for war. Bandaged his battle nicks.
