Page 25 of Laird of Steel
“Never? Why?”
“Men willin’ to look past her pox scars are only after her wealth.”
He sniffed. “I have no need of wealth.” He took a swing at the dummy’s head. “And I care naught about scars.”
“I know,” Merraid said tenderly. “That’s what I…” She stopped short of sayinglove about youand kicked at a pebble on the ground. “My point is, at her age, ’tis possible she’s beyond bearin’ children.”
He tightened his grip on the sword. That was a fair point. One of his duties to king and clan was to multiply the Rivenloch ranks.
“So what do you suggest?”
She spoke quietly, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve heard a marriage may be annulled if the bride proves barren.”
“Annulled?” Gellir thought a man might as well drive a sword through a woman’s heart. As if to demonstrate, he stabbed his blade into the dummy. “I would ne’er do such a thing.”
Merraid’s gaze flew to his and softened. “Then perhaps ’tis best to be truthful from the start. Lady Godit will understand.”
Gellir nodded. He would be gentle but firm. “Thank you. I’m glad I can rely on your advice.”
“O’ course,” she said. “And while I’m handin’ out advice…” A mischievous gleam danced in her eyes. “Ye need to stop clenchin’ your left fist when ye’re about to strike a downward blow. It gives your intentions away.”
His jaw was still open when the saucy minx sauntered away and disappeared beyond the stables.
When he finally regained his balance, he shook his head in wonder. Only Merraid would be so bold as to criticize the technique of a tournament champion.
He spun to strike a downward blow at the dummy and realized to his horror that she was right. Hedidclench his left fist.
Chapter 4
Merraid felt sorry for Lady Godit. The lady was obliged to wear a veil over her pockmarked face so as not to offend. She had to guard against suitors who only ingratiated themselves to her for her fortune. All things considered, one would expect her to be a bitter shrew.
But she wasn’t. All through dinner, the lady was polite. Calm. Reasonable. She made quiet conversation with Gellir and the others and praised the cook’s efforts. Indeed, if she weren’t quite so past her prime, Merraid considered she might have made a decent match for Gellir. Not perfect, but suitable.
As Merraid served sweetmeats to the diners, she saw Gellir beckon Godit near. He kissed her hand, never once flinching from her pox-scarred flesh. He murmured in words too soft to hear.
Lady Godit nodded.
He took her hand between his own. As he continued to speak, the lady’s shoulders sank.
He reached out then and cupped her cheek through the veil.
She stiffened and looked as if she might pull away.
But he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he spoke more emphatically until she pressed her free hand against her breast, clearly moved by Gellir’s words.
Merraid could guess what he was saying. He was telling her she was beautiful despite her scars. He was insisting she was worthy. He was apologizing for his duty to king and clan that prevented him from offering for her hand. He was telling her the truth.
Merraid’s throat began to clog with emotion. Gellir was truly the embodiment of chivalry. A perfect knight. Whoever finally won his hand in this contest would be a lucky lady indeed.
The meal finished shortly thereafter. But while she helped to clear the tables, she kept thinking about poor Lady Godit, alone at forty-two. Merraid didn’t want to end up like that.
There was plenty of time, she supposed. She was still young.
So was Gellir. Yet he seemed desperate to wed.
Should she worry? Granted, the marriage rules for nobles were much stricter than those for servants. Servants didn’t have to consider wealth or clan alliances or childbearing when they chose a mate.
But Merraid wanted bairns. And a husband she could grow old with. A man who would willingly kiss her hand even when it was wrinkled, the way Gellir had kissed Godit’s.
