Page 29 of Laird of Steel
But if the rumors were true, Lady Affraic had a terrible flaw of which Gellir would surely disapprove. And since she had yet to display that flaw, it was up to Merraid to provoke her into exposing it.
She waited until the serving lads brought forth the blancmange to finish the meal. Then, as Merraid refilled Lady Affraic’s mead, she surreptitiously caught the edge of the blancmange bowl with the mead bottle, upending it into the lady’s lap.
No sooner did the sticky white pudding plop onto Lady Affraic’s golden velvet gown than she rose with a shriek of rage and dismay. She seized her pewter cup and flung out her arm, backhanding Merraid forcefully across the brow for her clumsiness.
Merraid saw the blow coming. She could have blocked it. But she didn’t. And from the dizzying pang of the impact, perhaps she should have.
Ignoring the gasps from the other diners at such violence, the lady doubled down on her outrage. Once again, Merraid allowed her to advance. Using the cup like a mailed fist, the woman gave Merraid another cracking punch, this one in the ribs.
Merraid retreated in pain. She staggered to the ground and dropped the mead bottle. The fired clay vessel shattered on the tiles, splashing mead everywhere. She wheezed, cradling her ribs.
“Cease!” Gellir barked, throwing his napkin on the table.
Merraid was sure that would stop her. After all, Lady Affraic was a guest here. Her own servants she might mistreat. But to batter the servants of another was in poor form.
Unfortunately, Affraic didn’t seem to care about protocol. Or Gellir’s command. She didnotcease. Still red-faced and gnashing her teeth, she stepped away from the table to continue Merraid’s punishment.
Rearing back one vengeful foot, she gave Merraid a vicious kick.
Despite preparing for the blow, the impact to Merraid’s already bruised ribs made her groan in torment.
“Cease!” Gellir bellowed again, scraping back the bench as he rose.
It took all Merraid’s willpower not to seize the lady’s foot and propel her backward across the table. Instead, she let Affraic get in one final kick of revenge to her thigh. Then she curled into a protective ball.
Wasting no more words, Gellir pinned Affraic’s arm behind her back. He forced her to drop the pewter cup. It clanged on the floor beside Merraid’s head.
“Enough,” he growled.
“How dare ye!” Lady Affraic went white with shock. “Unhand me!”
“I don’t know how ’tis in your clan,” he bit out, “but in Rivenloch, we don’t beat the servants.”
“Beat?” She blinked. When she realized the hall had gone quiet, she managed a nervous chuckle. “’Twas only a reprimand. No more than she deserved. Did ye see what she did? My gown is ruined.”
“She intended you no harm,” he insisted, though he gave Merraid an uncertain glance.
“Let me go,” the lady hissed between her teeth, trying to wrest free without attracting more attention.
Gellir held her firm. “You will never again raise a hand to a servant.”
Her eyes narrowed to simmering slits. “Fine.”
When he released her, she couldn’t help but mutter, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”
“Servants are not children,” Gellir murmured. “But if that’s how you feel, I don’t think I wish to father any of yours.”
Lady Affraic’s rasping gasp filled the shocked silence.
An awkward and heated exchange followed between the lady and her hosts. Then Lady Affraic departed with her entourage before anyone got to enjoy the blancmange.
While Feiyan and Dougal bid her a stiff farewell, Gellir came to rescue Merraid.
“Are you all right?” he asked, helping her to her feet.
“I’ll live.”
Her head was throbbing. She’d have a lump there tomorrow. Her ribs ached when she breathed. And there was probably a sizable bruise where Affraic had kicked her in the thigh. But what hurt most was her pride.
