Page 31 of Laird of Steel
“Was it?”
“Someone has to protect ye from schemin’ bride-finders.”
He chuckled. “I’m a grown man and a tournament champion. I don’t think I need protection. Not from a scrap of a lass like you.”
She gave him a playful shove that almost knocked him off his haunches. “This scrap of a lass tossed ye onto your arse in the armory.”
He grinned. “Fair enough.”
He leaned in to inspect his handiwork a final time.
She held her breath. He was inches from her face. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.
As if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, he lowered his gaze from her brow and looked into her eyes.
They never spoke. But she felt her heart melting as his expression slowly changed from amusement to affection. And then from affection to desire.
In another instant, she might have acted recklessly on her impulse. But the door flew open under Feiyan’s hand.
“Merraid, are you all right?” Feiyan demanded, frowning in concern.
“Fine, m’lady.”
“Nay, you’re not fine,” Gellir countered, then turned to his cousin. “That vicious wench could have killed Merraid.”
Feiyan knew otherwise. But she said nothing. “I’ll see to her injuries. You should get some rest. Three more—better—prospects are arriving on the morrow.”
Gellir grumbled at that, but gave them each a salute and made his exit.
“Who are the three, m’lady?” Merraid asked when the door closed.
“Why do you wish to know?” Feiyan said. “So you can dump blancmange on their laps as well?”
Merraid tried—and failed—to look shocked at her accusation.
Feiyan clucked her tongue as she hunkered down to inspect Merraid’s brow. “It took a lot of restraint for you to let her pummel you like that.”
There was no point in denying it. “One more kick,” she admitted, “and I might have fought back.”
Feiyan nodded. She pushed Merraid’s skirts up to examine her bruised thigh. It was red now. On the morrow it would be black and blue. “So why did you do it? Why did you goad her?”
“To show Gellir her nature.” She pushed her skirts back down. “Your cousin doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about his bride-to-be, m’lady. I vow he’d take more care in choosin’ a weapon.”
“Right,” Feiyan said. “I told him as much myself.”
“I fear he doesn’t understand. He could be stuck for the rest o’ his life with a nag. Or a wag-tongue. Or a…a servant-beater.”
“Exactly.”
“Someone has to protect him from himself.”
“And that someone would be you?”
Merraid gulped and averted her gaze. “We’re…friends. Four years ago, he looked after me. I owe him a debt. I should look after him. He deserves a wife worthy o’ his love.”
When Merraid looked up again, Feiyan was looking at her with those silvery eyes that sometimes seemed capable of peering into her soul. Then she spoke gently. “Dear Merraid, I know you’ve always had a soft spot in your heart for my cousin. It must be difficult for you, knowing he’s to wed another. But surely you’ve known all along—”
“Aye, m’lady.” Merraid’s cheeks burned. “I’m not stupid. I know my place. Sir Gellir is meant for greater things. I only want him to be happy. To choose wisely.”
