Page 39 of Laird of Steel
“Ye heard me,” Merraid bit out, struggling in Gellir’s grip, which was as solid as steel. “Only a monster would sully the good name o’ Sir Gellir Cameliard o’ Rivenloch.”
The woman gasped. “How dare ye insult me! Ye! A peasant! Ye’re not fit to wipe my stable lad’s arse. Ye’re nothin’. Nobody.”
Merraid felt Gellir tense. When he spoke, it was in a low growl that rumbled from his chest and sent a shiver up her spine.
“She’s twenty times the woman you are,LadyMetylda.”
Metylda purpled with rage as he continued.
“I vowed I would repay you for the loss of your gown. I will keep that vow. But you will not return to Castle Darragh. And ’tis only mercy that keeps me from confiscating your mistreated horse.”
Metylda’s jaw dropped. “Mistreated? I hardly—”
“If you whisper any of this into the ear of the king, I will tell him how you willfully and recklessly risked the life of a fine steed. How you disobeyed my command to stop. How you drove the poor beast into a bog where I narrowly saved it—and you—from drowning. How you complained when the animal was too exhausted to carry you back. And how you disparaged me and mine at length.” He snorted. “Indeed, ’twould be best for you if my name never crossed your lips again. My lady.”
Merraid’s heart had caught on the words “me and mine.” Gellir was talking abouther.Defending her.
She melted against him. He might never love her with the passion of a man for his wife. But his love for her as a friend was fierce.
Metylda was shaking with vitriol. “How do ye expect me to make my way home, lookin’ like this?”
Lorenzo, who recognized opportunity when he saw it, dropped the handles of his cart and stepped forward.
“If I may be so bold?” he said. “I think I can be of assistance.” He swept the cap from his head with a flourish and a bow. “I am Lorenzo, the celebrated cloth merchant of Firenze, at your service,signorina.”
Negotiations began at once to provide Lady Metylda with cloth for a new gown, at exorbitant expense, which would be added to Lady Feiyan’s account. There was a tailor in the village who could sew the garment overnight. Metylda was gradually calmed and mollified by Lorenzo, who described in great detail how beautiful she was going to look in a gown of his new yellow silk from Lucca.
But Merraid only half listened.
Though she’d quit fighting him, Gellir still held her close. Close enough to feel the heat of his chest against her back. Close enough to smell the earthy peat of the bog on him. Close enough to feel his warm breath tickling her neck.
It was unintentional, she was sure. He was only distracted and had forgotten to let her go.
She couldn’t help wishing he would forget a while longer.
Gellir should release Merraid. He knew that. She’d calmed now. She wasn’t going to attack Lady Metylda.
But somehow he didn’t want to.
For the past few miles, Metylda’s long litany of curses and threats against him had rolled off his back like rain off a duck. He was accustomed to contempt. He’d probably been cursed as a devil more times than Lucifer himself.
But when she’d called Merraidnothingandnobody,his iron resolve had cracked.
Merraid was notnobody.She was special. Unique. Brilliant.
She didn’t deserve that kind of scorn.
And while she was in his arms, he felt like he could protect her from the world and its cruelty.
While she was in his arms, he felt right. As if this was where she belonged. As if he were home.
Still, once Lorenzo left with Lady Metylda, there was no more reason to cling to her. With a sigh of regret, he let her go.
“I got muck all over you,” he apologized.
When she turned to him, she looked as shaken and breathless as he felt. She quickly lowered her eyes. “I lost my temper. Sometimes I have a hard time turnin’ the other cheek.”
He nodded and started down the road again, leading Feiyan’s palfrey. He gave a low whistle. “She certainly was a handful.”
