Page 5 of Laird of Steel
Merraid had practiced her combat skills all winter. She meant to compete for the first time in Darragh’s spring tournament. In secret, of course. A maidservant couldn’t legitimately enter a tournament.
She’d come up with an elaborate plan. She’d disguise herself as a youth. Persuade a scribe to forge papers of nobility. If she proved herself in the lists, perhaps Lady Feiyan would let her join the fighting force of Darragh.
But now there wouldbeno spring tournament. And it was all Gellir’s fault. Lady Feiyan had delayed the competition. Instead, she’d arranged a clan feast in honor of her illustrious cousin. A celebration for the hero returning home from battle.
Merraid tried to quiet the frustration simmering inside her. She brought her hands together, palm to palm.She gazed out at the sea. Drew in a deep breath of crisp, cleansing air. Finished thetaijiquan.
In a way, she owed Gellir her thanks, even if he’d all but abandoned her. She would never have learned warfare at all were it not for his gift of training. She certainly wouldn’t have acquired the abilities to enter a tournament.
That training had proved useful in strengthening her body. Giving her confidence. Balancing her temper—most of the time. Best of all, Feiyan’s martial arts made her able to defend herself.
In the past year, she’d had to do more of that. Some men assumed that, as a woman grown and a lowly servant, Merraid was theirs for the taking.
They rarely made that mistake twice.
Now she had an arsenal of skills with which to guard her virtue. Skills that would have made her a shining star in the tournament.
She sighed. Turning away from the firth, she pulled her tucked skirts out of her belt. She shivered them back into place. Then she hurried down the stairs.
With Gellir’s retinue arriving, it would be a busy day. She was eager to get an early start. She was also impatient to catch a glimpse of Gellir. Despite her irritation with him, she couldn’t help but wonder… Had his youthful good looks matured into manly proportions? Had he grown taller? Larger? Did battle scars riddle his handsome face? Was his countenance as grim as they claimed?
Much could change in four years. She smiled as she thought about the awkward, starry-eyed innocent lass he’d waved to as he’d ridden off to Rivenloch. There was little left of that Merraid. She wondered what he’d think of her now.
Stiff from the long journey, Gellir and his men were glad to finally arrive at Darragh. They dismounted and handed their horses off to a pair of stable lads.
Young Campbell, now sporting a downy beard, approached to greet Gellir. He had apparently been promoted to Master of the Stable. “Good to see ye again, sir!”
“Campbell.” Gellir nodded. “How’s Urramach?”
Long ago, Laird Dougal had been forced to abandon the noble black steed. It was Gellir who had purchased Urramach and returned the animal as a wedding gift.
“Still runnin’ like the wind,” Campbell said with a grin.
Gellir nodded. Laird Dougal said Urramach was too skittish for battle. But he was a demon for speed.
“Cousin!” Feiyan hurried forward to meet him. Fresh-faced and heavy with her second child, she looped her arm through his to guide him across the yard. Marriage and motherhood had imparted a wise glimmer to her gray eyes. “’Tis been far too long.”
“Where’s my nephew?” He had yet to meet Feiyan’s three-year-old son.
“Och, staying with the Ferguson clan for the spring. He’s found a fast friend in the laird’s firstborn. But what news from Rivenloch?”
He shrugged and furrowed his brows. “Seven new babes in the clan since winter. A minor skirmish with Firthgate. Looks to be a good year for salmon.” He wasn’t quite ready to discuss the dilemma that called him to his cousin’s castle. “What about you?”
“Staying busy,” she said with a chuckle. She absently rubbed one hand over her swollen belly as she gestured to the workers around them.
The courtyard buzzed with activity, proof of her efficiency as the lady of the keep. Maidservants scurried past with baskets full of fragrant bannocks. Sweaty blacksmiths melted ore on a great forge. Laundresses transported bundles of fresh-washed linens. Woodworkers shaving trees into planks stood ankle-deep in curls of oak.
“You know,” Feiyan confided, jostling him with her elbow, “they’re calling you the finest knight in the world.”
Gellir grunted in reply. In truth, he was growing bored of battles that granted him gold and glory, but little else. Even the craftsmen around him seemed to have more purpose than he did. Still, he’d rather deal with the drudgery of the tournament circuit than the herculean task he now faced.
She pinched his arm in irritation and murmured, “I was looking forward to seeing you do battle. Why did Laird Deirdre bid me delay the tournament? Was she afraid one of my trusty knights would best you?”
They both knew that was unlikely. Feiyan’s men were stouthearted. But they were hardly equal to a Rivenloch warrior. He gave her a derisive snort.
She gave his arm a punishing punch for that snort. “Oaf.” Then she arched a brow. “Come now. Confess. What’s going on? Why have you come?”
“Since when do I need an excuse to visit my dear cousin?”
