Page 57 of Laird of Steel
The woman of his dreams.
But she wasn’t his. She didn’t belong to him. She belonged to the man who was laying claim to her even now.
Gellir clenched his fists. He growled in his throat. It took all his willpower not to bellow at the guardsman to keep his filthy hands off the lass.
But that wasn’t Gellir’s right. And he had to admit the truth. If Merraid didn’t want a man’s attentions, she could take care of herself. If she didn’t like the way he was touching her—with such familiarity and intimacy—she’d toss the man on his arse in a heartbeat.
That she accepted the stranger’s kiss so willingly meant it was what she desired. And that felt like a dagger stabbing his heart.
Wounded—and vexed that he’d let himself be wounded—Gellir shut his eyes against the sight. He wheeled back to face the moon. It now looked like the laughing mouth of a mischievous god, mocking his misfortune.
Sparring was a reliable cure for frustration and heartache. But it was too dark for swordplay. And clashing blades would draw attention.
Instead, he returned to the hall. He nabbed a jack and two bottles of ale from the buttery and headed to the stables. There, no one but the horses would bear witness to his grumbling.
In the end, even four pints of Darragh’s strongest ale couldn’t numb his emotions. But at last it conveyed him to the oblivion of sleep.
It was there Feiyan found him in the morning. He was sprawled in the hay with the empty jack tucked against his chest.
“There you are!” she cried. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
He groaned.
“Did you sleep here all night?” she demanded.
He winced. Was his cousin’s voice always so loud and shrill?
“Gellir, wake up.” She opened the door wider, blinding him with a sunbeam.
“Shite,” he croaked, throwing his arm defensively over his offended eyes. “Go away.”
His tongue felt thick in his mouth. His eyes were full of grit. His head throbbed.
“You drank yourself into a stupor, didn’t you?” she scolded, grabbing the jack from him. “Look, I know ’twas my fault. ’Twas a mistake to make you choose between two sisters. Even worse, twins. Dougal won’t let me hear the end of it.”
God’s bones. Why was she still talking? Didn’t she know each word pummeled at his ears like an incessant, pounding bell?
He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to ease the ache.
“I promise I won’t make that mistake again,” she said. “But you’ve got to do your part.” She dug her fingers into his shoulder. “Come on. Pull yourself together. Get up.”
“Leave me alone.” Every muscle in his body was stiff. The last thing he wanted to do was move.
“I’ve seen what happens when I leave you alone,” she quipped.
He growled.
“Besides, I’ve brought good news,” she said.
He sighed. The only good news he wanted to hear was that some horrible tragedy had befallen the guard he’d seen kissing Merraid last night.
He instantly regretted that ignoble thought. Grimacing, he eased himself up until he was sitting in the straw.
“Fine.” He scrubbed at his eyes. “What’s your good news?”
“We’ve got a missive from Hew.”
“Hew?” That brought him awake. Their cousin Hew was in the same predicament as Gellir. Hiding out from the machinations of the king. Blinking against the light, he looked up at her. “What news?”
