Page 65 of Laird of Steel
“You cannot tell another soul.”
“I won’t breathe a word.” She made the sign of the cross. “I swear.”
He lowered his voice to a breath. “The king has been fighting alongside the English, against the French.”
She nodded and whispered back, “At Toulouse.”
He lifted a brow, impressed she knew that.
“Lady Feiyan has been grumblin’ about it for weeks,” she explained.
“Rumor says he wants to strengthen that alliance with marriages.”
As the meaning of that dawned on her, her eyes widened. She sucked in a slow gasp. “With ye? With a Sassenach?”
“Not…yet.”
Her tears forgotten, she straightened. New determination bloomed in her eyes. “Ye can’t let that happen. We’ve got to get ye wed ere the king forces ye to…” She couldn’t even finish the thought.
“So now you understand the rush. And why Feiyan has been hurling brides at me like battle spears.” He lowered his eyes in resignation, emitting a humorless chuckle of irony. “You know, for a clan whose motto is ‘Love conquers all,’ they evidently don’t think the legacy applies to me.”
Merraid’s heart sank at his sorrow. How heavy the weight of his marriage burden was. And how powerless it must feel to have his life arranged by the king. It was as if he were a pawn in a game of draughts.
At least Merraid had the freedom to not wed, if she so chose. She could remain a maid. Learn a trade. Or enter a convent. No one could force her to marry.
In that moment, she realized two things.
She realized, for all his fame and wealth and entitlement, Gellir had no freedom when it came to matters of love.
She also realized he needed her, now more than ever. They were friends, she and Gellir. And friends were supposed to help each other in times like these. When birth and death and marriage changed a person’s life, a friend should be there to offer steadfast guidance and support.
She had to help him find a bride who loved him—a bride he could love—even if it broke her own heart.
“I won’t let that happen,” she vowed. “I won’t let ye wed a woman ye don’t love. Nor a woman who doesn’t love ye for who ye are. I swear it.”
He shook his head. “’Tisn’t your duty, lass.”
“I’m your friend,” she insisted. “And friends don’t let friends make poor choices.”
A flicker of warmth entered his eyes. “I’ll try to remember that,” he said, offering her the lock of hair he’d swept up from the floor, “the next time you’re tempted to court a knave who doesn’t like maids with blades.”
She sighed. That pretty much ruled out everyone. “Keep it,” she said about the lock of hair. “’Twill remind ye o’ my vow.”
“A vow I’ll only accept on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
He turned serious. “Promise me you won’t be in the same hurry to wed. You have your whole life ahead of you. And you’re beholden to no one. Not the king. Not Henry. Not Feiyan. Not even me.” He chucked her under the chin. “You follow your heart, Merraid.”
Chapter 11
So this was the woman Gellir was supposed to marry. From the moment the petite, dark-haired, sweet-faced Lady Carenza of Dunlop rode through the gates of Darragh, Merraid knew Lady Feiyan was right.
Carenza was the one. The ideal bride for Gellir.
Everyone instantly loved her.
Merraid felt a pinprick of jealousy.
