Page 71 of Laird of Steel
She was wrong. The lady was curled into a miserable ball on the bed. Her pale face had a greenish cast. Her brow shone with sweat. Her lips were white. Her eyes looked dull.
Merraid gasped. Carenza looked sickly, almost as if she’d…
“Ye didn’t take…poison, did ye?” she whispered.
“What?” Carenza croaked. “Nay. ’Twill pass. It always does.”
“Ye’ve had this before?”
She nodded.
“I have wormwood or mint that may ease—”
“Nay. Prithee don’t fret o’er me. I’ll be right on the morrow.”
But Merraid wasn’t so sure. “Ye need to keep up your strength, m’lady. Here, I’ve brought broth and bread. ’Twill settle your stomach.”
Carenza’s brow wrinkled in distress as she fought off nausea.
“Perhaps ye’d prefer a bit o’ cheese?” she tried. “Or an oatcake?”
Carenza closed her eyes and shook her head.
Merraid bit her lip. She couldn’t let Gellir’s bride worsen on her watch. What else could she offer?
Carenza opened her eyes. “Maybe…pickled eels?”
“Pickled eels?”
“Aye,” she said hopefully. “Ye wouldn’t have any, would ye?”
For someone suffering from nausea, it was an odd request. Merraid had trouble eating pickled eels when shewasn’tfeeling ill. Still, if it gave the lady sustenance and made her happy, Merraid would pickle the eels herself.
“I’ll see what I can find,” she promised.
Chapter 12
Mud squeezed between Gellir’s toes as he waded toward the eel net set in the murky brown shallows of the pond. He lifted the net. It was empty.
“’Tis two days now,” he bit out. Choosing a spot in the shade of an elm, he submerged the net again and anchored it with a rock. “’Tis clear she’s avoiding me.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, daring Merraid to contradict him.
Merraid shrugged, unaffected by his peeved gaze. “Then ’tis up to ye to make her feel welcome.”
“Pah! She obviously doesn’t want this alliance any more than I do.”
The words were bitter in his mouth. He’d die before he’d admit it. But under the armor guarding his heart lurked a wee lad who yearned for the kind of loving marriage his parents had. He’d always said it made no difference. But the idea of a loveless marriage weighed heavily on him now.
“Ye great tomfool,” she said, “how could she not want this alliance? Ye’re the finest warrior in Scotland. Born into a distinguished and wealthy clan. And,” she added, stealing a glance at his bare legs, “ye have knees that would turn any lady’s head.”
He smirked. Even if that wasn’t true, it was good to hear her say so. “Apparently, I’ve turned the lady’s stomach.” He sighed and muttered, “Maybe she’s deathly ill and will die ere she has to suffer my presence again.”
Merraid gave him a chiding punch in the shoulder. “Do not wish such things,” she scolded. “She’ll be well soon enough.”
“She’ll either be well…or well pickled.” Why the lady insisted pickled eels were the cure for her sickness, he didn’t know. But his bride’s appetite was the reason he was up to his knees in icy water. He was attempting to catch more of the slithery black beasts to replenish Feiyan’s stores.
“I’ve been thinkin’,” Merraid said, watching him from her perch on a mossy boulder. “What would ye do if Carenza had ne’er come to Darragh? If she lived in a faraway land? And ye couldn’t meet face-to-face?”
