Page 75 of Laird of Steel
At least, that was her hope.
“Still,” she said, turning to him, “we should be cautious. I’ll leave first.”
“I’ll wait till the parchment dries.”
“Good.” She stepped toward the door and put a hand on the latch.
“And Merraid?”
She hesitated.
“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve said what I could not.”
She answered around the lump in her throat. “Let’s hope it works.”
Merraid arrived later to bring Carenza her supper. The lady was sitting up in bed, the missive clutched to her breast.
“Merraid, you’re here.” The poor woman still looked pale and sickly. A feeble smile graced her face.
“I’ve brought your supper.” She approached with the tray, giving the lady a furtive glance.
Would she mention the missive? Had she read it? Did she hate it? Love it?
“Och dear, more eels?” Carenza wrinkled her nose. “I fear I’ve eaten my fill o’ them. I don’t think I could take another bite.”
Merraid bit the inside of her cheek. Poor Gellir had spent all morn, freezing his arse in the pond, to catch the vile things. “Shall I bring ye somethin’ else, m’lady?”
“In a moment. Just put the tray here,” she said, indicating the bedside table. “I’ve received a missive from Sir Gellir. And ’tis…” She let out a sigh. “Let me read it to ye.”
Merraid set the tray down. Was that a sigh of disgust or a sigh of pleasure? It was hard to tell.
But as she read the verse aloud, it was clear the lady understood the passion with which Merraid had written it. It broke Merraid’s heart to hear her words from another’s lips. But the sentiment had exactly the intended effect. Carenza’s fears regarding Gellir had melted away. Her heart had softened toward him.
“Lovely,” the lady said, tears in her voice. “Just lovely.”
“I told ye he was a good man,” Merraid choked out. She picked up the tray. She needed to leave before tears started in her own eyes.
“He is, isn’t he?” To Merraid’s surprise, Carenza’s voice was now full of misery. “He’stoogood.”
“Toogood, m’lady?”
“Any man who can express such tenderness, such devotion…” She shook her head. “He deserves far better than me.”
Merraid’s eyes widened. “Better than…” If Carenza were any other lady, Merraid would suspect her of fishing for compliments. But the beautiful young woman seemed to be truly blind to her own charms. Merraid set the tray back down. It was time for a bit of harsh truth.
“Hear me well, m’lady. O’er the last sennight, more than a dozen perfectly qualified brides have been presented to Sir Gellir. To my reckonin’, every one has fallen short. But ye… Ye’re perfect. Bonnie. Sweet. Kind. Soft-spoken. Well-mannered. He could ask for no one better suited to be his wife.” Her voice caught on the last words. She hoped Carenza didn’t notice.
“Generous praise indeed, Merraid, and I thank ye,” she said, her voice breaking in despair, “but I told ye my heart belongs to another.”
“In time, I’m certain ye’ll have a change o’ heart. Meanwhile, ye’ve done the noble thing. Ye’ve promised to marry him. Ye’ve vowed to be faithful and true. ’Tis good enough. And once ye’re properly wed…once ye give him a bairn…”
The lady choked out a sob.
“Och, there now,” Merraid cooed in sympathy, taking the lady’s hand and clasping it in her own. “Ye’ve naught to fret about.”
But the lady continued to weep until Merraid’s pity slowly grew into irritation. How could the woman be anything but delighted at the prospect of wedding a man like Gellir?
“I’ll bring ye a posset o’ warm milk, aye?” She gave Carenza’s hand a farewell pat. “I’m sure once ye’re past this sickness, the world will seem a rosier place.” She added pointedly, “And ye’ll see what a lucky lass ye are.”
