Page 81 of Laird of Steel
But even though the lasses complied, retreating into silence, they’d planted a seed of doubt in Merraid’s brain. One that ruined her concentration and made the last row of peas skew crooked.
Were they right? Did Lady Carenza dislike Sir Gellir? Was she not suited to him? Was Merraid doing a bad thing? Encouraging a marriage that would become unbearable for both of them?
She had to find out for herself.
After she finished planting, she fetched oatcakes and butter from the kitchens. Then she knocked softly on Lady Carenza’s door.
“How are ye feelin’, m’lady?”
Though her pallor looked healthier, the lady’s eyes were red and swollen. Perhaps Ede was right. Perhaps shewasa Weeping Winifred.
“Better,” Carenza said with a wan smile.
“Good enough to eat a bit o’ somethin’?” She set the tray on the bedside table.
The lady nodded, but didn’t touch the food.
Against her better judgment, Merraid said, “I hear ye got another missive from Sir Gellir.”
The lady’s chin trembled. She nodded again.
Merraid gave her an encouraging smile. “He must care about ye a great deal.”
The lady’s eyes filled with tears.
Merraid bit her lip. Bloody hell. What had she said? Why was the lady upset?
“He’s a most decent man,” the lady choked out. “So noble. So kind.” And then she did the inexplicable, just as Davy had reported. She covered her face and burst into tears.
“Och dear, m’lady,” Merraid said, wringing her hands, at a loss as to what to do. “Whate’er troubles ye?” Then, suddenly inspired, she asked, “Is it your monthly courses?”
The lady paled and gasped.
Merraid bit her tongue. Perhaps that was too intimate a subject for the noblewoman to discuss.
Too upset to reply with words, the lady waved away Merraid’s concern.
Moments later, when she finally got her sobs under control, she apologized. “Prithee forgive me for this foolishness. I fear my sickness…and Sir Gellir’s lovely words…and these upcoming nuptials…have made me overwrought.”
Merraid nodded. “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady, but perhaps meetin’ him face to face would dispel your—”
“Nay!” she burst out. “I mean… I do not wish him to see me like this. All blubbering and sickly and fraught with emotion. Men despise such weakness.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m sure ye understand.”
“Aye.”
“On the morrow perhaps.” She nodded at the oatcakes and struggled to smile. “I’ll fill my belly and get plenty of sleep. Once I have my temperament under control, I’m sure I’ll be happy to converse with my husband-to-be.”
Merraid hoped so. She was in danger of running out of verses.
“Moved?” Gellir murmured around the bite of hard cheese he’d pilfered from the buttery shelf.
“Aye,” Merraid confided. “She wasquitemoved by the missive.” He didn’t need to know the truth—that Lady Carenza had been moved totears.
“You don’t think ’tis too soon to send another?”
“Nay,” she said, patting her satchel, which contained a bit of parchment, a sharpened quill, and a bottle of ink. “We must forge the blade while the steel is hot.”
Gellir had to reassure Lady Carenza that her tender emotions were not only acceptable to him, but welcome. That was the only way the lady would have the courage to face him. The only way she’d fall in love with him.
