Page 98 of Laird of Steel
“Thank ye,” she whispered.
“Of course,” he said. “I can’t have you freezing to death. Not on the night we welcome summer.”
“Nay, I meant for…” She left it unspoken.
“Och. Aye. ’Twas my honor.” He added, “And my pleasure.”
She let out a dreamy sigh. Was there any man more noble and gallant than Gellir?
But suddenly his earlier words pricked at something in her memory.
Can’t have you freezing to death.
Shite. She’d completely forgotten about Lady Carenza.
As it turned out, when Merraid crept in to check on her an hour later, someonehadlit the lady’s hearth. A wee, cheery flame danced there, reflecting golden light on Carenza’s peacefully slumbering face.
But as she gazed at the lass—the perfect, sweet, innocent lass everybody loved—guilt sat on Merraid’s shoulders like a yoke on an ox.
It was a sin, what she had done. Swiving another woman’s man. And no matter how much it had seemed like the right decision at the time, she knew now it was wrong.
She should never have pressured Gellir into trysting with her. Hell, he hadn’t even been sober. He couldn’t be held accountable for his actions.
It was all her fault. What she’d done was unforgivable. And Lady Feiyan was right. Merraid was better than that.
From now on, she vowed, she would do everything in her power to make certain Gellir’s wedding went smoothly. For Lady Carenza’s sake.
Things were not going smoothly with Lady Carenza. Not at all. And Gellir didn’t know what to do.
Kneeling on the hard stone of Darragh’s chapel—behind Lady Feiyan and Laird Dougal—he stared up at the stained glass in back of the chaplain, as if the saint depicted there might offer an answer.
But he heard no usable advice. Not from Carenza, murmuring prayers beside him. Not from the stained glass saint. And not from the minister, who droned on and on in Latin.
Gellir had tried everything. Bringing her flowers. Taking her riding. Impressing her with his sword skills.
Carenza could not be coaxed from her deep despair. Which made his mood even darker than usual.
On the morrow, they would wed. They’d be handfasted in the courtyard. Then, on this very spot in the chapel, they would seal their vows before God.
He suspected it would not be a joyous affair. For Carenza or him. Even the imminent arrival of his clan could not dispel the gloomy pall cast upon this marriage.
At first, he was troubled by the fear that Carenza had somehow found out about his Beltane tryst with Merraid. That it was the cause of her melancholy. That she had good reason to doubt his devotion and loyalty.
But she made no mention of it.
Nonetheless, if she everdidhappen to find out—if by some tragic chance she learned what he’d done and confronted him with it—he vowed he would tell her the truth.
Mostof the truth.
He wouldneverdisclose his affection for Merraid. Carenza wouldn’t understand. But he didn’t intend to let his feelings for the maidservant stand between them.
He would declare the tryst had been his fault. Aye, he’d been drunk. But not so drunk he couldn’t take responsibility for his actions. He’d known full well what he was doing. He’d let lust and chivalry get the best of him. He’d let his cock make decisions for him instead of using his head.
In his heart, he’d also believed he was giving a gift of charity to a friend. Sparing Merraid the pain of losing her virginity to an incautious stranger. But he wouldn’t tell Carenza that either.
Merraid was not to blame for any of it. Caught up in the spirit of Beltane, Merraid had simply turned to the one she could trust to initiate her. She’d chosen Gellir specifically because she knew he was leaving, that nothing would ever come of it.
There was more about the night he’d never reveal. How Merraid had made him feel treasured. How he’d always look back on Beltane with fondness and joy and gratitude. How he’d hold the memory fast in his heart. To remind him of what was possible. To remind him that precious love could thrive between a noble knight and a maidservant. To remind him that there existed in the world a woman who could make him feel like a god.
