Page 137 of Laird of Flint
Perhaps they would still part, but on better terms.
Perhaps she would assure him she’d weighed all options and made peace with this one.
Perhaps she’d beg him to speak to Laird Deirdre and alter the terms of the marriage.
He didn’t rule out stealing her from Dunlop and carrying her off to be his bride. It was probably what Highlanders would expect from a warrior with Viking blood.
But he’d been too late. She was gone.
Now, if he wanted to ensure Carenza was content with her choice, he had to journey to Darragh and confront her in front of the man she was supposed to wed.
It was a daunting prospect. Not only would Gellir be there to argue his claim—and once he laid eyes on Carenza, he’d not give her up lightly. But his fierce cousin Feiyan and her warriors would likely back up Gellir’s claim to her. With weaponry.
Even worse, according to Laird Deirdre, they were to be married shortly after Beltane. The nobles of Rivenloch would be in attendance. They too would be fully armed.
As for Hew, he didn’t even have his trusty axe anymore.
Nay, it would be far better to visit her by stealth. To choose a time when he could slip in to the castle unnoticed. Which was why he planned to travel to Darragh over the next several days and seek lodging in the village nearby until Beltane.
On Beltane eve, the gates of the castle would be flung open. Clanfolk bearing great torches would roam the hills with lowing coos. Wild bonfires would light up the night sky. The glens would be filled with drunken revelry. And no one would take note of a cloaked stranger traveling on the road to Darragh.
Carenza sighed as she climbed back under the bedlinens and eased her aching head onto the bolster.
More than anything, she hated to be a disappointment.
Her betrothed, Sir Gellir Cameliard of Rivenloch, deserved better.
She’d been so sick since her arrival at Darragh, she’d spent several days in her bedchamber, making frequent use of the garderobe.
It was bad enough that Gellir must think her an invalid. But she was made even more ill with guilt and shame, knowing she was sick with another man’s bairn.
She’d seen her betrothed only a few times. He was classically handsome. Tall. Fit. Muscular. Striking enough that the young lasses of Darragh squealed behind their hands when he passed.
But he had a dark mane of rich brown. So he looked nothing like his Viking-blond cousin. Which would be troubling if she bore a fair-haired bairn.
Gellir’s character had been mostly what she expected. He was serious. Noble. Polite. Obsessed with knighthood.
But he had a few unfortunate flaws. By his dour expression, she learned quickly why he was called Grim Gellir. The first time they’d met, he’d smelled of fish and didn’t care what anyone thought about that. Now that he was off the tournament circuit, he seemed bored and restless. And she’d seen him squash a spider with his thumb.
Because she seldom saw him, she relied upon her maidservant at Darragh, a cheery, auburn-haired lass named Merraid, to tell her about her bridegroom-to-be. Merraid quickly became her close confidant, bringing her news and pickled eels and steaming baths.
Merraid waxed poetic when it came to Gellir. It was clear she bore great affection for the man, whom she’d known since she was a wee lass. Her stories gave Carenza some reassurance.
But the grave secret Carenza harbored gnawed at her conscience. And the more heroic Merraid made Gellir sound, the worse she felt about that secret.
Carenza soon discovered her delicate condition left her with raw emotions and a penchant for expressing them. One day she blurted out an awful confession to Merraid—that though she vowed to be faithful in body to her husband, her heart would always belong to another.
Kindhearted Merraid never judged her for that. But shewasdisappointed. And thereafter, the maidservant took it upon herself to kindle the romance between Carenza and Gellir.
As it turned out, Gellir was quite a poet. Though he didn’t see her often, nearly every day he sent heartfelt verse. Lavish praises of Carenza’s beauty. Humble declarations of his love. Effusive affirmations of his desire for her.
But in her vulnerable state, they only made Carenza feel worse. More cruel. More dishonest. More unworthy.
A disappointment.
She feared she was going to disappoint Gellir yet again tonight.
It was Beltane. And she felt miserable.
