Midnight's Bride (10 page)

“I just told you why, woman. You tried to make him disobey my orders. Had he not ignored you, you could have caused him a lashing.”

“Whip him? Because he let me go into the woods to tend something personal?” She was shocked. To cause someone to bear such a terrible punishment was unthinkable. “What kind of barbarian are you?”

“Something personal?” Mereck frowned at her.

Her face felt aflame. He had no more sensitivity than his men. Surely he did not expect her to elaborate. Did he?

“This has been about your need for, uh, privacy? Why did you not tell Ewen what you wanted?”

“Aye. You are a
crude
barbarian.”

“Crude or no, barbarian or no, you should have made yourself clear.”

“Blessed saints. I could not discuss that with him,” she blurted.

Suspicious coughs sounded outside the tent.

“Am I to believe you have the same needs, Lady Elise?”

At the sound of her name, Elise groaned and nodded, her head in her hands.

“Follow me.” The exasperation in his voice compelled Elise to follow Netta so quickly she stepped on Netta's left shoe, half pulling it off.

Hopping on one foot, Netta tugged it back on.

Outside the tent, she avoided looking at the men. After Mereck found a suitable spot in the woods, he admonished them to call out when they were ready. Netta glared at his retreating back as she moved a short distance from Elise.

Soon after, Elise called out to her.

“Netta, come see what I have found.”

She hurried to find Elise crouched beneath an ancient oak tree, staring at the ground.

“Ick.” Elise leaned back and made a face. “Look at the ugly thing crawling on this plant. He has green things atop of his head, like two extra eyes. Do you think he has four of them?”

“How fortunate, Elise.” Netta leaned down for a closer look. “You found the Saint John's wort Brianna asked you to bring.”

“A Sainted Wort bug?” Elise looked up, surprised. “I thought she wanted herbs.”

“Not the bug. The plant the bug is on. She can dry the herb and flower tops to make tea, or soak them in oil for cuts and scrapes.” Netta did not know how to cook a hare, but she did have some skill with herbs. Being careful not to crush them, she collected what she needed.

“Lucifer's teeth! Have you not finished?”

Mereck's irritated voice echoed through the forest. Startled, Netta fell back on her bottom, hitting a rock. She yelped. He charged through the woods and stopped when he spied her, sprawled on the ground, her lap full of flower tops and herbs.

“What are you doing?” Mereck eyed the cuttings.

“Picking herbs, of course.” She grabbed the hem of her tunic and scrambled to her feet.

“Lady, you canna go afore the men with your clothing lifted to your knees.” He took her arm, and attempted to dump the greenery.

“Leave off, sir.” She pulled away from him. “Brianna will need every leaf we can find to make medicines. With all your scars, you men must be forever fighting. Here. You may carry them for me.” Stooping, she grabbed the edge of his plaid and dropped the plants onto it.

Elise gasped behind her.

“Are you daft, woman?” He flapped his plaid. The cuttings flew back into Netta's arms.

Elise gurgled and covered her eyes.

“I willna go afore my men carrying weeds like a baker's wife with buns in her apron.”

“Oh, rats and fleas. You are bruising them. Elise, lower your arms and help me.” She placed half the plants in Elise's folded arms while she carried the rest. “Why do you fret about showing your knees?” she grumbled and hurried toward where they had entered the woods. “You show enough of yourself at other times.”

He grabbed her shoulders to turn her in the opposite direction.

“Why do Saxon women not know where they are going? Brianna has the same problem. She canna find her way around her own castle.” He jolted to a halt, recalling her last remark. “Have you been watching the woods when you shouldna?” His voice was incredulous. “Lady, you have no shame.”

“I am not the shameless one. You men should select a tree ample enough to conceal you.” Her conscience pricked her. 'Twas not entirely true.

He spluttered. She sauntered over to the tent. When she neared it, she looked up at him with an innocent look on her face.

“Thank you for your help, sir. I must tend the herbs now.”

“Blessed saints, you willna speak to me in such a way.”

“What way? Did I not say ‘thank you?'”

“You thought to dismiss me, woman.” He folded his arms across his chest and placed his feet wide apart. “Besides, you have not yet tendered Ewen an apology. You will both do so now.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, then carefully laid the clippings on the ground. She went to stand in front of Ewen. When he did not look at her, she nudged his boot.

He ignored her. Peering over her head at Elise, he nodded.

“I'm sorry for saying money would make you sweeter,” Elise blurted. “It cannot. But truly, Father did say you should pay for favors and my father was never wrong.”

“I ken, milady, and I accept yer apology.” Ewen continued to stare over the top of Netta's head.

Netta nudged his boot harder and cleared her throat.

“It has come to my attention that when I tried to speak with you, I could have caused you a great deal of harm.” She forced out the words from between clenched teeth. Determined, she kicked his boot until he looked at her.

“Speak, milady? What were ye trying' to say to me?”

“Oh, blessed saints. I told you oft enough that I
had to go out
. I could hardly make it more clear.”

“Where would ye possibly go in the wilderness?”

Watching Netta struggle with her apology, Mereck wanted to put his arm around her in comfort. She was small and far more helpless than she realized. Her face reddened with shame. But he steeled himself.

For her own safety, this was an important lesson she must learn. When he told her to stay where she was, she must obey him. She could not wander about lacking an escort. Without male protection, a raider can easily seize a woman. It happened far too often in the Highlands. He shuddered at the thought Netta could unknowingly put herself in such danger.

“I did not wish to visit someone.” Exasperation caused her voice to raise. “I needed to visit someplace. Now do you understand?”

“What place, milady? If ye needed somethin' from the packs, I would have sent a mon to fetch it. Ye didna want a bath, fer ye had already bathed. I canna think of another place ye would want to visit.”

“Blessed Saint Martha. I had need of a privy place. Is that plain enough?” Her face felt on fire.

“Your apology, Netta,” Mereck demanded.

“Oh, rats.” Netta kicked the ground in frustration. “I'm sorry for near getting you punished, because you were too dense to understand a perfectly natural request. Are you satisfied now, Sir Mereck?”

She twirled around and gasped in dismay when she saw the men standing behind her. Lifting her nose in the air, she gave a disdainful sniff and disappeared into the tent as quickly as dignity would allow.

 

In Northumbria, the body of Baron Mortain lay on the table in the keep's great hall, awaiting burial. Roger's rage crackled in the air. The new baron had hated his sire with an intensity only equaled by the loathing he had earned from his father. Now Roger had more urgent business to attend than seeing to his father's remains.

“Your soul will linger until I return,” Roger ordered the oh-so-still body. “I will have no masses said to speed your way, though 'tis to Hades Gates you will surely go.”

With unseemly haste, he rifled through his late father's strongbox. It held gold and jewels, hoarded by generations of frugal Mortain barons. Buried in one corner, he found what he wanted, and made haste to Wycliffe Castle.

Months earlier, Baron Wycliffe had stoked his wrath when he rejected Roger's suit for his eldest daughter.

He had sneered that Roger had not the coins to buy her.

He did now.

Two days after his father's death, Roger slammed a small coffer stuffed with gold coins and jewels on the table at Wycliffe. It near struck George's eager nose.

“Summon Lynette!” Roger's fists rested on his hips, his legs widespread.

His scornful gaze swept over the baron's simpering younger daughters and ignored the baron's wife. Where was the girl hiding? When Wycliffe did not immediately beckon a servant to do his bidding, he leaned menacingly across the table, his nose almost touching the baron's quivering face.

“I must needs have a small amount of time,” the baron stammered, greedily clutching an emerald many times larger than any he possessed.

“Time? How much time can it take to fetch the girl and call for the priest? We will wed at once.” He swaggered toward the stairway that lead to the floor above.

“Lynette! Get you down and greet your husband.”

When she did not appear, properly subdued by his mastery, Roger cursed and vowed she would pay for not obeying his command.

“She cannot hear you.” Wycliffe's words spurted from his mouth, when Roger stalked back and reached for him. “Baresark, that wild savage, stormed through our gates less than a fortnight ago. He demanded Lynette to wive,” he said all in one breath.

Seconds before Roger's hands could grab his plump neck, he bolted off his chair. “He left me no choice,” he spluttered. “I feared for my very life. He forced me to sign the betrothal contract.”

Wycliffe had given her to Baresark?

A savage. A barbarian.
A bastard.

Roger's wrath exploded. Lynette belonged to him. His to bring home in triumph.

He bounded over the table, strewing gold-plated goblets recently filled with wine. Trenchers of greasy mutton toppled onto the rushes. Curses spewed from his mouth. His hands clamped around George's pudgy, sweating neck. He ignored the women's screeches and held the wriggling baron until three men-at-arms attached themselves to Roger like leeches.

Baron Wycliffe, shaking from head to toe, squeaked out a solution. “I vow I had no control over the berserker. Mayhap 'tis for the best. Surely you would prefer one of my lovely, dutiful daughters to replace that witch of a Lynette.”

Priscilla and Elizabeth, tugged forward by their mother, cried and howled until their noses turned red.

They wanted husbands—but not this husband.

He chose neither. Both dowries combined did not compare to Caer Cad-well. Only after Wycliffe vowed to petition their overlord, Baron Hugh of Carswell, for aid did Roger finally stop frothing at the mouth. He pried the clasped emerald from the baron's greedy fist, replaced it in the chest and slammed the lid. Until Lynette was in Roger's bed, Baron Wycliffe would not see the jewels or gold coins again.

When he returned to Mortain Castle and burst into the great hall, women scattered and disappeared. Grown men scurried from the room and tried to make themselves invisible to their new baron. He strode up to the table where his father's body lay.

“'Tis your fault, you stinking pile of bones,” he hissed. “If you had released your coins, Lynette would be in my bed. The riches of Cad-well would be mine. I should long ago have rid you of breath.”

He heard a gasp behind him and turned to find his father's old manservant. He did not spare a second thought. His fist cracked into the man's jaw, the blow slamming the man to the filthy rushes. Roger, ignoring the sickening sound of a skull meeting stone, began to pace.

“How dared the devil-eyed bitch.” His words screeched like the voice of a raptor and sent even the rats scurrying. “She would not have
me?
She went happily with that
half-breed
animal?”

Roger had loved her, but she had betrayed him. The last time he had her in his grip, she had claimed she was not intact. If not for her guards, he would have done more than slap her disobedient face and beat her. He would have taken her. He did not doubt his manliness would get her with child. She would have wed him then. She would have had no choice. As she would not have when he found her.

 

For the past sennight, Mereck and his party had traveled on Morgan lands. They would reach Blackthorn afore the midday meal on the morrow. Netta planned to persuade Bleddyn, and he would convince her father to release her from the contract.

For certs she could attract her own suitors. Surely Saint Monica would send her a man superior to any her father had chosen for her. Hmm, perchance Mereck would court her? Her face heated. How would his beautiful hands feel on her body? Her nipples tingled at the thought.

Blessed saints! Whatever made her think that?