Midnight's Bride (11 page)

“Come, Elise, let us choose what we will wear on the morrow. You want to be beautiful. In case Lord Damron has chosen a mate for you.”

“A mate?” Elise whispered, her sky-blue eyes wide with worry. “Do you think he has planned a nuptial without telling Father? Oh, heaven help me.” She put her hands to her head and groaned. “He is even more stern than his cousin Connor.”

“Lord Damron? Who is Connor?”

“Lord Damron's cousin. His first-in-command. I met him when he came with Damron to collect Brianna. He smiles often. Yet if I but do the slightest thing, he frowns and orders me about. Each time I looked up, he was watching. He barked at any man who came close to speak to me.” She shuddered and with a tremulous smile asked, “Perchance you would care to beguile him?”

“Why would I wish to do such? He does not sound like someone who would allow me to do as I wish.”

“Oh, but he is most handsome. He has beautiful brown eyes that sparkle and laugh.” Her face took on a dreamy, wistful look. “His hair is brown and makes your fingers want to touch it. His lips are full and soft looking.” She drew in a deep breath and released it on a sigh. “He is as big a man as Damron and Mereck, but far more comely.”

Netta grinned. Did Elise not realize she favored the man she described? Hmm. It would be interesting to watch them together. If this Connor was not suitable for Elise's gentle soul, she vowed to protect her friend.

Sorting through the few ribbons and girdles they had brought with them, they finally selected their clothing for the next morn. Soon after they finished, Mereck appeared and ordered them to retire.

Chill bumps ran over her skin. Tonight would be the last they would sleep so close together. She blushed, for more than once she had awakened to find her head snuggled on his shoulder, her arm flung over his massive chest. To her shame, her fingers had clutched his plaid as she burrowed closer. For certs, she sought only his heat.

She hugged Elise and scurried out of the tent afore he must needs call a second time. He was unyielding when he gave an order. After they arrived at Blackthorn, he would have no right to demand her obedience. Her status as Lady Lynette of Wycliffe would cushion her from this dominating man.

Netta awoke to the tantalizing scents of juniper and musk—along with thumping heartbeats beneath her ear. They came from the firm-as-a-tree-trunk, but oh, so delightfully warm body clutched in her arms. She gasped, then caught her breath as she moved as slow as a snail to lift herself off Mereck's chest and peek through her lashes.

Rats and fleas. His eyes were open.

Not only were they open, but their deep green hue made her more than aware something had prodded his emotions. And it was not anger. Blinking, she prayed he would look away.

He did not.

His steady regard made her shiver. His lips lifted in a wicked smile.

She pulled the plaid up high under her chin and glowered at him, accusing him for her own misdeed.

His smile widened.

“You will find our bedding arrangements at Blackthorn to be most satisfying, Netta,” he whispered in a husky purr as he stroked her hair.

The deep rumble of his voice beneath her ear sent chill bumps coursing over her body. She tightened her grip.

“Undoubtedly, sir. I will likely share a room with Elise.”

“For a time.” He smiled again, this time pleased. His beautiful voice deepened. “Then you will have a most interesting bed partner.”

She started to retort, but he stopped her.

“Milady, if you have ceased tempting me, I must rise.”

Netta gasped and jerked away from him.

He chuckled and rose.

“When I have donned my clothing, wake Elise and make haste with your preparations. My men are eager to return to their families.” He glanced down at her and ordered, “Close your eyes.”

Puzzled, she closed them. Until her curiosity got the better of her. Mereck had always arisen before he woke her. She opened her lids the tiniest bit. It was more than enough. He was removing the plaid that kept him warm during the night.

He was a giant of a man. His body projected power. His neck was strong and firm, as was his jaw. Dark shadows showed he shaved each morn, afore she had even left her pallet. The breadth of his shoulders amazed her. She could not begin to circle them with her arms. Not that she planned to, of course.

His skin was golden all over and light brown hair dusted over his chest to narrow at his waist. The tartan lowered further. As it slithered past his waist, she followed the arrow of brown hair down to his…! She had but a glimpse before she gasped and squeezed her eyelids shut.

Saints! Truly he is unnatural? With such an obstruction, how could he walk or ride a horse in any kind of comfort?

She heard the rustle of Mereck's clothing as he prepared himself for the day. She felt his movements when he sat down on the ground beside her.

“Rise, Netta, and wake Elise.” Grasping a stocking, he worked it up over a tanned foot.

“Are you clothed, sir?” she whispered.

He grunted.

She gathered her covers around her and sat up.

Mereck straightened his right leg. His plaid covered his manly parts, but his left leg was bare to her view. Her gaze quickly traveled over a massive and hairy calf, and up to an even more impressive thigh. The sounds of warriors rising from their sleep distracted her. Glancing around, her eyes widened in utter disbelief.

She scrambled to her feet and made a frantic dash for the tent.

Mereck laughed and continued to dress.

“Wake up, Elise.” Netta grabbed her friend's shoulder and jostled her. “Do you know I have been sleeping with all these men and they have been naked?”

“Naked? You have been sleeping with naked men?” Elise bounded upright, her eyes bright with interest.

“Not sleeping
with
them. But 'tis the same. They have been naked under their blankets. When I looked up, they were standing about. They did not deign to cover their secret parts.” She blinked rapidly. “They scratched truly unspeakable places. Though they knew I slept close-by, none have worn even a scrap of cloth.”

Elise dashed for the tent flap. She opened it enough to peer through. Her giggle made Netta join her. No sooner had she done so, than two very green eyes blocked their view and stared back at them. Elise backed up so quickly she threw Netta off balance. She landed on her bottom. A loud grunt sounded from the other side of the tent.

“Clothe yourselves and stop dawdling,” Mereck's stern voice commanded.

They dressed as fast as their hands could snatch up their clothes and pull them on. Elise donned a dark blue tunic over an ice-blue smock and they wove blue ribbons through her braided hair. Netta wore a pale cream smock beneath an overdress of emerald green, the color of Mereck's eyes when he stared at her. They pulled a section of Netta's hair from each side of her face and secured it in back with dark green ribbons that mingled with her long, ebony curls.

Netta hesitated leaving the shelter of the tent after Mereck had caught them peeking. But when Fergus called, saying Mereck said they were to come immediately and break their fast or they would travel hungry, Netta grabbed Elise's hand. They sprinted toward Angus waiting with their steaming porridge.

The men seemed determined to force a greeting from them.

“Good morn, miladies,” they called out as the women passed. Each time Netta was forced to look up and acknowledge the greeting, she saw a man who grinned laughingly at her—with blackened teeth. Oh, saints. Did they all know she and Elise had spied on them? Elise never raised her gaze from the ground. She whispered her own timid replies.

 

Mereck led them at a fast pace due north past Altnaharra. He had known Netta spied on him that morning. His body had felt it and reacted; his tarse had swelled and lifted in anticipation. He doubted anyone had instructed her in the ways of a man and woman and was glad for it. It would be his pleasure to initiate his little wife in the many delights they would bring to each other.

He shook his head and stopped his thoughts with a frown. Netta was creeping beneath his guard as surely as she had crept close in the night to fling her arm and leg over him as she slept. Though it was well and good to enjoy the lass, he must needs never allow his feelings to deepen.

A shudder racked him as he heard the cackling voice of old Beyahita. Her warning that a Baresark's destiny was to destroy any woman he was so foolish to love rang in his ears.

They forded a stream at the end of Loch Loyal, then entered the pass between Ben Loyal and Beinn Stumanadh, following Loch Loyal. Mereck called a halt at the northmost tip of the Loch, judging they were but two leagues from Blackthorn Castle. The women could refresh themselves with bannocks and watered wine.

The day had turned cold. After he helped Netta to the ground, he beckoned to Dafydd and made a quiet request. The squire hastened off to the pack horse that carried Mereck's clothing, and returned with his arms overloaded. On top was a plaid identical to the one Mereck wore.

Taking it, Mereck came over to Netta.

“You will wear this when we enter Blackthorn so our people will know who you are.” He draped it around her waist and brought the ends up and over her left shoulder, pinning the plaid securely with a Morgan crest brooch like his. It pictured a hand holding erect a dagger fisted in its grip with
Manu Forti
engraved across the top of the circle. A bar ran diagonally across the whole. When done, he gripped her shoulders and studied her.

“Ah, sweetling, your lips would tempt a saint to sin.”

His husky murmur made her shiver. He lowered his head and brushed his lips lightly against hers, surprising her.

And surprising himself.

When he lifted his head, Netta had the look of a woman who wanted more. Her eyes half closed, her lips parted slightly, and a flush stained her cheeks and neck.

He turned and strolled into the woods.

Netta drew a deep breath, then held it, unwilling to lose the scent that lingered from his skin. Her knees turned to weak porridge. She wished his lips had tarried longer. No one had ever kissed her like that.

Heaven help her. She shook herself. Of course no one had. She had no good memories of kisses. The few she had received were forced on her by men she thoroughly disliked.

After more than half of the warriors disappeared through the trees, she wondered where they had gone. When she and Elise finished their light repast, they decided to find a private area where they could rinse the honey from their fingertips. Dafydd must have been tending Mereck's needs, for Netta did not see him. She shrugged. She and Elise could find a spot of their own at the lake.

Following the direction the men had taken, they soon heard talking and laughter. Curious, they looked to see what the men found so enjoyable.

She soon wished they had waited for Dafydd.

She skidded to a halt. Elise bumped so hard against her back that Netta staggered and grabbed at a tree for support. Was her friend forming a habit of unbalancing her? Fortunately, one last stand of trees stood between them and the water.

“Umpfh. What happened?” Elise muttered. She needed no answer when she gaped over Netta's shoulder. “Blessed Saint Willibald. Why are they cavorting in the water like leaping fish?”

They did indeed jump and play around like madmen. Netta hushed Elise before the men could hear her.

No wonder some men strutted about like peacocks. They were all well-formed. Netta made a mental comparison. Not another man in the group could surpass Mereck's magnificent body. She gasped, for just as she thought of him, she spotted him waist deep in the water. He turned. Soap clung to his hair and shoulders. His frowning gaze searched the line of trees.

Had he seen them? How could it be? They were hidden behind a large elm. He ducked under the water to rinse himself. When he rose and took long strides toward land, Netta grabbed Elise by the hand and they raced back to camp. Ewen was there. She skidded to a halt and grasped his shoulder.

“Should anyone asks, please say we have been with you since we stopped,” she pleaded. “'Tis but a game we play with milord Mereck.” She put all she had into the request.

“Sure and ye were, lass.” He chuckled and nodded.

He knew. His hair was wet. Saints. Had she seen him? She flushed all the hotter, for her gaze had not paid heed to faces.

Ewen offered them watered wine. They gratefully took it, for Elise was speechless and looked ready to slither to the ground.

To be honest, she herself was in dire need of encouragement. Netta gulped down her wine. When the men started to return through the woods, she stared at her lap.

The warriors quickly downed ale and laughed as they prepared for this last step of their journey. When done, they mounted and formed double rows. Dafydd and Fergus, Mereck and Marcus' squires, came to the women to help them into their saddles. When they had done so, they led them to the front of the line where Marcus waited alone.

He faced the men. Reaching out, he took the reins from Netta's grasp. Surprised, she looked at him, questioning him with her eyes. He smiled, but said not a word. No one spoke. Even the horses appeared to await something of import.

“What is amiss, Netta?” Elise's voice was so soft as to be almost unheard. “Why does no one speak?”

“I know not why. Mayhap we wait for Mereck. Where could he have gone?”

From the far end of the line came the sounds of men cheering and loudly thumping their swords on shields. Netta looked toward the clamor but could see nothing, for the file of men snaked around the trees. Soon, through the line of trees she saw two horses prance slowly toward them. When the horsemen came around the curve and into view, Netta shrieked. She tried to grab the reins from Marcus'fist. He held tight to them. He grasped her shoulder, supporting her, but keeping her seated.

The first horseman, a standard bearer, held a scarlet banner aloft. A single word, in large black satin letters, was sewn on it.

BARESARK.

The second horse was
M'Famhair.
Astride his back was the savage barbarian who had come to Wycliffe Castle.