Midnight's Bride (20 page)

“Oh aye, Mereck.” Netta sparked with enthusiasm. She started to rise, hoping to run to the mews right away. His hand on her shoulder forestalled her.

“The eyas must become accustomed to his new home and to you. After the next sun rises, you will talk to him and let him smell your breath afore you touch him.” He moved his head close to hers, his lips almost brushing her own.

His breath smelled sweetly of wine. Her scalp tingled.

“You will caress him and repeat his name while you tell him how lovely he is. Much as a man gentles a woman to his touch.”

His warm hand caressed from her nape down over her shoulders and up again. “Ah, Netta, you are a feast to my eyes,” he whispered.

A shiver streaked down her spine.

“You will sip water into your mouth and dribble it in his beak as his mother would.” He took a sip of wine and leaned closer yet. Powerless to move, his pursed lips brushed hers and his thumb gently pulled down on her chin.

Warm wine trickled over her tongue.

A whimper escaped her.

“Once he takes it, you must give him the raw meat he will learn to crave.”

That broke the spell.

“Can I not cook it a little?”

“A kestrel's favorite foods are the smallest creatures of the woods. They dinna hunt in Cook's kitchen.” Mereck chuckled. “You canna train him to eat wild boar. Even a peregrine would not be so reckless as to attack a large creature. After you have seen him, you must name him. When you ask Rory to bring him to you, you canna call him ‘birdie.'”

“I have never named a pet before.”

“'Tis true? I would not have guessed it.” His eyes opened wide in pretended surprise. “You must needs also name the wee kitten. If you dinna, each time you call Kit, a string of cats will follow you.”

“I will bid Meghan and Elise to help me.”

“Heaven help the kestrel. Meghan will have you name him eejit, or goup for fool.” At Netta's puzzled look, he explained. “She calls her own sparrowhawk Simple, though rightly so.”

Damron entered the room, interrupting him.

“Have ye men grown soft as lassies then? Ye have dawdled enough.” Damron frowned at Mereck. “Come, brither. Ye will work with me fer the rest of this day. By the time we are done, ye will remember to keep yer eyes on the blade. I will not have ye gettin' yerself killed o'er lassies admirin' yer comely arse.”

Mereck glared at him and cursed in Gaelic.

Netta thought it was Gaelic. It could have been Welsh.

 

Netta and Elise dressed in their squire's clothing and bushed out their eyebrows. They followed Meghan below, where Meghan staked out a corner of the practice area. She showed Netta the basic moves with a sword. Elise sat on the grass. Each time Meghan delivered a stinging slap across Netta's thighs with the wooden sword, Elise gasped.

A dozen times in a row, Meghan knocked the sword from Netta's hand. She soon learned to hold on with all her might. Sweat tickled its way between her breasts with the strain. When they paused, she patted her eyebrows, afeared they would slip. She would look frightful if they rimmed her jaw instead of her brow.

After they stopped to refresh themselves with cold water at the well, they made their way to a more secluded corner.

“I'll show ye how to protect yerselves if a man becomes too forward. Elise, grab me around the shoulders and try to hang on.” When she did so, Meghan went limp, slid under Elise's loosened grip and twirled around to land her foot softly at the juncture of Elise's thighs. “When ye do it, strike with all yer weight behind the blow. 'Tis positive I am ye will get away.”

“What if I do it and his ‘thing' withers into one of those wee little prickly ones?” Elise worried. “Will he not try to kill me for it?”

“If ye're afrighted about damagin' his family jewels, aim higher and knock the wind from his stomach,” Meghan replied.

“Family jewels?” Netta asked.

“Aye. 'Tis what Brianna calls them. She has the right of it, for men do polish and rub them til they fairly gleam.”

Netta's nape prickled a warning. She glanced behind her to see who watched them.

Mereck stood beneath a tree, legs spread wide and arms folded across his chest.

Waiting.

“Hmpf! I see you neglect today's mace training.” Mereck scowled, his eyes mere slits, hiding his amusement. He jerked his hand to beckon them forward. “Soft as lassies, all of you. Come. By the looks of your puny forms, you have hid overlong from hearty exercise.”

The women tucked their heads down and studied the dirt path as they followed him to the stables.

“These two spindly boys are to clean stalls.” Mereck pushed Elise and Meghan toward the stable master. “The runt will spread hay.” Mereck near laughed aloud at Netta's outraged huff. He cleared his throat, pivoted on his heel and left them to the stable master's mercy. Now and again, he returned to the stable door to scowl at them, assuring they didna shirk their duties.

As the day wore on, he saw by the looks of their sweating faces and sagging shoulders, they had learned their lesson.

“Puny.” He shook his head and sucked his teeth. “Not a solid man's muscle betwixt you. Shirk your duties again, and I will set you to train with the warriors in the farthest field. Mayhap your clothing hinders your movements? The warriors would soon have it off you.” He kept his mouth grim as he glowered at them.

Netta clutched her clothing tight to her neck as if it was already in danger. He wrinkled his nose. “Begone from my sight. Your stench near makes me sick. Cleanse your filthy hides. How could you get more muck on your clothing than what you carted away?” He swatted Netta's bottom and pointed to the barn door.

She yelped and lurched forward. Her shovel clattered to the ground. Before its noise quieted, she fled, kicking up swirls of dust in her wake.

 

Mereck clasped Netta's elbow and led her to sit beside him for the evening meal. Her gaze darted to his face to judge his mood. His features looked sculpted in stone, for no expression showed there. What if he asked how she passed the day? She prayed he would not. If he learned she was one of the three squires he scolded earlier and forced to spread hay and shovel buckets of revolting filth, would he unleash his bestial temper? Her worry eased, hearing his polite request for her meal choices.

“The salmon, sir. And possibly a little lamb and honeyed chicken?” Rats. Her voice sounded timid. 'Twas shameful.

He filled the left side of their trencher with juicy, generous portions. Her mouth watered. He nodded toward a large platter of vegetables. His brow lifted and his green eyes sparked his question.

She sat taller and squared her shoulders, then forced confidence in her voice. “Carrots and beets. If you please.”

The delightful aroma of baked bread drew her gaze to a basket, a pot of warm honey sitting alongside it. Smiling, he speared a loaf and poured honey into a small bowl between them.

The main table was unusually quiet. Though Mereck was courteous, tension radiated like sparks between them. He knew. She felt it. Saints! Of a sudden her hunger fled. Never had it done that afore, not even when her father had bellowed and raved and locked her in her room. The worst part of her sire's punishment had been the meager array of food he allowed her maid to bring her. This was different.

If Mereck was to let his temper fly, would it not be best here? With his family to protect her? She could not stand the waiting.

“We did not go to the practice area to spy on men.”

She sucked in her breath. Was it her lips that just blurted those foolish words?

“Then for what purpose did you go, lady?”

She sneaked a peek at him. The line of his mouth tightened. His eyes were like misty green stones.

“'Twas a lark.”

“Ah? A lark? How do you deem espying naked men at their practice a lark?”

She blinked and started to hum. What gremlin led her to mention it? She began to fidget.

“We did not go there apurpose to see men unclothed. We were seeking a breath of air when we stumbled upon it.”

“After you stumbled upon us, were you gratified by what you saw? You need not have been so hasty. You will soon be free to study a naked man at a much closer range.”

She flushed and lowered her head. Heat radiated from her chest. No doubt if she could see it, it would be fiery red.

“Ah. You have no wish to answer, Netta,” he murmured. “By chance you will find it easier to tell me why you dressed as a squire this day? Did you plan to explore the barracks when the men returned to cleanse themselves?”

“Nay. We would not do such.” Oh, rats. Why had her voice decided to burst out in near a shout? Elise kicked her leg. “You knew it was us? Yet you bade us clean those filthy stalls?”

“I could hardly greet you and kiss your brow. Do you think warriors take kindly to women who pose as boys? Well now, if not to spy on them, for what purpose did you don men's clothing?”

“To learn how it feels to wear clothing which does not hamper our legs.”

His left brow flashed up then settled in place. He leaned back and studied her, a lopsided smile on his face. She hesitated. He did not favor that answer. She hummed a tune while she scrambled for another reply. If she told him she wished to learn the use of weapons like Meghan, for certs he would forbid it.

“After you found men's clothing to be of more comfort than your own, did you then seek manly pursuits?”

“Manly pursuits?” Startled, she forgot to hum. Did someone spy them yester morn while Meghan showed her how to throw knives? Or this day with their wooden swords?

“Aye. Were you curious about weapons? Or by chance the quintain drew your interest?”

“Weapons?” Netta's voice squeaked.

He nodded, his face a solemn mask.

“When I saw Meghan toss a knife and it stuck in the door across the room, I thought 'twould be a skill useful to women as well as men. I wish to learn the how of it.”

“Did you have success with the trying?”

“Nay. I could not strike the target until I moved close.” She scowled and honestly added, “Very close.” Surely the youngest of Blackthorn's squires did better than she. “This morn, Meghan deemed a sword more suitable.”

“Eh? Why so?”

Netta huffed at his surprise. “I would be closer to the enemy.”

“This day wasna the first that you ventured out dressed as a squire.” A statement, not a question. “How fared you with a sword? I trust she didna allow a blade in your hand?”

“For certs not.” How could he think his cousin so unwise? “We used wooden swords.”

“You willna attempt to learn any form of weaponry with Meghan, Netta, unless I agree.” Mereck's voice was cold, stern. “You will also stay far from the quintain. E'en experienced warriors have suffered injury when in the area. Do I make myself clear?” With green eyes cold as glaciers, he stared at her, awaiting her reply.

“Aye, sir. I do not ken why you dislike my wish for the skills to defend myself.” She grumbled and stared back.

“Your wish for skill in wielding a weapon is not the problem. You should have asked me afore going to another. On the morrow, after I have shown you how to care for the kestrel, I will begin training you in the use of a sword. Make no mistake. You willna find me as gentle as Meghan.

“Scotland is harder for a lass in more ways than our harsh climate. Women are prime targets for ransom. If the saints smile on them and the captor returns them, it isna always in the same condition as when they stole them.”

Netta swallowed and nodded her understanding. An old man shuffled over to sit in front of the fireplace when servants brought in cheese, fruits and pastries. His fingers lured soothing notes from a lute while they finished their meal.

“Do you sing, Netta, or play an instrument?” Brianna smiled over at Netta.

“I have never been able to carry a tune, and I cannot play an instrument any better than the rudest peasant.” Netta lowered her gaze to the table. “Our castle bard told Father I had no ear for music, and if a tune was a snail, I could chase it for the rest of my life and ne'er catch it.”

“I'm sure you have many talents other than music.” Brianna reached over to pat Netta's arm.

“My wife has a vivid imagination for tellin' stories which frighten not only pages but squires too.” Pride rang in Damron's voice. “'Tis likely one rainy evenin' she will tell another. She has e'en invented a war cry we now combine with our own to frighten the enemy.”

“I have no doubt I will soon uncover your many hidden talents.” Mereck's voice was deep and arousing in Netta's ear.

The hungry look in his eyes held her motionless. Was this how a deer felt when eyed by the wolf?

Mereck collected a wayward curl and brought it behind her ear. Warm fingers stole beneath her hair to caress her nape. Her gaze was drawn to his lips. They softened and pursed.

His teasing fingertips traced over her jaw, then lingered to cup her cheek in his warm palm. Juniper and musk tantalized her senses. Why was the room so very hot? Her tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips. He would not kiss her in front of everyone. Would he? She caught her breath.

He would. He did.

The kiss was not the brief brushing of lips as afore. This was like no other kiss she had ever had. Thomas of Durham had once forced his cold, wet mouth on hers. She shuddered. It made her sick to remember it.

Mereck tasted faintly of wine and honey. Though firm and demanding, his warm lips did not hurt her own. He nibbled and played with the corners of her mouth, sending shivers sweeping through her. She sighed. Her lips parted.

Had he awaited this?

His silken tongue slid between her teeth to explore and swirl around her own, then retreated. Had he found her distasteful? She had her answer when it returned to deepen the kiss. Mingled with the pounding of her heartbeat were soft mewling sounds. Had a kitten strayed from Mither? Mereck also heard it. He eased his lips from hers and showered soothing kisses over her cheeks and eyes. She sensed his reluctance when he drew back. Had they been elsewhere, he would not have stopped.

Connor and Meghan regarded her with amusement, and Elise eyed her with curious interest. Netta cleared her throat and pretended nothing had happened. She'd turn their attention elsewhere.

“One of the kits is crying. We must find the wee thing afore someone tramples it.”

“'Twas no kitten, Netta.” Connor grinned at Mereck.

“Aye, it was. Did you not hear it?”

“What ye heard were yer own sounds of need, love,” Mereck murmured in her ear.

His soft breath tickled, making her shiver. “Truly, you did not hear aright. I did not make those sounds.”

When he nuzzled her ear with his lips, she trembled.

When his tongue stroked the opening, she shuddered.

When she heard the soft sounds she could not suppress, she believed him.

Heaven help her. How could she have such feelings over a man who might someday throttle the life from her?

 

Heavy rain fell throughout the night but stilled at the first rays of dawn. Netta was taking her last spoonful of porridge when Dafydd raced through the great hall's doorway and skidded to a stop before her.

“Lady Netta. Sir Mereck bids you await him here. He will come for you after he sees the men started on their daily practice.” He bobbed at the waist, grabbed a scone and dashed back out the door before Netta could take her second breath.

She waited. Impatient. Each time someone entered, she expected the man whose presence sent her pulse racing. Most times from uneasiness, but sometimes of late from other reasons. An image of him in the practice field stole into her memory.

Naked. The mat of hair on his chest glistening when the morning sun hit it. His massive body moist with effort.

Um, Bareass. It was a much more fitting name than Baresark.

Far more fitting. And interesting.

Mither stalked through the doorway, head high and tail twitching. How strange. The cat was never alone. She was either caring for the kittens or stalking Mereck, waiting for him to carry her about on his broad shoulders.

Why must she await him in the great hall? She was eager to see the kestrel. He would know she had gone ahead to the mews if he found she was not here. She hurried through the doorway. The sun's rays nearly blinded her, until a great shadow blocked the light.

She blinked, then blinked again. Mereck's stern face stared down at her. Having seen Mither, she should have known he was close-by. Wet hair dripped onto his collarbone. Fascinating rivulets of water rambled and wove through the blond hair matting the hard wall of muscles that was his chest. He had stopped to wash at the well.

“Did Dafydd not tell you to await me in the great hall?”

Saints! He was displeased. His brown brows near met over his nose. She gulped.

“He did. I thought you had forgotten.”

“I ne'er forget. And I ne'er go back on my word. You must learn to obey my wishes.” His voice was harsh as he grasped her elbow. “See you remember, wife.”

Mayhap it would be wise to keep her mouth shut.