Midnight's Bride (25 page)

Blessed saints. Maybe he did know what he was doing. For certs, she sure as Lucifer didn't. His front hooves cleared the tree. When they again met the earth, she catapulted off his back. The scream had not quite cleared her lips, before the hard earth rose to meet her.

 

Mereck's head jerked up. His body stopped in mid-motion. Fearful prickles coursed down his spine. He searched the crowd in the bailey. Netta is hurt. He knew it with as much certainty as he knew where he stood. He ran, sounds of distress bursting from his lips. A young man tried to stop him. Mereck started to shove him out of the way but stopped on hearing the word bride.

“What did you say?” His fingers dug into the man's shoulder.

“I didn't know it was your bride. The sack knocked her and she near fell. It was her cap coming off and her hair spilling free that warned me.” Kenneth's voice wavered.

“The Lady Lynette, where is she? Is she hurt? Did you seek aid for her?” He searched the squire's ashen face.

“Not hurt. I came to meet you, for she took off into the outer bailey. She tried to make her way back, but the crowd carried her out of the castle walls. I lost track of her.”

“Get Sir Connor and twelve men. Send them behind me. Hurry!”

Kenneth ran to do his bidding. Mereck readied
M'Famhair
and finished in lightning speed, for he had no need of a saddle. Rider and horse soon crossed the drawbridge and headed into the woods. Connor and his men followed not far behind.

Mereck scanned the cleared countryside around the high curtain walls. His bride wasna among the people who came and went. On entering the path in the woods, he slowed his pace. He inspected the ground and trees and listened, but he heard only forest sounds.

When he found Netta, he would impress on her the dangers of being out and alone. Lucifer's crooked nose! This is not the English countryside. She defied him to again dress as a squire and enter the quintain enclosure. He remembered his promise of swift consequences if she did so. His mouth set in a grim line.

After the first knowledge she had been hurt, he felt no other sense of her. His body tensed. Was he too late? Connor and the men caught up with him, and they spread out to search the surrounding woods. After several leagues, Mereck stiffened.

Fear.

He felt her fear as surely as if it was his own. He would use it to find her.

 

Ohh, her head ached. Every inch of her felt bruised. Damp musty earth cradled her chin. Grass and leaves tickled the skin of her face. Mercy sakes. A busy ant crawled across her cheek, headed for her ear. She stirred and tried to lift her hand to swat it. She did not get far. The man threw her onto her back much like a sack of grain.

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to yell her lungs out. Before the first cry burst through her lips, a grimy and foully odorous hand clamped over them. When she took her next breath, she gagged from the taste and smell. With the face too close to her own, she blinked and tried to uncross her eyes.

Surely his was the most disgusting face in the world. Strings of greasy black hair fell over a narrow forehead. Warts covered a gourd-like nose, and hair protruded from his nostrils and ears. The nose dominated the man's face. Bulging, brown eyes rivaled it for prominence.

She closed her eyes and wished the horrid face would go away. It didn't. He removed his hand, only to replace it with cloth torn from her shirt. She knew it was from her clothing, for it was clean. From the sight and smell of him, the man couldn't have a clean thing on him.

“Stupid girl,” he hissed. “Yer 'orse ran. Now ye'll 'ave ter come up with me.” He bound her hands behind her and slung her up on his horse. Seconds later, he mounted and clamped an arm around her to haul her tight against him.

Her skin couldn't crawl with revulsion any harder, or it would strip away from her bones. She tried to pull away from him. He cursed and held her all the tighter, wedging her hands against his sex. His breath became hard and ragged, so foul and strong it defied the brisk wind to waft beneath her nose. Something moved against her hands. She clenched her fingers; she tried not to touch him. Feeling his limp male flesh heat and squirm against her wrist, she shuddered.

Mereck. Why had she not listened to him? He would save her if he could. What if he failed to learn she was missing until too late, and she was long gone from here?

They rode farther into the woods and came to a small clearing near overtaken by the forest. She stared at the jumble of growth and spied an abandoned bothy in the center of it. From the looks of it, many years had passed since anyone used the shelter. Part of the thatched roof had long since rotted and fallen inside. The door hung by one strap.

He seemed surprisingly agile when he dismounted and pulled her off his horse's back. Holding her neck in a cruel grip, he forced her toward the hut. He shoved the door out of the way and thrust her into the dim room. She tripped and fell on the hard dirt floor and rolled on her back as fast as possible. As fearful as he looked, not seeing him was more terrifying. She wouldn't know what he planned to do.

“Well, now. Ye be a pretty one. God in 'eaven. Ye 'ave the devil eye 'e told me of. I wud a knowed ye from 'is describing, I would.” He hunkered down and pulled the gag from her mouth. “Ye must be a bit queerie wearing pants. Ye wants to be a boy? The gent did not say ye be odd.” Stubby fingers felt over her face and chin. He grasped her jaw to yank down on it.

Netta gritted her teeth together and refused to open her mouth. What did he seek to find? If she had all her teeth?

He untied her hands and jerked her to her feet. She backed up until she collided against the sagging wall behind her.

“Take off yer clothes. I wants to see wot all the fuss be about. Ye must 'ave something worth pawing, or the bloke wud not 'ave paid 'ighly fer ye.” He scowled, for Netta made no attempt to obey but clasped her arms across her chest.

“If you value your life, you will leave this place as fast as your horse can carry you.” Netta forced confidence into her voice. “My husband, Lord Mereck of Blackthorn, saw us leave. He must be but a short distance away. All of Scotland knows he is a knight never bested by another.”

“Take off yer clothes. Yer 'igh and mighty knight won't find us. Ye'd best not displease me. We'll be 'ere long enough fer me to see the prize I be 'anding over.

When Netta still ignored his orders, his hands shot out. He whipped the short tunic over her head, careful not to tear it. “Don't want the wealthy bloke to know I sampled 'is treasure,” he muttered. He didn't take the same care with her shirt. He tore it from her in his haste to see the wealth hidden beneath it.

His gaze raked over her breasts. She tried to bolt around him. He grabbed her. His hands bruised her shoulders and arms. Like a demented woman, she fought him. She screeched and scratched at his eyes. Spinning her around, he twisted her arms behind her back. A hand groped at her waist and untied her leggings. They fell to the floor to tangle around her ankles.

She kicked out at him and almost fell. He ran a hard, calloused hand over her back and down to squeeze her bare buttocks. Frantic, she jerked away. He slapped her bottom with a hard, stinging blow. He forced her to lean over, and he cursed at her to be still as he thrust and bumped his groin against her inflamed flesh.

Netta cried out. She lurched forward. Her twisted leggings tripped her. He let go of her wrists. With avid glee, he watched as her naked body hit the ground. When she tried to pull her clothing back up, he stamped his foot on them. Chortling, he pulled her shoes free and yanked the leggings away. Netta scurried backward and wedged herself into a corner. Seeing the straining bulge in his breeches, she sobbed, terrified.

“The 'igh and mighty lord what hired me will ne'er know I sampled 'is dove. I'll tell 'im I stole ye from the stable where ye rutted with yer Mereck of Blackthorn.” He leaned down and reached for her, tearing at the dirty rope securing his own clothing.

 

Netta was close. Mereck felt her.

“Do you hear her?” Connor asked.

Mereck held up his hand. In his mind he saw the abandoned bothy. And he saw Netta being shoved through the doorway. She fell to the ground. Wrath flooded him, changing him. His soul hardened, became ruthless. Curses rang from his lips as he guided
M'Famhair
to find a seldom-used path. He urged the great horse faster. When they neared the clearing, his hand lifted, signaling Connor to dismount.

For what the lout was doing to Netta, he longed to crush his filthy neck within his grasp. Swift and silent, he ran down the path to the shelter.

Netta's frightened scream overwhelmed his mind.

Mereck roared with rage. He seized the sagging door and tore it from its last hinge.

'Twas Baresark who hurled it to the ground.

The brutish creature's filth-encrusted nails tore at the stubborn knot in his breeches. He grunted and cursed, sending spittle flying from his lips while he fought to free his sex.

Netta retched and choked from the stench of his urine-soaked clothing. She hunched in a ball to protect her naked flesh. She could go nowhere. If she tried to kick him again, he would seize her ankle and have her on her back afore she could escape him.

“Take yer 'ands away, devil girl. I wants to see yer pretty nippies get 'ard and eager-like when ye sees me cock.” He paused to yank her hands from her breasts and force her arms to her sides. He stared, drool running from the corners of thick, purple lips. His tongue, covered with a thick yellowish coat, licked it away. Frustrated with his efforts to unknot the ties, he drew his knife.

He meant to slit her throat! Netta screamed. The sound no sooner left her lips than the door tore from its last hinge and hurtled to the ground. A huge shape lunged through the doorway, blocking the light. It was impossible to see who stood there.

Mereck's gaze tracked Netta's whimpers. He spied his little bride. Naked on the floor with her back pressed into a corner, she had brought her legs close to her body, hiding her female secrets. She clutched her arms over her chest, shielding her breasts. Throaty, bestial snarls filled the room.

Kill the bastard!

Erupting with rage, Mereck leaped across the room. A man crouched opposite Netta, his knees touching her. He jerked up, a knife in his hand, and swung around. Had Mereck cared, he would have been wary of the steel. The man lunged at him, sweeping the blade from left to right and back again, leaving streaks of blood across Mereck's chest, arms and face. Mereck ignored them. He pivoted and struck the blackguard's wrist with his booted foot. The knife fell to the ground.

Mereck's big hands fisted. He put all his strength behind a smashing blow to the hated face. Teeth gave way under his knuckles. He struck again. His opponent lashed out, clouting Mereck on the mouth and eye. Mereck didn't flinch but drove repeated blows to the man's stomach and ribs. He then aimed for the huge nose. He grunted with satisfaction. The cartilage gave way, followed by a steady flow of blood. He shifted to the left, bringing his left fist from low on his hip. With his weight behind the blow, he aimed for his antagonist's jaw. The man lifted off the ground and hurtled across the room to land against the wall. Like the snake he was, he slithered to the floor.

Lightning fast, Mereck pounced on him. This creature had hurt his Netta, had bruised and terrified her. Knowing how quickly foul men violated their victims, feral growls ripped from his throat. Blood roared in his ears. His hands closed around the hated throat. Voices shouted at him. The words sounded like gibberish. Hands grappled with his arms. He ignored them. He squinted his eyes and watched the loathsome face turn purple, the eyes bulge from their sockets.

Mereck finally paid heed to Netta. Only her terrified cries reached him. He shook his head; his eyes cleared. Connor's voice came through. Surprised, he found Connor and Marcus clinging to his arms like leeches. He fought to calm the great gasps of air he drew into his lungs. He nodded his head to let them know he understood. Finger by finger, he released his grip and dropped the odious head to the floor.

He stood. The muscles in his legs twitched, trying to control their need to kick at the still body. He lurched to Netta. She stared, as terrified of him as of her abductor. He struggled to quiet his shaking voice.

“Be not afeard. He will ne'er hurt you again.” He reached to take her in his arms, but she screamed and recoiled. Her dilated eyes fixed on his blood-soaked hands.

Netta knew this must be the man who paid for her abduction. This face, so filled with rage and blood lust, was strange to her. She had seen the men battle. Had watched in horror each blood splattering blow. When her abductor's face had turned purple, his eyes bulged and his tongue protruded, she had vomited til nothing was left in her stomach.

“Mo gradh,
my love. He canna hurt you now. Come, let me hold you.”

Mereck's voice spoke from the strange face. He reached for her. She saw only the blood on his hands and patterned across his bare chest and plaid. It dripped from cuts on his face. The face that belonged to the savage. Baresark! Where were his furs? The bands on his arms?

“Nay, nay. Do not.”

Her cries of fear shamed her. She cringed away from him, and longed to become one with the wall. Frantic, she tried to hide her body. Hysterical tears flowed down her cheeks.

“Please. Do not beat me. I did not run away.”

“Netta, love, I would ne'er beat you. You canna believe I would do such a thing.”

She couldn't understand his words for the roaring in her ears.

Mereck was sick with regret. Netta had seen him at his worst. He always kept a tight rein on his temper. But when he witnessed cruelty to the helpless, he couldna and fought blindly, nothing in his mind but killing. He knew if they had not stopped him, he would have savaged the man until not an inch of flesh was left unmarked.

Netta stared at him with such fear and loathing. And then she fainted. He stood and fumbled with his plaid. He would cover her nakedness.

“Nay, mon. Too bluidy.” Connor put his arm around Mereck and squeezed his shoulder. Mereck's pale stricken face showed how badly it hurt for his bride to have seen him lose control. “Marcus found her clothin'. Ye should dress her while she doesna know of it.”

Mereck took Netta's clothes and knelt, while both men turned their backs to the woman on the floor. He slipped her arms through the sleeves of the torn shirt without much difficulty. The drawstring breeches were another matter. Who would have thought such small, limp legs would be so hard to manage?

The ugly bruises and scratches on her tender skin sickened him. He wanted to resurrect the man. To kill him again. The icy fear bound around his heart eased, for he saw no sign of blood on her thighs. He closed his eyes. Tilting his face heavenward, he uttered a prayer of thanks for sparing his Netta. He no sooner slid the short tunic over her head than she stirred.

Remorse was a physical pain on hearing her cry out when she saw him. His touch frightened her. Helpless, he jerked back. His eyes pleaded with Connor.

“Netta, 'tis I, Connor.” Connor inched closer to her.

She looked at him. She recognized Connor and reached frantic hands for him. He went down on his knees, and she wrapped trembling arms around his neck. Her tears soaked his shirt. He soothed and stroked her in a brotherly way, until her stiff body began to relax. At last, her eyes focused on him. She looked at neither Mereck nor the body on the floor.

Moving out of her sight, Mereck unwrapped his plaid and wiped blood from his face and body with the ends of it. Reversing it, he again put it on. He would hide as much of his torn flesh as he could. He glanced at the sprawled body on the floor and moved to block the sight from Netta. When he finished belting his plaid, they were ready to leave.

“Take her up with you, Connor. Marcus, round up the men and bring that foul body back to Blackthorn. Mayhap someone will recognize him.”

Connor passed Netta to Marcus until he mounted. Mereck watched to see his cousin settled her safely with him. She hid her face against Connor's shoulder. Her crying slowed to whimpers.

The ride back to Blackthorn took forever. Netta's body ached. She kept seeing Mereck's face while he had fought. His eyes had narrowed to slits. Hate and fury flashed like jolts of lightning from them. Inhuman snarls tore from his throat, and his teeth bared like a wolf ready to rip into the flesh of a kill. The veins stood out on his neck and the backs of his hands. His fingers had squeezed the man's throat until the face became a thing of nightmares. Those beautiful fingers, which had caused her to shiver and secretly dream of them exploring her body, now caused her to shudder at the thought.

They clattered over the drawbridge and up to the keep's entrance. Everyone seemed to be awaiting there. Elise and Meghan raced to meet them; Damron and Brianna hurried to follow. The laird studied his half brother's battered face.

When Damron's gaze turned to Netta, her fear increased. She saw the hard expression on his face. She felt impaled by his steady green gaze. With a guilty pang, it hit her.

All that had happened was her fault.

She should not have dressed as a squire, and she should not have gone down to practice alone. Worst of all, when she found herself outside the gates, she should have returned and faced Mereck.

“Ohh, Netta, where have you been?” Elise hopped up and down, trying to see her friend's face. “Connor, let her down from there this instant.”

Mereck jerked his head at Damron. He came forward to take Netta from Connor. When she murmured she would walk, Damron helped her to stand. Everyone outside the barbican could have heard Elise's loud cry.

“Saints preserve us! Your face is swollen like a squirrel with a cheek full of nuts. How did you get that bruise?” She rounded on Connor and Mereck. Fury flashed from her blue eyes. Her hands clenched at her waist. “Did you do this? I will have my father thrash you. And Bleddyn will run you through. What has happened to my Netta?”

The men blinked at her sudden change from a meek, frightened girl to an avenging angel.

“They had no hand in this,” Netta whispered. “I fell from my horse.” She was so unclean. So shamed. Not only had the horrible man seen her naked, but so had Mereck and the others.

“Please, may I go to my room?”

She heard Mereck ask Brianna for a bath to be brought up to her. She could not look at him to thank him, but bobbed her head.

“Come, little one.” Meghan's voice was brisk. Masking her help in a friendly gesture, she put her arm around Netta's waist to lead her up the stairs. “Ye have the looks of a lass who needs pamperin'. Do ye not? A guid hot bath for ye, and Elise and I will have ye to rights in no time. That we will.” She nodded to Brianna, letting her know she would look after Netta.

Damron took Brianna's arm and motioned the men to come to his solar. By the time she cleansed and treated Mereck's battered face and body, the warriors returned from the forest.

“What?” Mereck roared with rage. “How could a man who looked to be dead get on a horse and ride?”

“We tracked him into the mountains, then his trail disappeared. He vanished like he had been picked up on wings and carried away.” Marcus raked his hair with frustration. “From the blood that soaked the dirt of the bothy, he canna last the night. He'll become faint and guide his horse off a cliff.”

In the women's room, Meghan acted like Netta had just returned from an outing. Netta was grateful.

Elise clucked over her as they undressed her for her bath. “Did you fall on a pile of rocks? Blessed saints, even your breasts have bruises. Why were you outside the curtain walls, Netta?” She propped her hands on her hips and frowned.

“I thought to meet Meghan returning from the hunt. Neither I nor the nag I borrowed was skilled at jumping. A tree lay across the path. The horse went up. I went down. Smack into a pile of rocks, just like you said.”

Netta no sooner finished soothing Elise than Brianna came to ask Elise for her help with Serena. Brianna nodded at Meghan as she drew Elise from the room.

“Ye were smart not to scare yer friend with the truth.” Meghan's no-nonsense voice was soft. “Dinna think I will fall fer the same fib. Many a long year has passed since Mereck wore that mask of self-loathing. And I saw the look on me brither's face. I canna believe Mereck did this to ye. Yet ye would not look at the mon. Set my mind to rest. Tell me the happenin's.”

“Oh, Meghan. I'm so ashamed. They saw me naked. And Mereck went berserk with blood all over him, and his eyes and tongue bulged from his face and blood poured from his nose and mouth.” Netta gasped for breath.

“Mereck's eyes and tongue bulged?” Meghan cocked her head to the left and frowned. “I saw his battered face, but I didna think it wud cause bluid to gush.”

“Not Mereck's. That horrid man's blood. Now I can't look at Mereck and his beautiful hands because they made his horrible tongue come out.”

“Slow down, henny. Take a deep breath. Begin with the reason ye dressed as ye were.”

“'Tis all my fault.” Netta began to sob. “He forbade me to dress in Connor's old clothes, but I did it anyway.” She took a deep breath and tried to calm her speech to recount her dreadful experience. It was hard to remain coherent when so many conflicting fears tore at her.

Fear of discovery when she saw Mereck coming through the bailey changed to horror of her revolting kidnapper. When Mereck become the nightmarish Baresark before her eyes, terror had filled her soul.

Now, when Damron's hard gaze had swept her from head to toe, she had the dreadful knowledge she was not worthy to be a part of his family.

She was soiled.

Laird Damron would send her back to her father in disgrace.