Midnight's Bride (27 page)

She startled. He may have meant it as a command to get her moving, but she thought it was more an excuse to touch her arse with his big hand. She did what he expected—she bolted. Before she remembered she didn't want to go down to the hall, she was halfway down the stairs.

On the last step, she halted. Memory of her disgrace flooded back on seeing the crowded hall. She backed up a step. Mereck's hard body, but one step above hers, pressed against her. The back of her head was against his lower ribs, her shoulders against his corded stomach.

Saints help her. Something hot and hard jutted against her back. When she realized what it must be, she flew down the remaining steps. Connor, who stood at the foot of the stairs, took her arm to steady her. She scowled at him when he laughed. He didn't release her until Mereck took possession of her arm.

Damron sauntered over to thunk a pewter tankard hard on the high table, getting everyone's attention.

“We will have a weddin' on Sunday, just two days hence. Mereck and Lynette will be joined as man and wife. We have much to prepare in so short of time, and I expect yer help.”

By the rowdy response, Netta expected the men looked forward to the diversion. Mereck seated her and selected the choicest morsels of the foods she enjoyed. When her stomach rumbled, she realized how hungry she was. He waited, patient, not eating himself. Did his lips and jaw hurt too much to attempt it?

His belabored face made her stomach lurch with guilt. It was her fault the horrible man abducted her. And if she had not worn male apparel, he might not have wondered what lay beneath her clothing. She was to blame for Mereck's rage when he found her naked to the man's eyes. Her fault, too, that he had turned into Baresark before her eyes.

She was the cause of his split lips and swollen face. She cringed, thinking of the blood that had streaked across his chest from the foul man's knife. If she had not been so selfish in wanting to practice alone, that hateful man wouldn't have injured him. She glanced up at his beautiful eyes, then dropped her gaze to her clasped hands.

“Mereck. I am so very sorry.”

Her whispered voice barely carried to him. He tilted his head. What he didn't hear with his ears, he heard with his heart and mind.

“Ah, little wife, 'tis not your fault the man stole you away. 'Twas mine. I should have better protected you. The blame was not yours that I did not keep a rein on my temper. You did not cause my rage.”

Noting her puzzled expression, he tried to explain.

“Seeing what he had done to you, I wanted to break every bone in his hateful body. 'Twas not because Connor or Marcus saw you unclothed, but because he dared to strike you and tear your clothes from your body. No one should e'er cause you pain, whether of the body, or of the mind. No person has the right to treat you in that way. Not me. Not your father. Not anyone.

“Come now. Eat and regain your strength. You have been through a terrible ordeal.”

Her face relaxed. He smiled and coaxed laughter from her when he related escapades he and the other men had gotten into as young lads.

 

All through the night Netta tossed and turned, no longer sure how she felt about Mereck. His voice, his beautiful hands, the way he looked at her so tenderly made her heartbeat quicken. When she thought of his scent, of his hot skin and graceful body, she sighed. However, she was still frightened of the unknown. At last she fell into a restless sleep.

On going down to the hall to break her fast at dawn, she found Bleddyn sat at the table with Mereck and Damron. Blue paint covered the left side of his face, and red outlined the long ragged scar on the right side. He dressed much as Mereck did at Wycliffe, but instead of wolf skins across his shoulders he wore his beautiful cape.

His black eyes glanced at Mereck and Damron. Both left without a word. Well, rats. Did everyone in this blasted keep read thoughts? Mayhap Mereck had signaled Damron in some other way, she decided, trying to calm herself.

“Mereck told me of your horror when you witnessed the fight, Netta. Fearing conflict is natural for you. Wycliffe was isolated, and you never saw a castle besieged. While your father did his share of killing in his time, they have not called him to war since he injured his leg. You were but a babe at the time. He has paid scutage since, and sent knights in lieu of his own service to the king.”

Netta nodded. “I don't think I should marry Mereck until we know each other better. He will surely find we do not suit. Then what will happen?” She didn't give him time to reply. “Why, he will be unhappy every time I think ugly things about the dreadful gift he possesses. He might even be angry enough he would never allow me to again have another sensible thought.” She shuddered.

“Do you believe him to be so cruel?” Bleddyn's black eyes crinkled at the corners. “Mereck has long since learned to control his gift.”

“Then how did he know when I was where I should not be the other day? Also, how did he find me in that horrible abandoned bothy?” Her frown deepened.

“That day you went out to the warrior's practice field with Elise and Meghan, he heard your surprise at what you saw. In the bothy, your mind cried out for him to save you. These were unusual conditions, where you could not help sending him your thoughts.”

“Oh, saints alive,” she groaned, resting her elbows on the table and putting her chin in her hands. How could she go through life without any surprises? Would she have to think only dull, ordinary thoughts? She'd rather go to bed and not get up again. Her eyes brightened. Could she plead an illness?

“Netta, do not think to delay your wedding.” His smile was kind.

She threw up her arms and muttered, “I'll never think near you both again, just see if I do.”

“I should tell you that several of your former suitors attempt to force your father to break your betrothal contract. If the baron will not agree, they plan to seek the king's aid. Do you favor one of these men over Mereck? Tell me your choice, and I will consider it. If you prefer none to Mereck, you had best wed on the morrow. Your father will attempt to give you to the man with the most influence at court. If you have wed, the matter is closed.”

Did she favor another? Ugh. Not Edward of Chester, who shoved her in alcoves and tried to suck her earlobes. William of Hampstead was not too awful. Except that he said she would have to defer to his mother in all things. The hateful woman would ruin her disposition in a day's time. She grew nauseous thinking of Charles and placed her hand over her nose. His rotted teeth had caused her to hold her breath every time he spoke. Hmpf! Several other were not suitable either, because of their attitudes. They thought of her as chattel, nothing more.

Not one of them would allow her to have a bow and arrows. She was sure of it. In fact, she could not recall a single man who would trouble to teach her to use a sword. Except for Mereck. Nor would they be kind enough to allow her a pet. Or her own raptor.

She sighed. Never before had she felt the strange yearning that filled her when Mereck came near. Nor did she recall feeling heat in the center of her body when any other man touched her arm. She felt it with Mereck. Not only the heat, but other more curious sensations. Just a look from him, for that matter, and her body tingled and throbbed in alarming places.

She sighed again. Still in deep thought, she stood and left the room.

Mereck was hers. She was going to keep him.

“Hurry, Netta, hurry. 'Tis late. The sun is already high.”

Elise's burst of excited chatter awoke Netta the next morn. She swallowed, scrunched her eyes tight, and tried to hide beneath the covers. What foolish reasoning befuddled her brain into keeping Mereck? Saints help her! She must wed him today. Panic sizzled through her veins. Her stomach lurched like she rode the waves crashing against the cliffs below.

Elise darted around the room with the servant Bran following her from one side of the room to the other, trying to slip Elise's shift on her. Meghan sat on the bed laughing at them both.

“Do you want to eat first, or take your bath? Meghan ordered your bath, and Bran brought our food so we need not go down to the hall. You can have mine. I'm too excited to eat. You must keep up your strength though.”

Elise skidded to a halt. Bran seized the moment to pull the tunic over her head.

“Bran said you must eat for energy because sleeping with a man is strenuous. Why?” She looked expectantly at Bran.

Bran grinned, but kept her reasons to herself.

Elise frowned and drew her own conclusions. “Of course! It is because they snore and flop around on the bed. That is why Bran is so stiff this morn. She said her husband was restless last night.”

“I dinna think his floppin' caused it. What say ye, Bran?” Meghan's eyes twinkled; laughter was in her voice.

“He ne'er flops. At least not fer long. He be more the rammin' kind.” Bran rolled her eyes and sighed.

Netta looked at Elise and shrugged. What were they talking about? Mayhap eating would fill that falling sensation in the pit of her stomach. A bad decision. Ugh! The porridge clung to her mouth like a lump of rising dough.

“Ye must eat, Netta, else that bear grumblin' in yer stomach will frighten Father Matthew when ye say yer vows.” Meghan chuckled and handed her a hot scone slathered with honey and a goblet of milk.

Never had she taken so long to eat so little. She couldn't swallow without a gulp of milk to wash it down. After several bites, she hid the scone under a linen cloth.

“Ye'll not get away with such. Eat now, or ye will faint when ye see yer handsome husband awaitin' below.” Meghan raised a brow and swiped the cloth off.

Brianna slipped into the room, a beautiful smile on her face.

“Netta, I've never seen Mereck at such loose ends. I doubt he slept a wink. In the wee hours of morning, Damron heard swords clashing on the practice field. He found Mereck and Bleddyn happily grunting and slashing at each other, as happy as two dogs with a yard full of bones.” She smoothed Netta's wedding dress out on the bed and grinned at her. “He'll want to retire early tonight and get a good night's sleep.”

That sounded like a good idea to Netta. After the wedding banquet, she would suggest he looked weary and should hie himself off to bed. With any luck at all, he would be fast asleep afore she joined him. She sighed with relief and got into her waiting bath.

Below in the men's bathing room, two oversized wooden tubs sat in the center of the room opposite a fireplace, a naked man in each. Buckets of steaming rinse water awaited nearby. Drying cloths, large enough to wrap around a warrior's body, rested atop a crude pine table. A long gutter ran from beside the tubs and ended at a narrow opening that emptied the water into the moat.

Mereck's lips quirked in a smile as he stared up at the ceiling.

Damron threw a glob of soap, striking him on the shoulder.

“Stop listenin', brither. Let the lass keep her thoughts private on her weddin' day.”

 

Mereck waited in the hall with Father Matthew, Damron at his side. He watched the stairway, uneasy that Netta might still balk at marrying him. He couldna let her. Not only because of what she brought to him—Caer Cad-well, its holdings and great wealth—things he, a bastard, had never dared dream about. More important was the greatest gift. Netta. He watched her coming down the grooved granite stairs, her hand clutching Bleddyn's arm.

She was the most beautiful bride a man could dream of. When he looked at her, his body's response was as powerful as if he hadna had a woman in many years. He kept a close rein on his thoughts, for he didna want to send her scrambling from the room if she noted how she aroused him.

An ice-blue smock, topped with a deep violet tunic the color of her eyes, hid her graceful curves beneath it. The women had embroidered Celtic dragons on the square neckline of her overdress. More silver embroidery circled the full sleeves at her elbows; a silver filigree girdle rode low on her slender waist. A circlet of woven blue and violet ribbons banded her forehead and streamed down the back over her flowing black curls.

His fingers longed to comb through the silky hair falling past her waist; his lips longed to taste her slender neck. Meeting his gaze, she flushed and lifted her chin.

Netta mightily pleased him. Not for her appearance. Beauty is something with which a person is born. Her courage pleased him. Though she trembled, her eyes stayed bravely on his. He did not allow himself to hear her thoughts.

He knew she feared him.

He did not want to know he repulsed her.

To Netta, Mereck looked larger and more threatening than he had last eve. Blessed Saint Monica. Was the man growing? Or was it because he stood so still, watching her? With each downward step, she studied him.

He had braided his tawny hair on either side of his temples. His eyes were the light green of the sea on a calm day. He wore a creamy white shirt tucked beneath a finely woven green, black and blue plaid belted around his trim waist and draped over his shoulder.

Etched pewter decorated his sporran. What design was on it? She flushed, hoping he did not think she stared at anything other than the fur pouch. She had never seen the beautiful sword strapped to his side, its hilt encased with many jewels. Long white stockings covered from his feet up over muscular calves, black garters holding them just below his knees. Black leather shoes covered his feet.

“The sword you admire long ago belonged to his Welsh great-great-grandfather Gruffyd,” Bleddyn murmured. “Mereck's father, Donald, took it from the battlefield afore he found Aeneid, Mereck's mother.”

Mereck's gaze engulfed her as she stood before him. Glancing up at his somber face, she blinked. She avoided his eyes in favor of his high cheekbones and strong nose. The bruises on his face were not as vivid. When she came to his full sensual lips, she decided he was a wolfishly handsome man.

“Come, the priest awaits.” Mereck kept his voice gentle.

He smiled and offered his left hand, palm up and nonthreatening. He watched her swallow and allow Bleddyn to place her hand in his. It felt like a small, quivering bird nestled there.

During the ceremony, he gently squeezed her fingers to remind her to respond to the vows. He was prepared to be resolute, if she offered resistence, for only he could protect her. Any man forced on her by her father would not be gentle, but would quickly kill her spirit.

“Mo fear bean,
my little wife,” he whispered.

“Are we married, then? 'Tis over?”

“Aye, we are wed. But until the night is through, 'tis not over.” Not wanting to give her time to worry, he brushed a kiss on her lips. He intended only a light kiss, favoring his still sore lip, but found he could not separate from her sweetness. His arms enfolded her, molding her soft body to his. Gentle still, his lips moved over hers to nibble her lower lip. He drew its lush fullness between his teeth and sucked, arousing his male needs. A growl formed low in his throat when he released her,

He longed to taste all of her.

Netta studied his handsome face. She stared at his moist lips. They had tasted of mint. Her cheeks heated wishing he would kiss her again. Her mouth felt puffy. Would anyone notice? Well, rats, of course they would. They stood in the great hall, didn't they? When Mereck released her, her knees buckled. She was thankful he slipped his arm around her shoulders and held her close to his side.

“Dinna break her bones, brither,” Damron cautioned, then kissed Netta on the forehead. “Welcome, wee sister.”

“Ha, you call that a kiss of welcome?” Connor jostled Damron aside, took Netta's flushed cheeks between warm hands and kissed her soundly on the lips.

“Ouch!”

Mereck slammed his foot on Connor's toes. When a dainty foot kicked his leg, Connor's eyes widened in surprise. He glanced over his shoulder to find Elise scowling at him.

“What was that about, Mousie?”

“You're not supposed to kiss the bride that way.” Her voice sounded stern.

“Oh? I didna know there is a special way to kiss a bride. Will you show me how to do it right? I dinna want to disgrace myself again.” He pulled her into his arms and started to lower his lips to hers. She shoved him away.

“Horrid man. Keep your puckered lips to yourself.”

Netta giggled and relaxed her stiff spine. The hall was fair to bursting with everyone at Blackthorn. One by one, knights and warriors offered their tributes. By the time they finished, the men had kissed every inch of her face. The younger men, who had hoped to win her hand, took their one opportunity to kiss her lips. As they drew back, Mereck spoke.

“Dawn. The far field after you break your fast. Be there.” Each time he said it, his eyes became more stern, his expression more forbidding.

“It was well worth it,” claimed one man.

“Can I have another and meet you twice?” another offered.

“Why are you asking them to meet you, husband?”

“Since they dinna work this day, they must practice harder the next.”

“Ha. He speaks an untruth, Netta. He means to make them pay fer slabberin' on ye.” Meghan chuckled and hugged Netta.

“Pay? You do not mean to punish them, do you Mereck?” She frowned at her new husband.

“Punish? I wouldna dream of it.” He patted her shoulder and switched to Gaelic to say, “Nay. Not punish, but I sure as Lucifer's blood-speckled eyes plan to reshape some noses.”

She started to ask Meghan what he said, but Eric stepped forward. He kissed her hand. Catching him wink at Mereck, she decided he did not want to deal with her husband at dawn.

Netta felt the weight of a ring on her finger. When had Mereck placed it there? She peeked and saw a silver band. Encircling the ring, the silversmith had engraved hearts connected with lovers' knots. In the center of the largest heart lay a glistening sea-green stone.

“Thank you for the beautiful token, Mereck.” Feeling shy, she whispered.

“You are welcome. The band is a
mo cridhe,
a ‘my heart' wedding ring. 'Tis the custom to place a jewel the color of the husband's eyes in the center heart. The other hearts are for children yet to be born.”

“Hear me. Take yer seats so we may toast my brither's good fortune,” Damron bellowed from the center of the room.

Netta sighed, relieved. Servants had covered the trestle tables with fine white linen, and at the head table stood silver trenchers and carved wooden spoons, along with silver chalices engraved with wolves and deers. She blinked at the chalice's size. How many toasts did they expect her and Mereck to honor?

No sooner did one toast finish afore another began.

Mayhap it was a good thing. If she could get her new husband to take a hearty swallow with each toast, he could not help but fall asleep as soon as he went to bed. As the toasting wore on, she relaxed. She was doing a fine job of hiding her fear of him.

Cook, with the aid of a score of servants, brought food to the tables. They had decorated the foods with violets, rose buds and marigolds. The aroma of roasted boar stuffed with mushrooms and large platters of beef, venison, veal, and oysters cooked with almonds and ginger made her mouth water. Bowls of beets, turnips, lettuce, and wild carrots in honey sat aside the meats. Brianna insisted on vegetables with each meal. Loaves of ale-flavored bread rounded out the meal.

Whenever Mereck offered her the wine chalice, she kept her eyes on his hands. By the time they served the puddings and pastries, she felt soft as butter. In fact, she felt downright boneless.

It took a mighty effort to keep her spine straight.

Much later, after the jugglers, mimes, acrobats and jongleurs finished entertaining, the clan piper Angus announced a contest to find the most agile sword dancer. Eager warriors scattered crossed swords on the floor in the center of the room until they covered every available spot.

“Merciful heavens, Netta. They are brainsick.” Elise bolted up from her seat and pointed. “They have tippled so much they can hardly walk, yet they plan to dance around a bunch of sharp swords? Blood will be all over the place. Yes it will.” She nodded so fast it was a wonder she did not make herself dizzy.

Before the words left her mouth, Connor vaulted over the table and joined the laughing men. Damron and Mereck refused to participate. Netta decided they did not because they were the most skillful and would ruin the other's chances. She thought it a most considerate thing to do.