Midnight's Bride (6 page)

“Why must I sleep in the open, sir, with insects and animals? This shelter is large enough for both of us.” She tilted her nose up and stared at him.

His cold gaze moved over her, stopping for a moment at her hands on hips as she defied him.

“You will sleep on the pallet next to mine, girl. Dinna push me further.”

She raised a finger in front of his nose to silence him. He glared down at her.

“Why must you be stubborn, sir? Elise will not mind.”

Before she could speak again, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Because I am
an unchivalrous warrior and an enormous man. I also have my way about everything, and would not shrink from murder, if it so warrants
,” he added ominously.

Netta gulped, her eyes rounded wide on meeting his gaze. She remembered her own words at the noon break. She prayed the ground would open and swallow her into its depths.

Anger turned Mereck's light green eyes to cold emerald. Unable to look away, she studied his face. Tawny brown eyebrows and thick lashes added emphasis to commanding eyes. Hair not brown, not golden but a mixture of both flowed around his face and fell past his shoulders. Its untamed look teased her memory. The fine hairs on her nape stirred. Eyes squinted, she tried to summon that missing face to mind. It would not come.

Her searching gaze studied him. Could one call Mereck's nose strong? Arrogant, even? Her gaze lowered to stop on his lips.

Oh, my! Full and sensuous. Soft. Enticing.

They twitched at the corners. Did her perusal amuse him? Blinking, she pulled back. Nay, she could not have seen this man afore. She would have remembered a face that sent such strange flutters through her stomach. Would she not?

“After you prepare your lady for bed, I will come for you.”

Mereck's voice halted her wayward thoughts. His glint-eyed stare warned he would allow no further carping. Nodding, he left.

Peeking out the tent opening, Netta watched him assign the night guards. “He makes me so angry I want to stomp his toes.” She stamped the ground instead. “I'm no peasant who must sleep in the open. I'll not do as he says.”

“Oh, Netta, do not rile him,” Elise pleaded.

“Why not? He relishes angering me,” Netta fumed.

“Because of his temper.” Elise's voice did not raise above a whisper. Her face blanched with fright.

“Everyone has a temper.” Netta shrugged.

“Aye. But not like Mereck's. When King William and King Malcolm forced Lord Damron to marry Brianna, Lord Damron came to collect Brianna carrying the kings' decree. Why, she kicked his shins and boxed his ears. Lord Damron's cousin Connor said she had ‘the fearsome temper of a Mereck.' Though I have never seen him so angered, I am afeared of causing it.”

“Did Damron beat Brianna?” Netta's lips puckered in annoyance as she reached for the hem of Elise's tunic.

“Oh nay, I don't believe so,” Elise said. “Still, it is much more than that. Damron and Mereck, born on the same day of the same father, had different mothers. Mereck's Welsh mother died after the birthing. Lady Phillipa, Damron's mother, took Mereck to nurse alongside her son.” Elise's voice was muffled by her clothing.

Netta's eyes widened in surprise. How could Lady Phillipa be so forgiving?

“After their fathers' deaths and the time came to foster the boys, the lady took Damron and Connor to Normandy. Their grandfather kept Mereck in Scotland,” Elise continued.

“How cruel! Why was he not allowed to foster with them?”

“Because of his terrible temper. They say he blames himself for his mother's death. He becomes fearsome if anyone dares call him bastard. It is an awful slight on his mother. At but ten and three, he skewered a man with his sword afore the man finished the word.” She gasped for breath before she continued. “Oh, I beseech you, don't make him angry.”

“Brianna married into a strange family. She must dislike them all.”

“Oh, nay. Her sister Abbess Alana told my parents their love for each other is fierce.” Elise nodded for emphasis.

Netta ran her fingers through her hair, troubled. “Why did Damron's mother not scorn a husband who sired a bastard?”

Elise shrugged. Netta felt pangs of sympathy for the young boy Mereck had been. How terrible for him, forced to stand by while his brother owned it all.

Netta helped Elise don a warm smock. She realized she would have to sleep in her clothing, for with a hundred men watching, she could not remove her tunic. Maybe not a hundred, she corrected herself. They did not look to be on the courtly side, either. Scruffy best described them. The sounds of someone approaching the tent drew her attention.

“Netta, I wish to retire.” Mereck's impatient voice boomed, “Come at once.”

Netta jumped. Elise threw her a pleading look to remind her not to anger him. Netta rushed through the tent opening, knowing he would likely barge into their privacy and pull her out if she did not quickly appear.

“Oomph.” Her eyes crossed. She shook her head. She had slammed into the solid length of Mereck. He felt like a massive tree. A very staunch tree. He wore a shirt, not armor. Was his body built of iron muscles? She detected no softness like her father's.

Dafydd and the other young squires, already rolled in their tartans, snickered at the mishap. She ignored them. Close behind Mereck a man laughed, the sound was more like the braying of an ass than a man. Hearing the hated sound, she grabbed Mereck's shirt, seeking his protection.

Roger? Bile flooded her throat. Had Roger of Mortain hunted her down for her father?

Fear near buckled Netta's knees. Mereck's warm, muscled arms closed around her, drawing her close. The sound of his steady heartbeat against her ear soothed her. She clung to him.

For the first time in her life, she felt safe, protected. Holding tight to him, she steeled herself to peek to see who loomed behind him. Had Roger come to drag her back to Wycliffe? Laughter sounded again. On spying a grinning man talking to Marcus, relief washed through her.

Why did Mereck not let her go?

Feeling him stroke her back, she shivered. Her heart drummed to a faster beat. Pressed against his shirt, she drew in a deep breath. Juniper and musk. It came from his skin, this heady scent, making her legs quiver in a new way.

“I can stand on my own, sir. You may take your hands from me.”

His deep voice rumbled from his chest. “Sleep now. You must rise early to help prepare porridge.”

“Prepare porridge? Why would I do such?” Surprised, her head jerked back from his tantalizing scent. She missed his warmth when he drew away. The night was again cold, lonely.

“Are you not the cook's niece? Didna you work in the kitchens with her? You should be well trained to help him. Be grateful I dinna have you serve my warriors.”

Netta's temper flared. She forgot her fear of moments ago.

“Are there any other duties you require me to perform, sir? Wash your shirts? Curry your horse? Or should I sharpen your blades and polish your armor? Oh, I misspeak. You do not wear armor over your little skirt.” She ground her teeth and clenched her hands. She took several deep breaths.

Mereck stood as still as that tree trunk he resembled. She looked at his face. And wished she had not. He was angry. More than angry. Too late, she recalled Elise's warning.

“I will seek my rest now so I may rise early.” Edging around him, she made a dive for the pallet.

She did not reach it.

Steely hands gripped her shoulders. He lifted her off her feet and spun her around so fast her thoughts flew from her mind.

“Ne'er use such a tone to me, girl. Were you a titled lady, I wouldna permit you to speak to me thus. Dinna attempt it again.” Icy anger coated his words.

She nodded, far too frightened for speech. He released her. She dropped to her knees and scrambled under the wool plaid. Was this how a mouse felt burrowing into its nest?

She shivered. Well, rats and fleas. She knew what she was doing. Hiding. Never had she met a man as arrogant as he.

Hearing the rustle of clothing, she slitted her eyes open and gasped. Mereck stood but two handsbreadth away. He unfastened the clasp pinning the plaid to his shirt. Turning his back to her, he removed the thick leather belt holding the yards of material around his waist and started unwrapping it.

“Get you to sleep, Netta. Dawn will rise long afore you are ready for it.”

Saints! How could he know she watched him? Squeezing her eyes shut, she pretended sleep. But she could not resist another glimpse. She was too late. Wrapped snugly in the tartan, he stretched out on his pallet and placed the sword beside him all in one smooth movement. Heat radiated from his powerful body, warming her.

 

Mereck knew Netta would be a handful. She chaffed under the restrictions of her role, but she would fast learn to control her temper. He would see to it.

He slept lightly and awoke as the night turned colder. Slipping his arm around her, he drew her close and added his own covering atop hers. With ease learned from long years of practice, he removed the pins and freed her hair. Combing his long fingers through her tresses, their rose-scented fragrance pleased him. Holding her nestled against his warmth, he smiled when she sighed and burrowed closer.

Though he did not love her, he would make a passable husband. Never again would Netta feel unworthy, unwanted. Their children would have ample love from both parents. Moreover, they would bear a name proud to call their own.

As deep dark turned to gray, he rose and soon was fully clothed. After lighting a torch, he secured it in front of the tent then nudged Netta's hip with his boot.

“Rise, girl. It is time to awake Lady Elise and fetch porridge to break our fast.”

“Nay. Why, it is the middle of the night,” Netta grumbled. Pulling her cover over her head, she snuggled into the warmth hoping to slip back into the dream she was loath to relinquish. Who had held her so tenderly and whispered he wanted her? The face was a blur. But the memory of warm arms enfolding her while someone placed soft kisses on her forehead remained sharp.

“Ah.” She took a deep breath. Mereck's scent permeated her covers, sending little shivers through her—until his voice intruded.

“Noon will be upon us afore you know it, girl.”

He snagged her cover with his sword, pulling it away.

A blast of cold air hit her, startling her to a sitting position, hands grasping for the plaid.

“By the saints! Do you try to freeze me, sir?” She blinked as bare knees came into sight. She did not dare look higher up his hard thigh. The thought jolted her to her feet. She grabbed her plaid and scrambled into the tent.

“Wake up, Elise. We must prepare to leave. I cannot believe these people sleep so little,” she groused.

“Wake up? Is it morning?” Elise sat bolt upright on her pallet and blinked. “Yipes, I'm blind,” she wailed. “I can see naught but shadows.”

“You are not blind,” Netta soothed. “It is dark still. The torch outside the tent makes shadows within.” She pulled the furs off Elise and started helping her to don her clothing.

“Mereck ordered me to serve as I did afore. Hurry, lest I swoon from hunger.” Her stomach made its own demand known, adding emphasis to her words. She glanced over her shoulder at the tent flap hoping Mereck had not heard.

She started to tidy her hair and realized she must have taken it down while she slept. To her surprise, when she rushed outside to retrieve her pins, she found them laid in a row on her pallet.

Once she secured her hair in a tight coil atop her head, she applied more of the berry mixture to her face. Her skin tingled. Her nose twitched. If the mixture became rancid, would it harm her flawless skin? She shuddered and hurried from the tent.

Angus briskly stirred an iron pot over the fire.

“Good morn, lassie. I ken ye wud be hurryin', so I have bowls ready fer ye. All ye needs do is add either honey or salt. Sir Mereck prefers a pinch of salt. Marcus likes honey. Mind now, just a pinch of the salt.” He looked up and smiled.

Netta blinked.

Two of Angus' front teeth were as black as hers. The same two. She smiled back, then snapped her lips together. Had the stain worn off during the night? Angus chuckled and bent over the pot. Seeing her chance, she picked up a tiny piece of burnt wood fallen from the fire and glanced about to see if anyone watched. She rubbed it vigorously over her teeth. What a dratted coil. Had she covered the correct teeth? She wished Elise were there to tell her.

A deep voice spoke close to her shoulder. She whirled, letting the wood drop behind her.

“We would break our fast, Netta. You may bring our porridge and ale now.”

Mereck ceased speaking and studied her face, his eyes questioning.

“What, sir? What is it?”

“Did you stoke the fire, Netta?”

“Nay. Should I have?”

He shook his head. “Squires assist in such matters.” He turned to stride over to Marcus. His shoulder brushed a limb with dew-misted leaves, raining glistening droplets on the golden hair covering his arm.

“Let me help, Netta.” Elise hurried over after Mereck moved away.

Netta sprinkled a pinch of salt on the first bowl of porridge then turned to nod at her.

“What happened to your face?” Elise took a square of linen from her pocket and scrubbed Netta's mouth and chin. “You have black smudges all over it.”

Netta groaned, rolled her eyes and smiled so Elise could see her teeth. “Did I do it right? I could not tell if I blackened the same teeth,” she whispered.

“Oh dear, were they not the second and third teeth? I am not sure. Perchance you should do them all to avoid a mistake?”

“Oh, nay. I forgot the walnut stain this morn. Burnt wood tastes horrid, you know. Mayhap no one will remember which teeth, as long as two are black.”

Feeling Mereck's impatient stare, Netta looked down at the bowls of porridge. Had she started to prepare them? She nibbled her lower lip and put a healthy pinch of salt on Mereck's cooked oats then added honey to the other three. There. She had done all that Angus had said. She grabbed Mereck's bowl and a cup of ale and hurried over to him. It took her two more trips for Marcus and herself. Elise brought her own.

The men waited politely until Netta served everyone. She seated herself and watched Mereck scoop up a spoonful of porridge and put it in his mouth. Eyes opening wide, he gulped it down then grabbed his cup of ale and downed every drop. Was the man over fond of ale? She hoped not. Men who became bleary-eyed and slurred their words were oafs of the worst sort.

Of a sudden, he stopped eating and looked at her. She was puzzled and a little uneasy. Did he not like the porridge? If not, it was his own fault. If he would put honey on it, the oats would be much tastier. Should she suggest it on the morrow?

Though the taste of ash ruined the first mouthful of her own food, she soon finished eating, grateful when Angus came to collect the bowls. She and Elise hurried to the stream to refresh themselves before they mounted.

 

Netta felt freer than ever before in her life riding through the forest that morn. Her father had never allowed her to visit any farther away than Ridley Castle. She took a deep breath of fresh air perfumed with pine and smiled up at the heavens. No misty rain fell today. The air was cold and refreshing. Not long after the sun reached its peak, the wind picked up.

Her gaze strayed from the path to follow a man into the woods. She gasped and covered her mouth, stifling an embarrassed giggle.

“No wonder Father forbade me to help with bathing guests,” she whispered.

Curious, Elise's gaze followed Netta's stare. The man came out of the woods and took his place back in line. She looked back at Netta. “Huh? Why?”

“My old nurse told me men have all manners of strange body parts,” Netta whispered. “She warned I would lose my wits if I looked at them.” Her head bobbed, agreeing with the memory. Curiosity soon got the better of her, and she blurted out what she wanted to know.

“Did you e'er chance upon Sir Galan, or one of his friends unclothed?”

Elise's eyes widened. Netta could tell by the abashed expressions flitting across her friend's face that the young men had indeed exposed her to more of an education than Netta's own. Netta pressed for an answer to her curiosity.

“Do men have a tail-like member in front?”

“A tail? Why would you think it a tail?” Elise asked.

“The last man who went into the woods did not go deep enough. When we came around the bend, I saw him studying a tree. He had his tartan up around his waist.” She broke off, embarrassed.

“Oh. They have what you saw and two hanging things like small turnips covered in thin wool. They go together.” Elise's eyes lit. She pointed at the stallion ahead of them. “See? Like that horse.”

“But, uh, the man's dangled.” Netta's voice faded. Her face felt aflame.

Strangled snorts from the squires alerted her they had overheard her query. Unwilling to let them know her appalling ignorance, she improvised on a conversation she had overheard one day at Wycliffe.

“That part of him was small and pitiful. I chanced upon my stepsisters discussing this woeful lack. They declared the most powerful knights have the longest members.”

“Why would a great warrior have a bigger member? Or are they great warriors because they are so big?” Elise scrunched up her face, puzzling over her own question.

“Nay. A well-kept secret is passed from father to son. On their twelfth name day, their sire shows them how to make this happen. After finding a round stone of a certain weight from the river, the boy wraps it in cloth. He then uses linen strips to make a sling, and he ties the rock to himself.”

“Saints! Would that not hurt?” Elise grimaced and shuddered.

“I would think so. They have to be very careful. The stone cannot be too heavy, and the boy cannot run. This must needs be done only on the last cycle of the moon—the men's cycle.” Netta bobbed her head knowingly.

Talking excitedly, the squires steered their horses around the women and urged their mounts up behind Mereck.

Soon after, Mereck pulled his giant brown destrier,
M'Famhair,
to the side and stroked the beast's neck while he waited. His horse looked to be at least eighteen hands tall.

Drawing abreast of the huge beast, she peered out of the corner of her eye at Mereck. He motioned them to follow as he entered the woods.