Taming the Highland Bride (3 page)

Grefin laughed. “Oh, aye, you want it, my lord. And I’ll not touch that tooth until you’ve drunk a full pitcher of whiskey. The trip will just have to be delayed.”

“I do not want whiskey,” he insisted. Alex had never been much of a drinker. He didn’t care for the taste, and it did nothing for him but make him stupid. Alex didn’t like to be stupid. Even more, he disliked the aftereffects overindulging caused.

“Alex—” Gerhard started, but while he was small, Grefin was apparently as surly as his predecessor and needed no one to argue for him.

He caught Alex by the face and jerked his face toward him, fingers digging into his cheek on the good side, and thumb pressing into the swollen side. When Alex hissed at the pain stabbing though him, Grefin nodded his satisfaction and snapped, “The last man who wouldn’t drink ere I pulled a tooth, damned near throttled me to death while I tried to get it out.”

Alexander noted a couple of men nodding farther along the table. Apparently, the incident had not gone unwitnessed. He would have asked about it, but the maid, Lia, was rushing back with the requested pitcher of whiskey. He scowled as the girl handed it to Grefin. “Still, I—”

“You’ll drink the damned whiskey,” the blacksmith interrupted. “Every last drop, and then the men are going to hold you down, else you can pull
out your own damned tooth. And that’s that!” He emphasized the words by shoving the pitcher of whiskey at him.

Alex ground his teeth with irritation, half tempted to try to pull his own tooth, but the teeth grinding had been a mistake and the pain it sent knifing through him again made him decide otherwise. It looked as if the trip was going to be delayed, he acknowledged with a curse and grabbed the pitcher and began to gulp down the liquid. No drink-induced headache could possibly be as bad as the agony he was now suffering.

“God’s whiskers,” Grefin breathed with admiration when Alex slammed the empty pitcher down on the table moments later.

“Get on with it,” Alex growled. He then leaned back in the chair and grasped the wooden armrests firmly as he popped his mouth open. The whiskey wasn’t affecting him yet—he’d drunk it too quickly for it yet to be in his system—but Alex didn’t care. He wanted the tooth out and the pain gone.

“Why did we nay finish the journey last night?” Brodie asked in complaining tones. “We were practically on d’Aumesbery’s doorstep and could have slept indoors rather than get up at dawn to finish the last mile’s journey.”

“Because yer sister wished to make herself presentable to meet her husband. Now stop yer whining. The journey is nearly over.”

Brodie’s grumbling complaint and their father’s answer were picked up by the wind and carried back to Merry where she rode several feet behind.
She glanced toward the trio, but none of them was paying her any heed. They’d been riding a good distance in front of her since leaving Stewart several days ago. An attempt to avoid her temper, Merry supposed. She hadn’t been at all pleased with her father and brothers the morning they’d left Stewart. While they’d stuck to ale the night before leaving and not tried to force her to give up the key to the pantry again, they’d also “celebrated” until well past the witching hour. Having seen this one too many times, Merry hadn’t had the least sympathy with the three of them. She’d roused them from their beds at the crack of dawn and nagged them through breaking their fast and mounting their horses to lead the party out of Stewart bailey.

The three men had been avoiding her ever since, not even daring to complain about their pounding heads the first day of their travels. They’d recovered by the second day of the journey, and had then insisted on picking up the speed, forcing the entire party to travel at a pace that had made her worry for the wagon carrying her belongings. Merry had been sure the cart would rattle itself to pieces at any moment, but it hadn’t. The wagon had held together, and they’d arrived in the woods surrounding d’Aumesbery late last evening. The men had wanted to continue on to the castle right then, but Merry had refused. It was late, and she’d suspected the drawbridge would be up and the gate closed. She did not want to rouse the night watch and cause a fuss to get in.

Besides, they’d been traveling for days, getting up at dawn, riding until well into the night and then
stopping just long enough to sleep before mounting up again to continue on. Merry hadn’t wished to ride into d’Aumesbery without first taking the time to bathe away some of the dust and dirt of the trail and don a fresh gown.

Now they were nearing the end of the journey. By her guess, they would arrive just as everyone finished breaking their fast. The thought made a nervous quiver flutter through Merry’s belly, and she found herself biting one corner of her lower lip. She was surprisingly anxious about the coming meeting. Excited, too, though. Merry had spent the last several days distracting herself from the discomfort and boredom of their journey by thinking of the future. In her mind she’d painted a happy picture. This marriage was finally bringing an end to her promise to her mother and freeing her to look to the future, and she’d done so with both hope and relief. In her imaginings Alexander d’Aumesbery was a good, honorable man and a proper husband…nothing at all like her own father and brothers. She would live in England, with, she hoped, an intelligent, sober man to husband. Someone she could depend on rather than having to be the dependable one. Merry was full of hope.

“Still, Merry could have done it in more comfort at d’Aumesbery. There we all would have had a warm bath and a comfortable bed at least,” Gawain pointed out with obvious irritation. “Besides, ’tis not as if d’Aumesbery can refuse to have her, can he?” A moment passed, and then he added worriedly, “He canna, can he?”

“What?” Eachann Stewart sounded startled by
the suggestion, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice as he said, “Nay. Of course not. Why wid ye even ask a question like that?”

“Well, he
has
dragged his feet about coming to get her,” Brodie pointed out reluctantly.

“Nay,” Eachann Stewart denied quickly. “He was on crusade at the request of his English prince.”

“But the prince returned two years ago and d’Aumesbery didna,” Brodie pointed out.

“Aye,” Gawain said with alarm. “What if he heard that our Merry was a harpy and a shrew and was trying to avoid wedding her?”

“Well, he can’t,” their father said firmly. “We’ll follow him to the ends of the world if need be. He’s marrying the lass and that’s that. Now hush, I’ll not have Merry hear ye calling her harpy and shrew and taking out her temper on us.”

Aware that the men were peering back at her anxiously, Merry kept her face expressionless and continued to stare into the woods they were traveling through. She was too weary to put them in their places as she normally would. Besides, it wasn’t the first time she’d heard herself referred to as a harpy or the Stewart Shrew. The names had lost their ability to hurt her feelings long ago, but they did make her wonder now.
Had
her betrothed heard she was a harpy and shrew and set out to try and avoid marrying her?

The idea was a troubling one that preoccupied her for several minutes. In none of her imaginings about her future had her betrothed wished to avoid their marriage.

“There it is.”

Merry raised her head and drew her mount to a halt behind the men as they suddenly cleared the woods and a castle loomed before them. D’Aumesbery was a large, imposing fortress, perched on a hill and overlooking the land surrounding it. It was much bigger than Stewart, which didn’t bother her except to make her wonder how her father had managed to arrange such an advantageous marriage. He’d always claimed it had come about through friendship with the late Lord d’Aumesbery, claiming the two men had met at court while young and started a friendship that had lasted a decade. D’Aumesbery’s son, Alexander, had been born five years before her, but the moment Merewen had been born, the two men had sealed their friendship with the marriage contract.

Merry suspected the friendship had not lasted long after that. At least she didn’t ever recall visiting between the families. She suspected her father’s drinking might have had something to do with it. Her mother had once said that while her father had been a hard drinker when younger, he had not grown really bad until his own father’s death when Merry was two. It seemed his grief combined with the new responsibility as laird had pushed him that final step to prefer the happy, fuzzy state of drunkenness to the sober reality of his life.

“Here we are, Merry.” Her father turned to beam a smile on her. One that was reflected on her brothers’ faces as well, she noted as he added, “Ye’ll meet yer betrothed now, and soon ye’ll be a married lady with a passel of bairns to chase about.”

Aye, rather than three grown drunks, Merry
thought, but didn’t speak the words aloud. Why bother? Very soon she would be free of that chore. She’d have a husband of her own, one who, she hoped, would be nothing like her father and brothers.

With that hope firmly in mind, Merry urged her mare past the men and up the hill. It was late enough in the morning that the drawbridge was down and the gate open. Still, they were hailed as they approached, and Merry stopped and left it to her father to answer the hail and explain their presence. She then followed his mount into the bailey and straight to the steps of the keep, knowing the news of their arrival would reach it before they did.

Merry was dismounting when she heard the keep doors open. Once on the ground, she saw that a seasoned soldier was rushing down the stairs toward them. It was not her betrothed. He was only five years older than she, and this man looked to be fifteen or twenty years older at least. Wondering who he was, Merry moved to stand beside her father as the man reached them.

“Lord Stewart,” the man greeted, holding out his hand as he stepped off the stairs. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you. I am Gerhard, Lord d’Aumesbery’s…man.”

Merry’s eyebrows rose slightly at his hesitation. It appeared to her that he hadn’t been sure what to call himself, or what his station was. Odd, she thought as she watched the two men shake hands. Then the Englishman was turning to her, beaming brightly.

“And you must be Lady Merewen. A pleasure, my lady. Welcome to d’Aumesbery.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, and then waited
patiently as her father introduced her brothers. Gerhard greeted both men politely and then shifted his attention to the rest of their party, who had dismounted and now stood about uncertainly.

“I shall have your horses and wagon attended to directly. In the meantime, perhaps we should go in.”

Her father nodded, and took Merry’s arm to lead her to the stairs, asking, “Where’s d’Aumesbery? He should ha’e been here to greet us. He isna away, is he?”

“Nay, nay,” Gerhard assured them as he followed them up the stairs, Brodie and Gawain trailing behind. “In fact, you are most fortunate in that way. Had you arrived on the morrow, we would have already left for Donnachaidh.”

“Donnachaidh?” Merry asked with surprise, halting to turn to the man. Donnachaidh was the Duncan stronghold, and less than a half day’s journey from Stewart.

“Aye. Alexander’s sister, Evelinde, recently married the Devil of Donnachaidh, and he wishes to check on her,” Gerhard said as her father urged her forward once more. “Actually, we were supposed to leave this morn, but Alex is…er…indisposed.”

Merry felt trepidation slide through her at his choice of word. “Indisposed” was the term she used when referring to her father and brothers when they were nursing a sore head after a night—or several days—of drinking. And what did he mean they were supposed to leave that morn? The man had sent for her. Surely he hadn’t then planned to leave ere she arrived?

“All’s well that ends well, eh?” her father said
with a bluff laugh before she could ask any of her questions. He tugged on her arm once more, drawing her up the last few steps to the keep doors.

“Aye, of course,” Gerhard agreed quickly. “But I should explain—”

“No need, Lord d’Aumesbery can explain,” Eachann interrupted, pulling the door open and urging Merry inside. He hustled her several steps forward, but then paused and they both stood blinking in an effort to make their eyes adjust to the sudden dearth of light. As with most castles, the great hall was much darker than it was out in the sunlight, and the sudden shift left them both briefly blinded. That being the case, Merry actually heard the occupants of the hall before she saw them. Raucous shouts and cheers assaulted her ears and drew her blinking gaze to a crowd of men gathered in a small, tight bunch.

“Is he among that group?” Eachann Stewart asked, glancing about for the man who had greeted them.

Gerhard nodded as he hurried to catch them up. “Aye, but—”

It was all her father needed to hear. Waving the man to silence, he again hurried Merry forward, this time steering her toward the group by the trestle tables.

Gerhard rushed after them. “But I should tell you that he is suf—Bollocks!”

Merry glanced over her shoulder to see that the man had tripped over something in the rushes. He stopped to pick up whatever it was, and then her attention was drawn forward again when her father
suddenly drew her to a halt. They’d reached the edge of the group, and her father was now tapping the nearest man on the shoulder. The fellow, as large as a small building, turned a glare on them for interrupting whatever was going on, but quickly killed the glare when her father announced in a bluff voice, “I am Laird Stewart and this is me daughter, Merry, soon to be yer lady. Where is her betrothed, Alexander d’Aumesbery?”

The fellow’s eyes widened, slid to her, and crinkled slightly as he smiled, but he didn’t answer her father’s question. Instead he turned to nudge the man next to him. Once he’d gained his attention, he whispered something in the fellow’s ear, and that fellow peered around with surprise before nudging someone else. Within a moment every face in the crowd had turned to look at her. No one, however, was stepping forward and announcing that he was her betrothed.

Merry was just growing uncomfortable under their stares when Gerhard caught up.