Taming the Highland Bride (5 page)

“Aye, we did give her the name,” Eachann admitted. “I fear our Merry tends to worry and fret over us. She doesna understand about a man and his drink. Got that from her mother,” he confided. “My Maighread was always disapproving when we had a little whiskey. But that’s the only complaint I have with the girl. She’s a good chit, generally good-natured, and always willing to lend a hand and take care of things,” he assured him, and added, “Why, right now she’s down overseeing the men at practice fer ye because ye were too…er…indisposed to manage the task yerself.”

The old man grinned. “To be in such a state ye must ha’e been at the end o’ a long celebration. We like to do that oursel’es and understand, but Merry might be a bit testy about it. Ne’er fear, though, she may get angry, but she’ll still tend to anything that needs tending and stand in fer ye where she has to.”

Alex’s brow puckered at these words. It seemed obvious they had no idea he’d only drunk the whiskey that morning to have a tooth pulled, but believed he’d actually just been drinking for drink’s sake that early. He found the idea, and their easy and cheerful acceptance of such behavior, absolutely deplorable. Alex had met men over the years too fond of their drink. He’d even had a man or two under him take to the problem. The minute he suspected someone of it, he dealt with it by first trying to get the man to stop, and then by releasing the man from his vow to serve under him. He had no desire to have a drunk under his command. Dependence on drink made
a soldier sloppy and undependable and like to get himself or someone else killed.

“I’m getting a crick in me neck staring up at ye,” the Stewart complained, and then turned to give the son seated in the chair next to his own a push. “Get out o’ the chair, lad, and let our host sit with us.”

“There is no need for that,” Alex said quietly, having no desire to join the men. “I was just going out to oversee my men at practice.”

“But, lad, like I told ye, Merry’ll tend to it. She’s a fair hand with the men.”

Alex stiffened. “’Tis my place to—”

“There’s no need,” Eachann interrupted. “Her mother raised her well, Merry’s a fine helpmate. She’ll tend everything do ye wish it. She does everything at Stewart.”

“And what do you do?” he asked curiously.

“Whatever we wish,” Gawain said with a laugh.

“Aye. ’Tis a grand life ye’re headed for,” Brodie informed him, and then snickered as if that were a joke. It brought a glare from his father.

“
’Tis
a grand life ye’re headed for,” Eachann insisted quietly when Brodie fell solemn. “My Merry’s a hard worker. She’ll step in and tend whatever needs tending.”

“Which would be grand if she did so without glaring at us like we’ve done something wrong,” Brodie put in, appearing irritated at the compliment to his missing sister.

“Aye,” Gawain agreed, and warned, “she has a glare that’ll singe the hair off yer arse.”

“And then there’s her fish face,” Brodie muttered, gaining an elbow in the ribs from his father. Un
steady as he was, it nearly sent the younger man tumbling to the rushes before he caught at the table to save himself.

“Fish face?” Alex asked with bewilderment.

“Aye,” Gawain answered as his brother struggled to sit up straight. “She narrows her eyes and purses her lips like this and looks just like a fish when she’s disapproving or—” His words came to an end on a yelp as his father now slammed his other elbow into him. While Brodie had managed to save himself, Gawain couldn’t and landed in the rushes. He burst out laughing as if his state of inebriation were a grand joke rather than the sad showing it was, and then his laughter faded and his eyes closed and he began to snore.

“Don’t trouble yerself about him,” Laird Stewart slurred with unconcern. “We’ve been celebrating yer upcoming nuptials since arriving and he’s in his cups. He’ll be fine and fit for the ceremony tomorrow though, I’m sure.”

Alex shifted his gaze to the older man as he continued.

“As for Merry, aye, she glares and makes strange faces, but that’s the worst o’ it, and that’s damned good by anyone’s standards, especially when ye get the benefit o’ her tending to everything fer ye in return. She’ll be a good wife to ye.”

Alex’s gaze moved from Eachann to Brodie and back. Brodie was scowling with resentment, obviously not pleased at the compliments to his sister. As for Eachann, he was looking a tad sad and regretful, and Alex suspected the man was realizing what he was losing. Who was going to run Stewart
when these men returned and slipped completely into their cups? He knew from what little gossip he’d heard over the years that the burden had fallen to Merry since her mother’s death, and suspected her father, at least, knew what they were losing. It made him wonder why the old man had lied to get her there and not done everything he could to delay losing her to this marriage instead. Alex wanted to think it was because the man had some sense of decency left in him and wished to see her happy and married despite the burden losing her would be, but he suspected the truth was he’d merely bowed to the wishes and demands of his sons, who were obviously happy at the prospect of being rid of her.

Aye, Alex thought, glares and strange faces were little enough in response to the trouble life with these three men must have been. He couldn’t imagine what Merry’s life must have been like these last six years. After only minutes in their company he was irritated as hell.

Muttering, “Excuse me,” he turned away and headed for the door, neither pausing nor glancing around when the Stewart called out to him again.

Alex wanted to get to the practice field and speak to his betrothed. He had no doubt that Merry must now loathe drinking after her experiences with these men, and was very aware that she’d arrived here to find him three sheets to the wind. He doubted it had made a good impression and could only hope someone had explained matters to her so she wasn’t now fearing she’d gone from one home full of drunks to another.

He would just find her and thank her for tending
to matters while he was indisposed after his tooth pulling. Her response would tell him if someone had indeed explained things. If not, he’d explain himself, and then perhaps take the opportunity to get to know her better. While Alex had found her father and brothers rather annoying with their drunken slurs and the way they spoke of Merry, it was something of a relief to have spoken to them. For he now did understand how she had come to be called the Stewart Shrew and was positive it didn’t reflect poorly on her so much as on them.

Much as he’d like to deny it, her reputation had rather put him off marrying the girl. Alex had been more than happy to postpone the duty as long as possible. Now, if he wasn’t eager, at least his stomach didn’t roil at the mere thought of it.

The practice field was a hive of activity when he reached it. Pausing on the edge, Alex peered over the people filling it, some practicing at swords, some with lances, some maces. All of them were men dressed in mail and braies, however. Alex had no idea what his betrothed looked like, so had counted on her being the sole female there for him to find her, but there wasn’t a woman anywhere to be seen. For all he knew, he might have passed her in the bailey, although he hadn’t noted anyone he didn’t recognize on his walk down here, but—preoccupied with his thoughts as he’d been—he hadn’t really paid attention.

Muttering a mild curse under his breath, Alex started to turn back the way he’d come but stopped when he heard someone shout, “Keep yer shield up or ye’re going to be skewered!”

It was a woman’s voice with a very definite Scottish accent, and he once again scanned the area in search of a gown. He was frowning with bewilderment over the fact that there wasn’t one when she spoke again.

“Good, good! Ye’re a fine fighter, Albert, just remember to keep yer shield up else all that fine skill will go to waste when ye’re run through. William, ’tis yer turn.”

Alex followed the voice to a small group of men at one end of the field. He scoured the gathering with his eyes, but still saw no dress to tell him which was his lady. There were six large men standing in a loose circle around another large man, battling at wooden swords with a much smaller, slender youth in braies, mail, and helmet.

“Damn me, William, stop hesitating. I noted ye tend to do that while ye were fighting with Henry earlier, ’tis why I brought ye here. Now thrust, man, ye’ll no’ hurt me, and were we in true battle ye’d already be dead.”

Alex’s eyes went round, horror coursing through him as he realized the little fellow in braies was his betrothed. The crazy woman wasn’t just overseeing the training—which would have been bad enough—she was actually participating in it.

“God’s teeth!” he bellowed, and rushed forward. Alex pushed his way between two of the men, reached the pair in the center, and grabbed the one he’d originally thought was a slender youth by the arm to wheel her around.

She was definitely a woman; large wide eyes blinked up at him in surprise above a straight little
nose and full, luscious lips. Merewen Stewart had instinctively brought her wooden sword up to hit at him, but paused abruptly when she saw his face. Recognition flashed briefly through her green eyes; it was followed quickly by irritation and she jerked her arm free and snapped, “Are ye daft? Ye nearly got yerself skewered. This sword may be wood, but it can still do damage.”

Alex ignored her tirade and grabbed her arm again, holding her in place as he snatched the helmet off her head. His eyes widened as a mass of glorious chestnut hair suddenly tumbled out to surround her heart-shaped face. It fell in waves, reaching nearly to her waist, and felt as soft as silk against the back of his hand where he held her arm. It seemed obvious the girl had got her looks from her mother rather than her father…and he was grateful for it.

“What are ye gawping at?” Merewen Stewart asked, but while her words were irritated, the way she was flushing and avoiding his eyes suggested discomfort and even embarrassment. “Unhand me and let me get back to work.”

“’Tis
my
work,” Alex said with a scowl, and turned to drag her, protesting, off the field.

“What are ye doing?” she squawked, sounding alarmed rather than angry.

“Madame, you are in braies,” Alex said through his teeth as he noted several of his men pausing in their training to watch them.

Merry’s response was a cluck of impatience. “Aye. I can hardly fight properly in a gown, can I? One fall and the skirt flies up and ’tis a free show for all. ’Tis one thing for a Scottish man to be flashing his bum
at every turn, ’tis quite another for me to be flashing my—”

Alex stopped abruptly and turned on her with dismay, and she swallowed whatever she’d been about to say and merely scowled at him instead. He took a breath, trying to erase the image her words had brought to mind, and then said, “That is—I—You—”

Before he could quite figure out what he was trying to say, she heaved an impatient breath. “I see ye’ve the same problem with speech me own da has after drinking too much. Nay doubt yer thoughts are muddled like his, too. Ye’d best take yerself back to the keep and out of harm’s way while I see to the men.”

Alex briefly closed his eyes and prayed for patience, then opened them again and said as calmly as he could, “Madame, the practice field is no place for a woman. ’Tis my job to oversee the men.”

“Well ye were in no condition to oversee them, were ye?” she said pointedly. “So I tended it fer ye. And stop shouting, I am standing right here.”

“I was not shouting,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Aye, ye were,” she assured him, but now spoke in solemn tones as if to a child. She also patted his arm as if soothing a child. “Take yerself on back to the castle and leave me to tend to the men until ye’re no’ so scattered.”

“I am
not
scattered,” he denied quickly, and then added, “And the men do not need tending.”

“Aye they do,” Merry assured him. “Albert there has a habit o’ letting his shield drop while he’s fight
ing. It’s like to see him killed despite his being a fine swordsman. And William is too timid, he constantly hesitates ere swinging at his foe. ’Twill see him dead in his first battle. And then there’s Tom. He seems to be skilled, but needs to build more muscle or have a smaller sword made for him. The one he has is too heavy for him to wield for any length of time.”

Alex stared. Everything she’d said was true. They were problems he’d noticed and had intended to work on…when he had the time. Unfortunately, he’d been in such a rush to get things in order here before heading to Donnachaidh that he decided to tend it when he returned from Scotland.

“Am I wrong?” she challenged.

“Nay,” he assured her. “I had recognized those issues. And I will tend to them as soon as I return from Donnachaidh.”

Merry nodded slowly and then said, “And what if the castle is attacked while ye’re gone? What if those men die because ye were lax in yer duties and didna take the time to train them properly ere hieing off to see yer sister?”

Alex stiffened at the accusation, but merely snapped, “The chances of an attack are minimal at best.”

“But no’ impossible,” she said firmly. “And ’tis yer place as laird to see yer men well-trained and able to defend themselves and yer castle.”

Alex’s mouth tightened. As much as he liked to think he was a good and responsible lord, it did seem a bit selfish that he was going to delay correcting those flaws in his soldiers in favor of checking on his sister. It would take only a day or two to tend
the matter. He was considering this when he noted she was a bit flushed and sweaty from her efforts on his behalf that day while he’d been sleeping off the whiskey. It made his mouth tighten further.

“I shall attend the men ere we leave for Donnachaidh,” he assured her quietly. “But
I
shall tend it, not you. You shall stick to matters in the castle itself from now on. And this moment, you will go in, wash up and change, and then sit at the trestle table with your father and brothers until the sup.”

“My father and brothers are still at the table?” she asked, eyes narrowing.