Authors: Sophia Johnson
“Damron has oft tried to find a man with a âfirm hand' to wed me. I soon discourage them.” Meghan laughed.
“How have you gone about it?” Netta fought to control her ebony curls with a silver circlet around her brow. “I have not found men easy to turn away. At times, I acted like they had an unpleasant smell to insult them. If it did not, I crossed my eyes whenever the suitor was around. Too often, I could not keep it up.” She looked up and grinned. “If the man was fastidious about his person, I did not bathe and spilled food down my clothing. I even sprinkled dirt around my neck. It made nasty little mud balls when I began to sweat. I wore the same tunic until the suitor left in disgust.”
Meghan laughed as she combed her own hair.
“Aunt Phillipa watches me too closely for those tricks, but I ha'e my own ways to upset the churls.”
“What do you do? My eyes don't cross easily, and I hate dirt.” Elise looked surprised when they laughed. “What? Why do you laugh?”
“I have known ye for but half a day, and yer eyes cross every time Connor comes near. Have ye not noticed?”
Elise put her hands on her cheeks, hiding her blush. Meghan hugged her shoulders.
“If the unwanted man plays the pipes,” Meghan said, “I invite him to a contest. I can out-pipe the best of them. If he thinks himself a great swordsman, I demand we meet in the practice field. They fall o'er their feet afeared to draw a drop of my blood. They worried for naught, for I can compete with most men. If neither of these ideas works, I aim my dirk at a spot on the bench.”
“Why would that stop them?” Netta could not think why Meghan's solution would scare a man away.
“It will. If the spot is betwixt their hairy thighs.” In a flash, Meghan's arm raised and a blade flashed across the room and thudded into the door.
Her skill was so great, Netta had not even seen her draw the blade from the sheath at her thigh.
“Damnation, Meg, cease,” Connor yelled from the corridor.
He eased the door open and scowled at Meghan, then stood aside.
Brianna's maid servant entered carrying an armful of bright clothing, saying her mistress wanted Netta to have them. They were of the same small stature. On the morrow, the ladies of the castle would help sew the young women new outfits.
Connor's entrance kept Netta from asking Meghan if she had found a particular man to her liking. When she had spoken about her suitors, her eyes had filled with sadness.
“Have you not noted how late it becomes? Granda is enjoying a nip with Mereck.” Connor looked down at Netta, his eyes twinkling. “Lady, Mereck declares you are to present yourself at once, or he will change his mind.”
“Change his mind, sir? About what?” Netta reached up to sweep an unruly curl from her face.
“He didna say.” Connor pivoted on his heels and left.
Upon entering the great hall, Netta did not see Mereck for all the people milling about. They made their way toward the group standing around the fireplace. She spied him deep in conversation with Damron. He lounged with casual grace, one shoulder braced against the heavy wood of the mantel. As if to anchor himself, he had spread his muscular legs slightly apart. A large basket sat beside his feet.
“Blessed Saint Cuthbert,” Netta blurted. “He wears a wee lambkin about his shoulders.”
The large bundle of white around Mereck's neck stiffened and jiggled about precariously. A very fat tail flapped back and forth, swatting his face. Netta could only glimpse his startled green eyes as the tail attacked. A head rose to press close to Mereck's cheek. It squinted gleaming, yellow eyes at her.
“Saints! It still lives.” The creature's yowl of displeasure at rudely being interrupted from a well-earned nap made Netta skid to a halt.
The fur piece scrambled, stretched and dug its claws into Mereck's chest. Reaching up with soothing hands, he murmured in Gaelic and gathered the animal in his arms. Fascinated, Netta watched him stroke from the top of its head to the end of a long fluffy tail, comforting the animal. How odd that Scotland's most feared warrior looked so gentle.
She felt a fool. Why, it was no small lamb, but the largest white cat she had ever seen. Mereck had imposing shoulders, yet the animal had more than covered their breadth and down the sides of his arms. Surely anyone would have mistaken it?
“Now that you have disturbed Mither's much needed rest, lady, I can see nothing for it but that you soothe the savage beasties.” He nodded at the basket, no longer setting quietly but swaying and creaking at her feet.
Inside was the biggest litter of kittens Netta had ever seen. They were all different colors. Had the cat mated with every tom in the barn? Nay, that could not be the reason. They were also different sizes. She looked up at Mereck, puzzled.
“They are as you see them. She feeds not only her own get, but the bairns of mothers who became food for a sneaky fox.”
Little kitten faces peered up at them, their mouths agape. Tiny white teeth and pink tongues showed as they set up a mewling racket begging sustenance. Without thinking, Netta plunked down on the floor beside the basket and folded her legs beneath her tunic.
Which one should she pet first? The littlest with eyes not fully open? Or the larger kittens that acted like they were starving? She solved it by lining the four smallest on her arm and cuddling them to her chest. After scooping several other babes onto her lap, she soon ran out of room.
“Oh, I cannot comfort them all.” Distress streaked through her when the other kittens looked up at her and seemed to beg for the same attention.
Elise joined her, taking over the remaining kittens. Netta's heart beat happily. She had never had so many small ones to pet and hold. When they crawled up her clothing to nuzzle at her neck, she giggled and shivered when rough little tongues licked her skin and tried to find a teat to nurse.
Mereck's gaze roved over Netta. He feigned but mild interest in what he saw. Netta was beautiful enjoying the little balls of fur. He recalled her happy face in Granda's room when she petted Guardian. Though not born a bastard, her father truly earned the epithet by his deeds.
Wycliffe had thought to rule Netta, to force her to his will. One did not master such a spirit as hers by harshness. He would seek her compliance by other means.
He would woo her with what her father denied her. First was her desire to have something to love and call her own.
His gaze fell to her sweet neck. His bride squirmed as a kitten's tongue tickled her beneath her ear. Would she squirm when his tongue lapped over her, his mouth suckled her skin? Her innocent face was soft and yearning.
Sweet Christ, let it soon be for him she yearned. One look at Netta jolted his body to respond. His ballocks ached, his tarse hardened and stirred. Never had a woman caused him to stay in such a ready state of arousal.
He had neglected his needs far too long afore he met her. Ne'er did he share his favors for long with a lass whose company he enjoyed. If he felt his regard soften, he was always on guard, fearful it would turn to love. Now, he didna feel right swiving another, for Netta was all but his wife.
“Ye had best settle the beasties, Mereck, afore ye burst.”
Meghan's lips fought a grin. When she nodded at his bulging sex, he realized what was evident to all in the room. His desire for Netta. Muttering curses in Gaelic, he knelt beside the two young women.
“Come, Mither. Yer bairns are demandin' their bellies be filled.” He put the cat in the empty basket and plucked the smallest kittens off Netta. He helped each latch onto one of Mither's teats.
His knuckles brushed against Netta's breast when he pried a kitten's claws from her clothing. His ballocks throbbed with need. How sweet she would taste when he drew that same nipple into his mouth. Her breast would swell, the nipple would harden and the areola would pebble with passion. He stifled a groan.
Netta's gaze darted to his face. What she saw there must have startled her, for she gasped and plucked the next hungry creature from her chest and put it in his hands. Her face flushed. He watched her pulse pounding in her tempting neck.
His resolve hardened thinking about the marriage contract. She would fight it. But not for long. He would not allow it. If she refused to say her vows afore the priest, he would force her to nod her head in agreement. He would not give up Caer Cad-well.
Netta shivered again. Something in his face, nay, not something. A look of wildness was there that reminded her of the day he hurtled from the woods, his sword drawn and a snarl on his lips.
Now, smoldering flames burned in the depths of his darkened eyes. His face looked hungry. Lean. His expression sent tremors through her stomach. Everywhere his gaze touched, heat seared her flesh.
How could he cause such strange feelings with but a look? She lowered her eyes and placed the last kitten in the basket.
Mereck gripped her elbow and helped her rise. She didn't dare pull away. Her legs would not support her. It must be exhaustion from the long journey. Aye. That's what this is about, the reason for these strange feelings.
How had they crossed the great hall to the high table so quickly? Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she saw he watched her. His eyes brimmed with amused pleasure.
“He asked ye twice, Netta”âMeghan's voice floated to her sensesâ“which of the wee beasties ye wud like?”
“Like? I may have a kitten of my own?” She could not keep the surprise from her voice, nor the worry from her soul. Would he be like her father and later take delight in destroying something she loved?
“Ye seemed to coddle the runt of the litters, lady, but the wee one is not verra strong,” Mereck said, his voice hoarse.
“Is it the little white one with the black tip on his nose and chin that you call the runt? How can you give a sweet little creature such an ugly name, sir?”
She stared at his mouth. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips; his lips softened and pursed slightly.
“Aye, such a sweet little creature.” His finger under her chin tilted her face up to him. His warm lips brushed hers.
She blinked. Could he have guessed she was curious how his lips would feel against her own? The mewling kittens drew her attention back to them.
“I may truly have a kitten?” She fought to keep the pleading note from her voice.
“Ye may. But it must stay with Mither until strong enough to live apart. Ye should oft check its feeding so it does not get pushed from its food. I keep the basket in the kitchens so the young ones will be warm.”
“I will do everything you tell me to do, and take very good care of it.” A happy grin spread across her face. How strange to feel so. Elise tugged lightly at Netta's sleeve, but before she could respond, Connor interrupted.
“I suppose you want a bairn also, Elise?” He sighed and draped an arm around her shoulders. “If you ask nicely, I may beg Mereck to part with another of his prized younglings. A most difficult task, for he is selfish with Mither's charges.”
Elise peered up at him, frowning worriedly as she tried to pull away. When she turned to plead with Mereck, Connor made a face at him and grinned.
“Well now, I am right possessive of the kits.” Mereck gazed at her and rubbed his jaw.
Elise swallowed and looked undecided whether to duck from under Connor's arm or stay put. She stayed put.
“Do you think you can ask him to let me have a kitten, sir?” she whispered to Connor. “I will take very good care of it. I won't let anything hurt it or take it away. Not even the wolf.” She shuddered and squared her shoulders.
“If you gave me a wee kiss, mayhap I could brave coaxing Mereck into partin' with another wee bairn.” He sighed.
Meghan thumped him on his back. He lurched forward.
“Stop teasin' the lassie. Ye have no need to ask me brither, Elise. Mereck will gladly give ye a little beastie.”
“Stop baitin' the lassies and seat yourselves,” Lord Douglas commanded. “Brianna has arrived and canna linger all evenin'.”
Damron sat at the head of the table, Brianna on his right, his grandfather and Lady Phillipa on his left. They all took seats, including several women whom Meghan introduced as widows of knights killed during clan raids.
A table along the right side of the hall served the castle knights and their wives, and on the opposite side of the huge area was a long table for the unmarried knights and women of the castle. Men-at-arms and other warriors, who made up the defense of the castle, sat at lower tables. All wore a variety of clothing and hair styles that puzzled Netta.
“The long-haired warriors are Saxons who came with Brianna,” Mereck explained softly. “The men who wear their hair cropped short were with Damron in Normandy. They insisted on staying with him when he returned to Scotland. Of course, Scots make up the greatest number of warriors.”
Damron rose and lifted his hand to quiet the room.
“Elise of Ridley, cousin to Brianna, has become my ward. As ye know, England lacks eligible men from whom to select a husband for her. I have promised her father I will take the utmost care in choosing her mate.”