Midnight's Bride (29 page)

“Was it dreadfully painful?” Elise's whisper was so low Netta strained to hear her.

“I don't remember any pain from the bumping. But it was painful for my husband.” She said the word with prideful possession. “He moaned somewhat fierce. You saw the stains on the sheet. I would know how he fares this morn, but I don't wish to embarrass him by asking. I believe men must be sensitive to such queries.” She nodded and tried to look wise. Hearing a choking cough, she glanced at Meghan and saw her face was red and tears streamed from her eyes. What ailed the woman?

Netta raised her eyebrows at her, but the Scotswoman shook her head and caught her breath.

“Dinna ask,” she said.

Meghan's voice sounded husky. She wheezed too. And what did she mean? Do not ask her? Or, do not ask Mereck? She wished she could read her mind. Read her mind! She gasped.

“I can't believe I disremembered that nasty gift of Mereck's last eventime.”

“Mereck gave you a nasty gift? Well, were I you, I would give it right back to him. The man was being hateful!” Elise's indignation turned her face red. “Whatever possessed him to do such?”

“I meant the gift of his hearing thoughts.” Netta blinked, startled, when an idea struck her. “Do you think my head pounds this morn because he pulled my thoughts from me while I slept?” Meghan's laugh reassured her.

“I think yer discomfort was from the wine ye drank with the toasts. We have lived our life with the man and ne'er had a wee problem with his gift. Only the family knows of it. For certs, he didna need special skills to know the thoughts of the men who kissed yer lips last eve. They are right sorry fer it today, to be sure.”

Before Netta could ask why, a maid summoned them for the noon meal. Netta was famished. She was too nervous the day before to eat more than a few bites. As if to verify the fact, her stomach grumbled an appeal.

“I could hear your hunger before I reached the room, wife.”

Mereck's large body filled the doorway. She blushed when his warm gaze traveled over her and came back to rest on her face. “Is your headache much trouble this day? Bleddyn assured me his potion would aid it.”

“How did you know I would suffer from that affliction? Do you think not eating has caused it? Meghan said she thought I honored too many toasts.” She looked at him, hoping he would prove the Scotswoman wrong. She would be dreadfully embarrassed to learn she was a sot.

“I believe you needed to eat more, wife. You have a healthy appetite, but with all the turmoil, you ate barely enough to sustain Tuan. I was the one who drank too heavily.”

She beamed at him. This matter of having a husband to defend you was delightful. Her heart fell, remembering the sheets. Did he suffer any ill effects from their bumping? He didn't seem to walk with any difficulty. She was pleased she was so knowledgeable about mating. She needn't worry about any more stained sheets, for she understood it only happened the first time. But why was a man of Mereck's advanced years not more experienced at coupling? Like Marcus? The thought that he was not pleased her.

Mereck made another strange sound. Her poor husband. He had a terrible cough. He must have caught it from Meghan, for he had his hand over his mouth and sounded as if he were choking the same as Meghan had earlier. She would ask Bleddyn to prepare potions for both of them.

When they sat at the table in the great hall, Mereck turned to her with a smile.

“My heart, you have pleased me mightily. I would have all the world know it.” He removed a square of blue silk from a tunic pocket. When he laid it on the table to unwrap it, she watched his beautiful hands. The salve Bleddyn had rubbed into Mereck's injuries had done a wondrous job. In another day or two, no one would even guess he had been in such a terrible fight.

Mereck picked up his morning-after gift and held it up for his bride to see. Hanging from a chain of gold links was a lovely pendant, also done in gold. It was a gryphon, the fabulous beast with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. One also vividly adorned Mereck's war shield. The eye of the beast was set with the same sea-green as was in her wedding band. She reached out a tentative hand to touch it. It was much heavier than it appeared. Mereck had gifted her with two beautiful offerings in as many days. Her ring and now this. These gifts were more than she had ever received before. What a generous man she had married.

She ducked her head for him to slide the chain over it, and when his hands brushed her nape to lift her hair free, she shivered. As the warm pendant settled between her breasts, she folded her hand around it. She gave him a worried look.

“I do not deserve such a splendid gift, husband.” She stretched up to whisper for his ears alone. “Father always said no man would bestow anything upon me until I learned to be as dutiful as my sisters.”

“Your father was wrong. You deserve many lovely things for your courage. I know the great effort it took for you to be my bride. The whole world should know of my pride in you.”

On hearing his praise, she beamed at him. Mereck cupped her face in his hands and waited. To his delight, she didn't flinch from them. He covered her mouth with his and swept his tongue across her lips. He coaxed and teased, and when his hand moved up to press down on her chin, her lips parted. Such sweetness. Honey. And the taste of Netta herself.

Had there not been the sound of someone running into the room, Mereck would have kept on kissing her. When one of the MacLaren's knights came up to him, he drew back and stood. The man looked like he had ridden hard.

“Mereck, sir, the MacLaren sends you words of greatest urgency.”

When he gave a slight jerk of his head toward Netta, Damron suggested they leave the great room. Mereck nodded for the warrior to follow them, and once inside Damron's solar, the man relayed his message.

“Laird MacLaren sent me to warn you that one of the Lady Lynette's former suitors, Baron Mortain, is on his way to Blackthorn. He has come with his overlord, Baron Carswell, and forty warriors. My laird refused to give so many men leave to cross his territory, and he forced Mortain to leave all but five men on MacLaren land. He said to tell you he would keep them well occupied until they returned across the border.” He took a hearty swallow of ale from the mug Damron handed him.

Mereck clenched his fists. “Do you have any other message for me?”

“Aye. Angus MacLaren rides with them. He is taking them o'er the highest peaks to delay their arrival. He said you were to ‘get the deed done speedily afore he arrives.'”

“How many days behind you are they?” Mereck's voice was calm, his eyes hard as steel.

“The MacLaren delayed their departure a day. The longer route will put them four days behind me.”

Damron bade the messenger return to the hall for something to eat. He would stay at Blackthorn until MacLaren arrived.

 

The bitch will pay for this added insult. She will be sorry she scorned me when I deal with her.
As he walked toward the fire MacLaren's men had built, Roger of Mortain fought to keep a grimace from his face. He was unused to riding for hours on end. His thighs felt rubbed raw. His ballocks ached even more than his thighs, causing his disposition to become fouler by the second. Overlarge for his body, his ballocks were always a source of pride for him, but the constant pressure of the day's ride was taking its toll.

It will soon be her sex that screams. Her thighs that ache from being spread.

He waited, impatient, for his squire to untangle the knots in the drawstring of his breeches. He would not handle this menial job for himself. When the clumsy hands did not free his tarse fast enough, urine seeped and ran down his leg. His fist lashed out and struck the boy's jaw.

Bloody Lucifer! His knuckle's hurt. He rubbed them on his breeches while a cold smile twisted his thin lips.

Netta would atone for this discomfort also.

“Hsst, hurry Netta, but don't let anyone follow you. I must ask you something.” Elise darted out of the hall.

The way she was acting, everyone in the castle would know she was up to something. She scooted ahead, every few feet peering over her shoulder and wriggling her fingers at Netta. Why did she not just shout, “Follow me?”

Elise disappeared around a corner. Netta hurried past an alcove, and gasped when a hand reached out and jerked her into its darkness. Elise fidgeted with her tunic but did not speak.

“What is it? Why do we hide here?” Netta whispered.

“Now you are married and have experience, I must ask you something. I did not want to ask Meghan. She would learn how woefully lacking Mother was, and Mother said when the time came she would tell me, but how can she tell me when she is not here? Do you understand?” Elise gasped and waited, wide-eyed.

“Ask me what?” Netta rubbed the chill from her arms and leaned closer.

“Well, blessed Saint Agnes. Must I say it?” Elise's voice rose. “The sheets. Is the pain dreadful? How does one do
it?
I will surely displease Connor if I don't know how to do it properly. He threatens to show me soon.”

Netta gasped and shook her head. “Never be alone with him. If he should find you unaware, be sure you don't go down on your hands and knees in front of him. I saw Marcus doing it this way in the stables. I believe that position must hurt men the most. His moans were much louder than any of Mereck's last eve.”

“There is more than one way to do it?”

“Oh, yes.” It pleased Netta to impart her knowledge to soothe her friend's fears. “We were on our sides last eve. Mereck did not heave and bump as frantic as Marcus looked to be doing. Nor did his moans sound as painful.”

She frowned and nodded. “Be sensitive to Connor's feelings when he is done. I believe they feel shamed when they are unable to stifle their cries.”

“Netta, love. Are you there?” Mereck called nearby.

Netta held a finger to her lips, then poked her head into the hallway.

“There you are, my sweet. You disappeared. I was worried about you.” The corner of Mereck's lips twitched as he lifted her hand to nuzzle a warm kiss on her palm. “I thought by chance you would like to practice archery today? 'Tis unfortunate I canna be with you, but Meghan will take my place. Will this please you?”

Meghan, sporting a wide grin, stood beside him.

“Thank you, husband.” Netta avoided meeting his eyes. Had he overheard her instructing Elise? She hoped not. She would dislike embarrassing him further about their bed-sport last eve.

“You may wear Connor's old shirt o'er your tunic, but not his leggings.” He leaned forward and tilted his head close to her face. With a long elegant finger, he tapped his chin.

Netta stared at him. What did he want? She twisted her head to look at Meghan for a clue.

“He wants ye to kiss him.” Meghan winked at her.

Netta rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his chin. The skin there already bristled. Why, he must needs scrape away his beard more than once a day. She closed her eyes and inhaled, enjoying the excitement his scent caused. Her lips hovered just above his skin. Would he mind if she kissed his mouth? She went ahead. His lips played softly over hers. His tongue begged entry, but she clamped her teeth together. He gripped the back of her head and kissed her senseless. When her body melted against his, he drew away.

“Thank you, wife. 'Tis custom that Saxon wives kiss their Highland husbands when they part. Have you not noted Brianna doing such?”

She looked at him, suspicious. Damron did as much of the kissing as Brianna. Was that laughter in his eyes? Before she could decide, he spun around and was gone.

Meghan was a hard taskmaster, not relenting until Netta's arrows hit the target five times in a row. Meghan's pleased laughter filled the air.

“I believe ye have a natural talent fer the bow.”

“My wife has a natural talent for many things,” Mereck's sensuous baritone declared.

Heat spread from Netta's brows down to the top of her tunic. Meghan's praise warmed her, but Mereck's words made her proud. She vowed to practice twice as hard and prove him right. She gazed into his intense, emerald eyes, and his thickly lashed lids drifted lower. What was he thinking?

Mereck winked at Netta. He had but a few days to make her wholly his. If someone learned she was still innocent, he couldna ignore the chance that money might buy the king's favor. Recalling his wedding night, he stilled the smile threatening his lips. If Damron or Connor e'er discovered his performance, he would ne'er live it down. A sennight ago, he would have declared any man daft who suggested his bride would still be chaste the morn after their vows. He felt great sympathy for what Damron must have endured in the first months of his marriage.

When he had returned from bathing in the river, he had watched Netta from a distance. Every time she notched an arrow and drew the bow taught, her breasts strained against Connor's old shirt. Now, his gaze slid over her creamy neck to her breasts. As he lingered there, her nipples hardened and jutted against the material. He wet his lips. He could almost taste her sweet flesh. The persistent anticipation was near unbearable. Thankfully, he wore his plaid and not breeches, for his tarse throbbed with rampant need. This night would be too soon. But mayhap tomorrow…

A cadre of warriors galloped across the drawbridge into the outer bailey, drawing his attention. Damron had sent the men to call the clan together for Connor and Elise's wedding four days hence. Elise's family would soon arrive. Netta would not guard her speech around her friend's mother, adding an increased urgency for Mereck to make Netta his.

Mereck escorted the women back to the inner bailey, and he didn't see Netta again until he went to their room afore the evening meal. Expecting to find her resting, he eased open the door. The bed was empty. Water splashed, and he turned to see Netta sitting cross-legged bathing, the tub ample for her small body. She ran a soapy cloth over an outstretched arm. Her breast skimmed the top of the water. He slid the door closed and enjoyed the sight of his bride.

Netta had gathered her black curls in a twist atop her head, and ringlets had escaped to rest along her cheeks and down her nape. He ached with longing but forced himself not to go to her and kiss that delightful spot.

Netta sensed his presence. She spun around and screamed. Her eyes wide and dilated, she tried to scramble from the tub.

“Netta. Look at me.” It was a stern command. “'Tis Mereck, your husband, not Durham who stands here.” He waited. Indecision lurked in her eyes. “You are safe with me.” He spaced each word evenly.

Netta blinked and her panicky look slowly eased.

He motioned for Bran to leave her mistress to him. Nodding, she placed a large drying towel in his hand and left the room.

“I told Damron how you please me with your progress in archery. His Brianna tried to learn the skill. No matter how close she stood, she ne'er hit the target. He claims she canna see past the nose on her face.” He smiled, his voice soft and soothing as he ambled over to his bride.

Shy of her nakedness, she crossed her arms over her breasts. As he drew near, one hand snaked down to nudge a bathing cloth across the joining of her legs, shielding her sex from his gaze.

“Come, love, you grow cold.” He held the big towel up in front of him, high enough to hide his face and make her secure from his eyes. The water splashed as she stood.

“I am here, husband.” Her lilting voice sounded shy.

Bundled in the towel, Mereck carried her to a chair close to the fireplace. He snuggled her close and rubbed his hands over the towel drying her, talking all the while.

“Elise's family arrives in two days' time. We will have another wedding. Do you think she and Connor will stop their quibbling once they are wed?” He felt her heart slow its wild beat against his arm.

“They do seem to be at odds most of the time. But do you know something, husband? I have seen the way she watches Connor when he speaks with other women.” She tilted her head up at him now, more confident. “Elise glares at the ladies till they leave his side. When he goes to her, she frowns and turns her nose in the air at him. Do you not think it passing strange?”

“I do.” He hugged her closer. “I have noted the way he watches her. If she but blinks at Marcus or any other man, Connor is ready to throttle them. Is this not also strange?”

Netta was warm and dry now, but he did not release her. She leaned against him, unaware that she played with the mat of hair on his chest. Mereck knew it though. She seemed fascinated with the swirls of hair around his nipples. When her dainty finger traced around them, he broke out in a sweat. The nipples hardened and the skin around them puckered. She stopped, looked surprised and stared at them. Peeking up at him through thick lashes, she eased her hand down to her lap.

His brow knotted, and he pretended to mull over the other couple's problem.

“I believe they have strong feelings for each other.” She looked expectantly at him. “What think you, husband?”

“You have solved the puzzle, my wise little wife. Why didna I think of it before?” He bent his head and kissed her brow.

“Men are not as observant as women about another's feelings.” She smiled and patted his cheek. “My father was never aware that his thoughtless words hurt.”

Mereck hugged her close, hiding his anger. He yearned to strangle Baron George.

“Up with you now, or we will be late to the table. Do you wish help dressing?” After seeing a quick shake of her head, he stood and slid her soft body down his own hard length until her feet touched the floor. He patted her bottom before he turned his back so she could dress in privacy.

Mereck strolled over to the corner wash stand and filled the basin with hot water. He soaped his face and peered into a polished metal square hanging on the wall there. He scraped his face smooth with a small knife honed to a keen edge. When he saw the image of his wife drop the towel and lift her arms to don her chemise, he nicked his upper lip. That was bad enough, but when his demented tarse started another merry dance on seeing the nest of curls guarding her sex, he near cut his throat.

Later that evening in the great hall, they sat in front of the hearth listening to the castle bard recite verses about battles fought by the old laird. When he finished telling the story of the terrible raid that left Damron and Mereck without a father, and Connor and Meghan without parents, Netta's eyes filled with tears. She didn't relax until Damron recounted mischief Brianna and Meghan created when his wife first arrived at Blackthorn.

Whenever Elise and Connor squabbled, Netta leaned close and whispered to Mereck. After Connor nibbled on Elise's ear, Netta giggled, for Elise pinched her husband-to-be.

“Would you pinch your husband for the same offense?” Mereck's tongue traced the shell-like opening of Netta's ear, and when he puffed little bursts of hot breath there, he felt her shivers. Drawing the dainty lobe between his lips, he nibbled before he suckled it.

She didn't pinch him.

His mouth moved to kiss the tender skin behind her ear and stroked wet kisses down her neck. He nuzzled her face and groaned low with pleasure.

Netta's eyelids flew wide. She shifted to face him, and he did not hide his heated desire for her. He read her confusion.

“Dinna let my sounds distress you. They come from pleasure and need. You will soon learn to ken them.”

“You are not in pain, then? It is a good thing?”

“Oh aye, wife. 'Tis a verra good thing.” Her relieved expression delighted him. His gentle wife worried that she caused him pain. She did cause him pain, but not in the way she thought.

As the women and married couples began leaving the hall to seek their beds, he studied Netta. When he helped her rise, and he put his arm around her shoulders, she did not appear threatened. She called to everyone to enjoy their dreams and went trustingly with him.

Bran helped her mistress, and Mereck turned his back to them while he removed his sword and boots. After she settled Netta on the bed and left the room, he pinched out the candles and stripped by the dim glow from the fireplace. He removed his long shirt, folded it and laid it atop his chest. When she spoke, he knew she watched him.

“You are most considerate, Mereck. Father threw his clothes on the floor, even when they didn't need washing. The maids said he trod over them apurpose to cause them more work. Do you suppose this was so?”

“By chance he wanted to be sure they earned their keep? What think you?” He truly thought George Wycliffe spiteful.

Musing over his question, she was silent for a time.

“I believe both you and the maids must be right. He did leave boot marks on the shirts. And he was also very tight with his coins. But I think he was spiteful to cause them more work.”

When he smiled and nodded in agreement, she looked pleased. He removed the belt and held on to the gathered plaid as it slid from his body. Turning from her, he rolled his belt and folded the plaid over the back of a chair. Knowing she could see his naked body from the fire's glow, he sought to keep his movements slow and nonthreatening. When he strolled toward the bed, she glanced up at him and then down to the snowy white linens. She seemed drawn to look, for she did not keep her gaze lowered for long. After several darting glances, she blinked and slid deeper beneath the covers.