Midnight's Bride (31 page)

Netta didn't. She bit his lip.

She released him quickly though, so she could take a deep breath and howl. It near deafened him. However, at the moment, he wasn't concerned about his hearing. He stopped moving but stayed imbedded in her heat.

“Shh, sweetling. The hurt will soon be gone.” He groaned when she squirmed again and drove him deeper. “Please dinna move or you will undo me.” He clamped his teeth together and called on all his strength to not shout and ram himself into his bride. Her heart pounded against his chest.

“I am sorry, love. Never again will our loving hurt you,” he murmured. His lips coaxed hers, his tongue stroked and teased until her muscles begin to ease around him. Taking a grateful breath, he eased back and entered again. She did not protest. He began a steady rhythm. Soon she sighed and stopped tearing his back to shreds.

Although thinking it unlikely she would find full satisfaction in this first joining, he continued to caress and soothe her, knowing he stretched her body and made it easier for their next mating. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She moaned and arched her hips to him. He thrust faster.

Surprise crossed her face. She stiffened and panted now. She gripped her lower lip between her teeth and strained against him. He felt the spasms of her first orgasm squeezing his shaft.

It proved his undoing.

He tensed and arched against her. She yelled and clamped him with her legs when he exploded, releasing his seed into her depths. Burying his face in her neck, he cried out his triumphant male possession in sweet agony.

“Ah, sweetling.” He gasped for breath. “You please me mightily.”

Netta struggled to regain her senses. She let go of her fierce grip on his hair, and gave him soft pats over his heart. When he withdrew and moved to her side, her leg muscles screamed their protest.

She pinched him. Though he arched his brows at her, she didn't bother to explain.

“We have made a bairn, then?” she asked, breathless. The look she gave him warned his answer should be what she wanted.

“God willing, we may have made a babe.”

“May? What is this ‘may,' husband? Either we did or we did not. Did you not do it right?”

“Sometimes it takes one time to make a bairn. Then again, it may take many.” She scowled. “God made us this way, Netta. You dinna want to argue with Him, do you?”

She mulled the question over and shook her head. She didn't want to anger God. Besides, it had been most pleasurable. Only the part when she thought he would split her asunder had been disagreeable.

Mereck kissed her forehead, got out of bed and brought the basin and pitcher of warmed water to the bed table. He coaxed her to let him wash her there, telling her it was the custom for a husband to do such. She squeezed her eyes tight.

The heated cloth felt good against her tender parts. She clamped her legs together to keep it there. When she realized she had also trapped his hand, she blushed and relaxed her muscles. While he was occupied soothing her, she glanced down at his body.

She gasped and jerked upright while she stared at his manhood.

“Of merciful saints. I squeezed it to death!”

When he gave a strangled sound and very near squashed the breath out of her, she deemed it was in retaliation.

“You did me no injury, love. What you see is how a man's rod normally looks. My tarse only becomes swollen and hard from my wanting you.”

She didn't know whether to believe him. That is, until he took her hand and placed it on his flaccid member. When it stirred and started to swell, she snatched her hand away.

Mereck stretched out beside her and wrapped her in his arms. He kissed the tip of her nose and brought her close, guiding her head to his shoulder. “Sleep now, little wife.”

She patted his chest, liking the comfort of his steady heartbeat. She sighed. She had too many things to think about to go to sleep. After she mulled over this business of mating and made sense of it, she would heed him.

Her eyes drifted closed. By the time he had counted to ten, she snored in little puffing bursts.

 

Before dawn, Mereck tucked the covers around Netta and drew the bed drapes closed. He left orders below stairs that no one disturb her.

When the sun had risen high in the sky, a sentry came to tell him the MacLaren men and the visitors would soon arrive. At Damron's questioning look, Mereck nodded. Since his room was next to theirs, he knew his brother and Brianna must have heard Netta's shout when he took her maidenhead.

“Spencer,” Damron called to his squire. “Please ask Lady Brianna to come to me.” The young man was off like a flash and back with the laird's wife before too many heartbeats.

“My sweet, the man who covets our Netta approaches. Until we learn his intent, would ye keep the women above stairs?” He beckoned her close to whisper in her ear. She nodded.

“Don't worry, love. I will see to her safety.” Brianna kissed Damron's forehead and hurried from the room.

“Dinna turn your back on Mortain,” Connor warned Mereck. “He plans to stop a wedding. After he finds his prize has slipped from him, he will be overwrought.”

Mereck stood, feet braced wide apart, his face a cold mask. One hand rested on his sword, the other on the hilt of a lethal-looking dagger.

Any man foolish enough to cross him would have to have a death wish.

Roger of Mortain passed through Blackthorn's barbican, his eyes studying his surroundings for any weaknesses in the castle defenses. Sentries stood five paces apart, covering the battlement walkways. He ground his teeth in frustration, for Blackthorn displayed more hardened warriors than most fortresses.

High atop the castle, stiff gusts whipped and cracked a glaring white flag below the Morgan standard. His eyes narrowed. The wind teased the edges, sailing it out for all to see. Curses spewed from his lips. Hatred clenched his heart. A sheet hung there for all to bear witness a deflowering had occurred.

Mereck of Blackthorn would pay for this. The bitch who had spread her legs for Baresark would watch her lover die.

 

Netta scrunched her face, thinking of a way to tell Elise she had been mistaken about the bumping. She had not a chance, for someone was forever by her side. Thinking how she had so proudly educated her friend on mating, she cringed. Secretly, she was relieved not to have the chance to admit her own ignorance.

The sun had started its decline when Mereck and Connor came to escort the women to the great hall. Mereck placed a possessive hand on her neck. His strong thumb rubbed gentle circles in the downy hair at her nape. It reminded her of the way his fingers had circled her nipples—and other places. She flushed. Her female place heated at the memory. When next they went to bed, could she coax him to touch her there again?

Had he picked up Mither? She heard the sounds of a giant cat purring and peeked up at him. No, he had not. Oh, saints. He's listening again. She hummed and occupied her thoughts recalling names of saints with birth dates on the next two months. Until she saw Eric blocked their path, she did not realize they had reached the stone steps into the hall.

Eric cleared his throat. Not for the first time, if the laughter in his eyes was a clue. “Mereck, I have heard it said your bride's hums wake the beasts in yonder forest.”

“Hums? I didna ken she was humming.”

“How could you not notice?”

“Why, I believed her stomach protested its lack of food. I was polite and didna mention the matter. She has a hearty appetite, you see.” His conspiratorial whisper as he guided her to the high table was almost as loud as her humming had been.

Netta scowled and poked his ribs with her elbow. It was a healthy jab, but he didn't flinch. She started to pinch him too, but realized they had halted afore Damron and the visitors who stood beside the fireplace. She remembered her manners and curtsied while Mereck introduced her as his wife. A hand as smooth and white as the underbelly of a fish extended to assist her. Manners decreed she accept the offer. Rising, her eyes skimmed long skinny shanks in tight breeches.

When cold fingers clamped painfully on hers, she winced.

When wet lips touched her skin, she shuddered.

“Roger of Mortain and his overlord, Baron Hugh of Carswell, wish to offer their congratulations on our marriage, Netta. Is this not so, Mortain?” Mereck ignored the man's title. Tapping the baron's wrist with a firm finger, he reminded him to unhand his wife.

Fiery streaks of alarm jolted Netta. Her gaze flew to the hawkish face in front of her. She could not still a gasp. Roger's satisfied smirk sickened her.

She nodded her head, then tugged back her hand to rub the palm against her skirts. His cold eyes registered the gesture. Grasping for Mereck to tug him close, her hand brushed against his sex. She grabbed his belt, and had he not been ken to a giant, she would have toppled him in her haste.

Baron Carswell cleared his throat, drawing her attention. He was nothing like his vassal. His smile was open and friendly, and he was at ease with Damron and Mereck. He studied her face, and when he bent to kiss her hand, he frowned at the angry red marks before gently kissing them.

Later when they sat for their meal, though Mereck piled their trencher with all of the things she especially liked, Netta hardly ate. Every time she sought to put food in her mouth, that cold blue stare impaled her. She sighed with relief when the meal and entertainment ended and Mereck escorted her from the room.

She bolted into their room, and after Mereck shut the door, she checked to see he had latched it tight.

“Bran, please bring a tray of bread, cheese and a pitcher of wine.” While he waited for her to return, he stoked the fire.

Netta need not worry that Mereck would steal thoughts from her mind while he untied the back laces of her tunic. Her musings were not worthy. Far from it. They were cowardly, saints help her.

“Netta, you do me a disservice when you fear that nithing of a man. Do you doubt my skills to protect you?”

Mereck's voice sounded angry, mean even. Her mouth gaped. So much for his not pilfering chickenhearted thoughts. When he spun her around and scowled down at her, he would have scared a woman less brave than she.

He did not simply look mean. He looked furious.

Heaven help her. She had displeased him.

“'Tis not that I think you lacking in skills, husband. He is such a vile man.” Revulsion swept her on thinking of Roger's hands on her body the way Mereck had done last eve. She rubbed Roger's imagined touch from her arms. “When he gazed at me, I felt forewarned something terrible was about to happen. Did he mention he sought to wed me? Father refused his offer. What brings him here?”

“He went to Wycliffe to demand your father honor his suit. He has a signed missive from Baron Wycliffe stating if you were not honorably married, or the union unconsummated, Damron was to turn you over to him.” Mereck scowled.

“Mortain claims he sought to protect you. He brought Carswell with him to force Laird Damron's hand.” His lips hardened to a thin line. “He sought to return you to Wycliffe, to spare you from ‘being another Morgan leman,' as he put it.”

Netta gripped his ears and tugged his face close. “Don't let him take me, husband. I'll not stand for it.”

“Enough. You insult me.” He grasped her wrists to let her know she was to release him.

“You will not let him,” she ordered and gave his ears another healthy pull before she relaxed her fingers.

“Wife, I ken you are affrighted, but you will stop your foolish fear of him. He is but a man. Not much of one at that.”

“I know. Truly I do. But he is such a weasel of a man. Please do not turn your back on him.” She was glad when Bran returned with the food. Mereck wouldn't chastise her with the woman present. Until his anger faded, she would keep Bran close.

She asked Bran to brush her hair.

Without speaking, he took the brush from the maid's hand.

She asked Bran to help her change into her night garment.

Still silent, he took Netta's robe and nodded pointedly at the door.

Bran left.

Mereck stood in the center of the room and beckoned with one finger. Netta stared at it as if not understanding his meaning.

She knew, all right. She couldn't help it if she was distracted on recalling what those commanding hands had done to her body. Oh, rats and fleas. She squelched her thoughts, tore her gaze away and hummed a disjointed tune.

With effort, Mereck kept his face impassive, for he also remembered the satiny feel of his wife's body. He sighed and undressed. While he donned his robe, he watched her pretend he had not bid her come to him. At the rate she hummed and flitted like a hummingbird from one part of the room to another, it would be time for Matins at dawn afore she obeyed him.

Instead, he went to her. He talked to her about the people who would begin to arrive for Connor and Elise's wedding. While he occupied her mind, he removed her chemise and wrapped her in her robe.

He picked up a cushion from one chair and placed it on the floor in front of the other. He tugged her hand and sat, gesturing for her to sit on the cushion. When she eyed him from the corner of her eyes and settled herself, he took long, even strokes of the brush through her raven curls.

Her head bobbed lightly with each sweep of the brush, and he kept up the soothing motion until her shoulders relaxed. He enjoyed playing with her curls. Never had he known hair could hold such warmth. He stretched a hank of hair straight, then smiled when it coiled back around his fingers.

He did not intrude on her thoughts. Once he sensed they were serene, he put down the brush, gripped her waist and stood her between his legs as easily as if he lifted a child.

Turning her to face him, he slid the ribbon free at her waist. The robe slithered open, baring her body from her neck to the lush, ebony curls guarding her sex. His breath caught. He placed his hands on her slender hips and smoothed them in a long caress down to her thighs. He nudged her robe wider to cup her pert bottom. The tips of his fingers caressed her silky skin and teased the hidden area between her legs.

Netta pushed at his wrists. He ignored her. She would soon grow accustomed to his touch. A rosy blush wandered from her face to her breasts. He pulled her close and nuzzled his face in her perfect stomach. His tongue teased the hollow of her navel; his teeth playfully nipped her skin. With a will of their own, his hands made their way to the sides of her breasts. Drawing back, he admired the sight.

She stared at his hands. Had she noticed the stark contrast between his tanned skin and her creamy flesh? He watched her while his thumbs traced the pink areola of her breasts. The skin puckered, and a soft sigh escaped her. When he teased a now erect nipple, she shivered. Blushing even more, she again grasped his wrists and tried to pull them away.

“We should not do this, Mereck. Someone could see us.” She tugged harder. “We should blow out the candles, draw the bed curtains and get beneath the covers.”

“Who will see, wife? We are alone. I have latched the door.”

While he watched her trying to think of another excuse, he hid a smile. When she found one, he knew, for her eyes lit.

“God.” She nodded emphatically.

“God? You are afraid God will see me make love to my wife?”

“Not only God. Our guardian angels too. And what about all the spirits who must abide in the castle? These stones have seen many lives come and go. They can all see us.”

“I believe God and the spirits are much too busy to spend time spying on our bed-sport, wife.”

When he removed his thumbs and nuzzled his face at the warm skin between her breasts, she sighed with relief. His hot, moist tongue traced circles around a nipple, evoking a moan. One hand splayed across her lower back while he molded and stroked her other breast. When his mouth closed around her nipple and suckled, she turned to liquid fire.

His hand left her back to roam over her hips and between her legs. His searching fingers found burning heat and wetness seeping there. She was swiftly learning to respond to his touch. He sucked in a deep breath as his eager finger entered her. His heart raced feeling her muscles squeeze it, searing him with her heat.

Breathing heavy and ragged, he spread his robe wide and rose to slide his naked body up over hers. As his turgid sex caressed her, her eyes closed, and she tilted her head back and sighed with pleasure. He licked her lower lip, then nibbled there until she opened for him. His tongue thrust between her willing lips to explore and tease her. When her breathless whimpers increased and she started pushing frantically against his hand, he carried her to the bed and laid her upon it.

Mereck's tarse pulsed in painful demand that he satisfy its need.

Easing himself between her legs, he gave his tarse a gift.

He let it beg entrance to paradise.

If he did not leash his desire, she would soon have the rest of him begging. Wanting Netta's pleasure in this mating, he nudged his shaft aside, ignoring it. He focused on her responses as his fingers circled and caressed her. When she gasped, thrusting her hips upward, he entered slowly, then withdrew even slower. He played with her tiny pleasure nub until her gasps turned to moans of delight.

Her hands grabbed his shoulders and she tugged at him, striving to pull him closer. He held back, not giving her what she wanted. She bit his neck, wrapped her legs around him and lunged upward. He chuckled and seated himself firmly. She cried out in satisfaction and jerked up against him. Her unschooled rhythm was spasmodic. Holding her hips, he showed her the way.

Netta tensed, her eager cries increased. He happily obliged her when her movements became more urgent. His thrusts quickened and became demanding, his gasps louder than hers, his own cries building. Only when her muscles convulsed and squeezed around him did he allow his release. She arched, rigid with her climax. He lunged faster, deeper; his seed exploded from him and flooded against the entry to her womb.

“Ohh, saaaints!”

He would have laughed, but he was too occupied trying to catch his heart afore it burst from his body.

Mereck made love to her again that night, and he did so with amazing frequency. On feeling the first tremors of release, Netta grabbed his hair and pulled his mouth to hers.

 

Netta's loud responses each night to Mereck's lovemaking embarrassed her, for surely the whole castle heard her. It did not help her dignity having Connor and Eric grin each time they saw her. She was too mortified to worry about Roger and didn't think it strange that Brianna or Meghan was always at her side.