Midnight's Bride (32 page)

After breaking her fast one morn, she and Meghan practiced archery in the rear bailey where Mereck had provided a target for their use. The castle overflowed with guests for Elise and Connor's wedding. So many strange men were about that Mereck did not want her in the outer bailey.

She decided a young warrior, Thomas by name, had very light duties, for he was always nearby. After Meghan sent him for goblets of cool water, a strange warrior approached to deliver a message.

“Milady, the falconer Rory asks that you come at once. Something is amiss with your sparrowhawk.” Gesturing with his hands, he urged Meghan to hurry.

“Dinna leave the area, Netta,” Meghan warned. “Thomas will return soon, and I canna take ye with me. The mews be full to burstin' with falcon handlers the guests have brought.” When Netta nodded, Meghan took off at a run, the man behind her.

Netta sat and leaned back against the target, thinking to rest until Thomas and Meghan returned. Archery training was strenuous work. Her every muscle ached from strain. Though not all were from archery. Most were from another type of practice. She blushed thinking on the praise Mereck had given her newly acquired skills.

Last eventide, he claimed she had near killed him.

Netta knew it was praise, because he groaned when he said it.

A sound intruded on her musing. She tilted her head, listening. A most piteous wail. She stood and walked closer to the sound, but it seemed to draw farther away. Hurrying, she followed the little cries, for now she recognized them. Her Sprite meowed as if needing her help.

She neared the postern gate and heard the kitten on the other side. With surprise, she noted the gate was unbarred and the lock missing. She looked around, hoping to see Thomas returning, but did not spy him or anyone else she could turn to for help. She feared leaving the castle walls, but she couldn't leave her helpless kitten to fend for itself.

Netta shoved the old gate until it opened enough for her to peer around. Sprite was close to the edge of the cliff, caught in a bush with nettled leaves. In her struggles to free herself, she became even more entangled. Poor little mite. Netta squeezed through the gate and rushed to her. She crooned, soothing the kit while she worked to free her. Finally, she clasped Sprite to her breast. The kitten quivered from the cold wind, and the sounds of the pounding surf below. Knowing it would feel more secure, she put her in her tunic pocket.

The postern door slammed shut. Startled, Netta spun to see the hunched shape of a man coming toward her. Her feet slipped on the loose stones. She lost her balance. Frantic now, she scrambled for firmer footing. The ground crumbled. She started to slip off the edge of the cliff. The man's fingers clawed at her shoulder, the nails digging furrows in her flesh. Still, her leg scraped over the side. She screamed and grabbed for the prickly bush. The limb she clung to snapped.

She hurtled downward and soon came to a bone-crunching stop on a narrow ledge, a ledge blessed with a small bent tree that stayed her from falling onto the breakers below. Though it seemed a far drop, it was not.

Her pulse raced, and terror had such a firm grip on her that she fought nausea. When she stopped screaming long enough to gather her wits, she swallowed, afraid to turn. If she pressed her back to the cliff wall, she would face the vast emptiness and the pounding surf below. To turn her back to the edge was as frightening. She had best stay on her back.

Netta gasped, then bit her lip while she checked Sprite. She tried to shield the kitten from seeing their dire predicament. Wrapping her arms around it, she ventured to look up to find how far she had fallen.

She cried out in surprise.

Mereck had not killed him!

The man who had abducted her was very much alive. As if he had not already been repulsive enough, his huge nose was even more offensive than before.

“Stupid bitch,” he snarled at her. “Stand and give me yer 'ands so I can pull ye up. I warn ye, if ye don't get yer skinny arse up here, I'll kill ye flatter'n a cesspit rat.”

Seeing she did not intend to obey him, he rained curses down on her. He darted fearful glances over his shoulder at the gate. Assured they were yet alone, he hurled rocks at her head. She raised her hands to block them. They struck her forearms, her elbows. She cried out with pain. He scuttled away. Afeared he was going to find a way to get to her, she screamed until her voice almost left her. Unknowing, she cried out one word again and again.

Mereck.

She looked to her left. Fear sent vomit spewing from her lips. A very long way down was the teeming ocean. Huge waves burst over the rocks, sending foam and spray flying. She swallowed, determined to look only at the sky. Gulls circled above, their cries raising such a clamor she feared no one would hear her own.

She squeezed her eyes tight and redoubled her efforts. If she was loud enough, her Mereck would hear her. Finally, the sound of her name came to her. Clutching Sprite to her neck, she blinked between the kit's ears. Mereck smiled down at her. How could he be so calm? Did he not realize she could plunge to her death?

Damron, Connor, and almost every man in the castle was there above her. Mereck had a thick rope looped between his legs and knotted around his waist. Damron, Connor and Baron Hugh of Carswell held the other end. They lowered Mereck to the foot of the ledge so falling stones would not strike her. How had he reached her so swiftly? Soon he cradled her against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin.

“You may stop screechin', wife, or I willna hear for the next sennight.” He patted her head when she shut her mouth. “Do you know you howled near as loudly as when we are lovin'? 'Tis how I knew it was you and not some lovelorn lass pining for a tall Highlander to come to her.”

His outlandish remarks had the desired effect. She didn't notice she was dangling in her husband's arms—over a cliff.

When they stood on firm ground, he waited to have the rope removed.

“Sweet Christ, woman. Why in all your blessed saints' names did you decide to sit on a ledge?” His shouting near blew her hair back from her face.

Netta was not frightened anymore. She was angry.

She snuggled Sprite between her breasts and glared. She told Mereck exactly why she was laying, not sitting, on the cursed ledge. When she finished her story, she was no longer angry at him.

Mereck was angry, though. Beyond angry. He was livid. Nay, furious was more like it. The other men were livid.

After her husband carried her to the keep, he left her in the women's care. Soon after, they heard the thunder of galloping horses pounding over the drawbridge. Tripping over their feet in haste, the women raced to the window.

“They go to find the bluidy bastard. Ye need not fear the man again, for I ken
he
willna return without him.” Meghan spoke with calm conviction.

Netta's gaze followed to where the women stared.

M'Famhair
streaked ahead of Damron and the warriors.

His lips drawn in a snarl, Baresark straddled the steed's bare back.

Fools! They believe I search for Lynette's attacker to avenge her.
Roger knew where the lout hid, but he would not lead Blackthorn's warriors to him. Thinking of his plans, his heartbeat quickened. He slowed his mount until he dropped behind, then eased the horse around and made his way to the meeting place.

 

Late evening found Damron's searchers a short distance from their northeastern border. Damron's squire, Spencer, found the body. When the young man retched all he had eaten that day, no one blamed him. To distract him, Damron sent him to gather the rest of the warriors to this spot.

The body lay in a small clearing, with arms and legs tied to four different trees. The killer had crushed the victim's hands. A bloody rock rested beside the left wrist.

He must have stuffed the man's mouth with cloth, for the material now rested beneath the bloody head. His tongue lay stretched across his forehead. The eyes were missing. The bulbous nose no longer adorned his face, nor were his ears where they should be. The three lay between his legs where his sex had been. The killer had stuffed the man's prick into his mouth. His ballocks lay one on each side of his head.

“Lucifer's pox'd tarse. What manner of man could have done this?” Connor's horrified voice interrupted Damron's study of the body.

“No sane man, but one embracing madness.” Damron glanced up as Mereck squatted beside him.

Mereck studied the body in the same detached way. He, Connor and Marcus agreed it was Netta's abductor. Mereck raised his eyebrows questioningly at Damron.

“Do you see the pattern, or do I imagine it?” When his brother nodded, Mereck continued. “His was no random killing. For certs, it relates to my wife. The madman tortured the varlet for failing his duty.

“He plucked out his eyes for he saw Netta unclothed; his nose because he smelled her scent; his ears for hearing her voice; his tongue because he dared try to kiss her; his hands for touching. Not the least was his sex.”

“Aye, but how did his master learn of it?” Damron asked. “He couldna been stupid eneuch to tell the man his deeds?”

Connor raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head.

“He had no need. We passed many men on the paths when we brought Netta back to Blackthorn. Any one of them could have seen her battered condition. Word could have reached him on how the lout treated her.” He rose and frowned a warning that someone approached.

“Merciful God! If this is the Highlander's way of taking revenge, I must tell you it is monstrous.” Mortain held a lacy, perfumed cloth to his mouth and gagged daintily.

“Don't be an ass,” Baron Carswell voice lashed out. When Roger drew up his shoulders in shock and stepped back, his expression fearful, the baron glared at him in contempt.

As was his habit, Mereck kept his face impassive. Roger disgusted him. Did the man pay the king a scutage tax to avoid the sight of blood? Mereck strove to hear his thoughts, but it was as if the man kept his mind on naught but trivial happenings apurpose.

They cut the ropes binding the body to the trees. They did not bury the remains deep. The wolves and animals of the forest would clean the forest of carrion.

Since it was too late to return to Blackthorn this night, they rode west for several leagues before making camp. In unspoken agreement, Damron, Mereck and Connor kept their eyes on the Englishmen.

 

Netta feared Mereck delayed his return because he did not trust himself to deal with her. She should have found someone to go with her to search for Sprite. At the time, its cries had frightened her, and she had not thought it through.

Feeling far too alone to be comfortable, she couldn't fall asleep. And she was cold. She missed his massive, hot body alongside hers.

She padded to the door and looked out onto the hallway to find Sir Thomas, a Saxon knight who came in Brianna's original escorts from England, posted there. When she told him what she wished to do, he nodded and escorted her to Meghan's room. She would sleep with her and Elise. They would never know she was there.

They knew.

Burrowing under the covers like a squirrel hiding from a hawk, she crawled between the two sleeping women. Her sigh failed to awake them, but when she could not get warm, she scooted tight against Elise's back. Unfortunately, she nudged her off the bed. Elise's shriek of alarm brought Thomas, sword in hand, charging into the room.

The poor man's eyes stretched wide at the sight of three beautiful and scantily clad women, their hair tumbling about their faces. He swallowed and backed out of the room.

Shortly after the sun rose on a misty morn, the warriors returned. Netta was glad she was in the hall with the other women. She didn't want to be alone with Mereck when he remembered she had broken her word and went outside the postern gate. By chance he had not yelled at her before because he had seen how affrighted she had been.

She hated that everyone knew her weakness about heights. Meghan did not have this fear, for she had watched the Scotswoman climb to the highest point of a tree. Megan's reason was very strange. She did it for the fun of it.

Netta studied the warriors entering the hall. Not a speck of blood stained any of them. Seeing Mereck bore no new cuts or bruises on his face, she sighed with relief. Before the men retired to Damron's solar, Mereck told her they found her abductor. He had been killed in an accident. He didn't explain what the accident had been.

Netta started to leave the room with Meghan and Elise when Roger's loud voice speaking to the blacksmith stopped her.

“Sharpen my sword to a fine edge. It appears Blackthorn harbors a berserk murderer close. Why, did you know he trussed and butchered a man much like one would a boar? Even plucked the eyes from his head. When we came upon the scene, Baresark still knelt beside the body.”

Baron Carswell came through the doorway startling Elise into a shriek. With lips compressed in disapproval, Carswell glared at Roger.

Heartsick at what Roger inferred, Netta ran from the room and kept on running until she burst through the doorway atop a winding flight of stairs. Surprised to find herself at the highest point of the castle, she blinked away the light drizzle of rain and stared around. Knowing how far above the ground she was turned her knees to porridge. She leaned back against the wall and slid down to sit on the damp stone.

Oh, saints! She was going to be sick.

Mereck had promised never again to lose control. But that was when she could see him. She hadn't been with him the day before. How could he have done such a thing? He could not, of course. He was far too gentle with her to be able to commit such a horrible act as that foul murder.

The door beside her scraped opened. She glanced up, but instead of the bare calves of a Highlander, Roger's skinny shanks stood there. He bent close to her ear.

“I thought to bring you the man's prick as a token. But unfortunately your insane husband lodged it too deeply in the dead man's mouth. I did not want to bloody my hands removing it.”

She covered her mouth and gagged. His small, pale eyes gleamed at her. His long nose twitched. He reached out sickly white fingers and grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“What do you here?” Sir Thomas' hand grasped Roger's shoulder and thrust him aside like he weighed no more than a small child clinging to his mother's plaid.

“I thought to comfort the lady.” Roger sneered at her. “She is distressed over her beast of a husband.”

She did not have to think about it anymore. This foul man had cleared her doubts.

Mereck could never be so vicious. Roger could.

“Nay. You lie. Mereck would not do such as you described.” Netta shoved him with both hands as she shouted the words.

If Sir Thomas had not stepped between them, she knew Roger would have struck her. Before she turned her back on him, she grabbed Thomas by his sword belt and tugged. She knew he would follow her anyway, but she wanted to be sure.

Since leaving Wycliffe she had turned into a coward. Hopefully no one would notice that she didn't intend to ever be alone with the baron again.

They noticed.

For the rest of the day, she made sure Sir Thomas knew her every move. If she went from one end of the great hall to the other, she was not content that he kept his eyes on her. She marched over to him, cleared her throat and pretended she wanted to talk to him as she went about her business. She wore him out. As distraught as she was, she started to do one thing, forgot it and started another. When he reminded her, she apologized and declared she didn't usually act this empty-headed.

Netta wore herself out, too. Walking to their room that night, Mereck told her he wanted to talk to her. Fearful he intended to lecture her about the postern gate, she asked him to make love first. Actually, she didn't ask him for the loving.

She demanded it.

He showed her what an accommodating husband he could be.

She showed him her gratitude.

After her usual vocal release, she sighed and went to sleep.

 

“Netta, you will not believe all that is happening. Look at the burning crosses in the front bailey. Do you hear Meghan? She plays that lovely wailing thing, and Brianna says Mother and Father are coming, and are you not excited?”

“Elise.” Connor, standing beside Mereck, scowled at her from the doorway.

“Uh-oh, I forgot. I'm not supposed to bother you.” She streaked across the room and disappeared behind the screen.

Connor followed. Elise scrunched down, and when his big hands clamped on her shoulders, she howled.

“When will you learn to obey me, Mousie?”

“Netta heard the screeching and saw the crosses too. She was staring out the window. How could she not look with those great beasts with their shaggy horses and bare legs right there in the bailey?” Elise blushed. The wind had lifted more than one plaid and bared its occupant's posterior.

“What did you see that brought the pink to your cheeks?”

Connor hauled Elise close to kiss and nibble her lips, cup her backside and lift her to grind her against his hardened sex. “You willna look at the men when the wind is high. Dinna think I willna punish you if I see you staring at their bare skin.”

They went below to the great hall to greet guests. Before the sun was at its full height, all the rooms in the keep, the towers and the outer buildings filled to bursting with men and women representing their clans. Lesser clan members set up their tents in the open baileys between the curtain walls and the inner walls. The tubs in the bathing room would not be adequate for the huge crush of people. Mereck recommended the close-by lake, the water troughs for the horses, and the buckets at the wells.

“I will be most angry if I find you lurking beside a doorway peering at naked men about their bathing.” Connor eyed Elise. “If you must needs spy on a man's body, you are welcome to bathe mine.”

Elise elbowed him in his ribs. “I will not sneak looks at naked bodies, you horrid man.” Her voice rose in indignation. “Why, if Father heard you suggest such, he would smash your nose and maybe even break that proud head of yours. That is what he would do, and he would not let me marry you on the morrow.”

Soft snickers and loud guffaws of laughter burst out in the room. Elise tried to flee. Connor held her still.

“I hear the piper calling a Sassenach tune. Your father is about to enter the gates. Do you not want to greet them as they come, so he can start beating me to a pulp?” She ran for the door. Chuckling, Connor followed his bride.

 

Netta cried through Elise's wedding. The more she cried, the more nervous the bride became. Mereck scowled.

“Wife, you insult me with your weeping. You should smile and show her that marriage is a happy affair.” He hesitated and looked uncertain. “You act like she is being sacrificed on the altar.”

The minute the couple repeated their vows and the family went inside the chapel for the nuptial mass, Netta's tears dried. He decided it must be a woman thing. He changed his mind when tears rolled from Elise's father's eyes. Sassenachs. He snorted in disgust. No man worth his salt would shed tears o'er a woman.

Though Netta pleased him, he refused to acknowledge how important she had become to him. He dared not love her. That he felt rage was a natural thing when that offal had again tried to harm her. When someone threatened his possessions, any man would be angry.

For truth, it was the only reason he kept her clamped to his side. He wouldn't allow Mortain anywhere near her. The man told anyone and everyone how he could not wait to secure his alliance with Netta's sister. If he was so impatient, why in Hades didna he leave?

Mereck doubted how interested Roger was in taking a wife. His short strides were unmanly. Most of all, Mereck disliked how Roger watched Mereck's squire Dafydd.

The visitors would spend another day at the castle for the men to enjoy a hunt. When they returned and before Roger dismounted, Mereck would suggest he hie himself back to England. He scowled and realized he could not insist the man leave. He needed to consider Baron Carswell. Had he not promised Netta to control his rage, he would toss the skinny bastard off the cliff.