Midnight's Bride (34 page)

“Are you hurt?” Fear gilded his eyes.

“Nay, but I know not what to do for you.” Her voice quavered.

“My wound,” he whispered. “Tell me of it.”

“'Tis through your shoulder. The blade entered above your ribs.” She stroked and patted his cheek with a shaking hand. “Never have I seen so much blood.”

“Love, remove the pouches tied to
M'Famhair.
Send him to Blackthorn.” He repeated the command in Gaelic for her to say to the great war horse. She hurried to do as he bid her. Before the destrier disappeared through the trees, she returned to Mereck.

“The flask.” He gasped out the words. “I would drink.”

She grabbed the pouch from the bottom and dumped everything out in her haste. After removing the plug on the flask, she held it to his lips. He took a healthy swallow of potent whiskey. If it would dull his pain, she would give him all he wished. When he could not swallow fast enough, and it spilled from the sides of his lips, she realized she was being too generous.

“Press your knee to my wound, my love. Cut my plaid to bind the pads tight.”

While she cut long strips of the plaid, he clamped his teeth together. He tried to help her as she wound them around him. Each time he flinched she cried out as if it was she who suffered. When he fainted, she worked as fast as she could.

After she finished, she found corn meal, a plate and flint in the second pouch. She ran to get a blanket tied behind her own saddle. Skittering around Roger's body, she used the blanket to cover Mereck. The sun would soon set, and 'twas cold next to the falls.

Without letting him out of her sight, she gathered every branch and twig she could find. Every few moments she raced back to feel his face and listen to his heartbeat. When she had collected enough wood, she fought with the flint until a spark ignited twigs and a small branch.

Saints be praised. She soon had a decent fire.

What were those horrible sounds? Gasping, she looked up. Wolves! They howled in the distance. They scented blood. She didn't know how to keep them at bay. By chance, if she pulled Roger's body deep into the woods, they would be occupied with it and not come for Mereck? She shuddered and rubbed her arms.

She stared at Roger's body. His sword remained clenched in his death grip. Mereck's sword stayed embedded where she had thrust it. Gagging, she turned Roger and grasped the hilt. She pulled. It wouldn't come loose. After several attempts, she placed her foot against the dead man's ribs and tugged it free. She carried it over to Mereck, placed it on the ground near to his hand and returned to stand over Roger.

Netta grabbed Roger's limp legs, closed her eyes and pulled. Before she moved him more than five paces away, she slipped and fell. Scrambling to her feet, she turned around, grasped his ankles beneath her armpits and pulled with all her might. When she could drag him no farther, she dropped his feet and ran back to Mereck.

Along with his sword, she placed a large branch beside her. If wolves came close, she would frighten them away with fire. If the fire did not work, she would kill them all.

Just see if she did not!

Each time Mereck opened his eyes, she dribbled whisky into his mouth. It helped his pain, for he slept soon afterward. She waited. Hearing the wolves draw closer, she decided to make such a ruckus it would frighten them away.

She sang. Loud. It was quite impressive. The sounds of the wolves diminished. Proud that she had thought of the trick, she sang and shouted until she realized horsemen were surrounding her. Her voice cut off in mid-word.

“Ye can stop caterwauling now, Netta. Did ye and Mereck have a wee disagreement?” Damron leapt off Angel and stooped beside his brother before it registered on her that he thought she had done this dreadful deed to her husband.

“Do not dare say I would harm even the smallest hair on his head.” She bellowed so loud it startled her husband awake.

“Please, for the love of God. An armorer is pounding a white-hot blade betwixt my ears.” He eyed her warily while whispering to his brother, “She sings God-awful loud, does she not?” Seeing Damron's grin, his eyes narrowed in warning. “Be careful, brother. She killed a man with mine own sword.”

“Well now, Netta. Ye didna do the damage. But where is the body of the one who did? I dinna ken ye lettin' the man go who would cause such a paltry wound. 'Tis an insult, it is.”

“Paltry? You call his horrid wounds paltry?” She fisted her hand, lunged across her husband and struck Damron's chin as hard as she could. Lord! Her hand hurt. Damron's brows lifted. He smiled. Her tears stopped. She was too angry to cry.

He had achieved his purpose.

“There is a body. If the wolves have not carried it away. I dragged it as far as I could.”

At the thought of what the wolves might have done, she scooted around so her back faced them and hung her head between her arms braced against a tree trunk. She was sick again. When she turned back, Connor wrapped a warm plaid around her. Soon after, Marcus and several warriors returned. They had bundled Roger's body in a blanket and tied it to his horse they found tethered downstream.

Had they needed to fight the wolves to collect the corpse?

Damron and Connor kept up a steady stream of insults to Mereck while they helped lift him up on Angel. He whispered back in kind. His brother mounted behind him. Damron wrapped his plaid around them both and put his arms around Mereck to hold him secure against himself.

Fortunately it was a short ride to the keep. For every twitch Netta spied on her husband's face, she cried out.

“For truth, Netta, yer shouts and makin' Mereck laugh with yer curses hurts his battered head more than Angel's gait. I dinna ken jumpin' Jehoshaphats or flippin' gators. What manner o' beasts are they?”

“Beasts? I'm not sure. I must ask Brianna.”

“Lucifer's toenails,” Damron shouted. “She is teachin' ye to curse? One of these days that lass will drive me to beat her, just see if I dinna.”

Fortunately for Mereck's pounding head, they arrived at the drawbridge to Blackthorn. Everyone awaited their return, but the crowd cleared a path for them. Mereck insisted Damron let him walk. When his feet touched the ground, his brother stood on one side, Connor on the other. Holding him around his waist, they kept him upright. They waited to see if he blacked out. He did. With Marcus' help, they carried him to his room.

Damron and Connor cut away Mereck's clothing. Netta was grateful to have Brianna's skill in caring for him. Bleddyn had not yet returned, for he had gone with Elise's parents to Ridley Castle. He delivered a copy of the signed marriage contract to Netta's father.

Baron Wycliffe could not invalidate the union.

As Brianna mixed a potion to dull Mereck's pain and help him to sleep, she soothed Netta.

“Before I came here to live, I often worked to heal wounds. Bleddyn and I have found that frequent washing of hands around an illness helps to prevent further distress. We boil all dressings for wounds and keep them in the herbarium. Bleddyn has taught me all he knows of herbs and potions. Rarely do our patients have infections or fevers.” Her words reassured Netta.

Damron lifted Mereck's head so he could drink the potion Brianna held to his lips. While they waited for it to take effect, Brianna explored the swelling on Mereck's head and tended his other injuries. When he was in a deep sleep, Damron and Connor held him still as she probed and cleansed the gaping wound on his shoulder. Satisfied, she began sewing his flesh together.

With each stitch used to close it, Netta cried out. Brianna continued talking in her calm voice as she worked.

“Only when a wound becomes contaminated after an injury do we have a problem. You did a splendid job of caring for him before Damron found you. Mereck will have no trouble.”

Netta would not leave Mereck's side. At nightfall, Brianna insisted she sleep. Netta curled up alongside him, keeping one hand touching him. She woke at his slightest movement. Brianna dosed him with her potions and soothed Netta with assurances that Mereck would soon be good as new. At the end of the fifth day, Brianna declared he was healing without problems.

 

“E'en if I live to be that hundred-year-old man you begged God for, I will ne'er tire of hearing you love me, wife,” Mereck said one eve a fortnight later. “But I will soon become hard of hearing if you hum from morning till night, my heart. Could you not do so quietly?”

Netta's outraged gasp was so strong it was a wonder the bed curtains didna flap.

“Rats! You are stealing my thoughts again.”

“I would have no need to steal your thoughts if you would but give them to me. Canna you tell me you love me?”

“You would have to be witless not to know I love you,” Netta whispered. “Did I not kill a man? When I must leave the room, I run every step of the way until I'm back again. If that is not love, I know not what to call it.”

He smiled and grasped her hand to pull her down beside him.

“Have I told you this day how much you mean to me?”

“This day? You have never told me any such thing.”

“Nay? Hmm.” He rubbed his chin. “Then have I told you lately how much I love you?” Seeing her blush, he grinned.

“Lately? You have never told me that either.”

“Nay? Hmm. When I call you
mo gradh,
my love, dinna you know its meaning?” He rubbed his face against her hair and inhaled her sweet rose scent. “You have been my love from the day you put the worms in my stew. You will be my love when our grandchildren are old and gray.”

“Worms made you love me? You are most strange, husband.”

“Nay. Not the wiggly things, but the deviltry in your eyes when you did it.”

“Yet you let me eat from your trencher, with worms, when you knew all along the disgusting things were there?”

Horrified at the thought that mayhap a worm had been on her first bites of stew, Netta slapped her hand over her mouth. Jumping off the bed, she grabbed the nearby bucket. Mereck held her head and assured her that, before she could eat it, Elise had knocked the lone portion graced with a worm out of her hand. When she had control of her stomach, she grabbed the water pitcher from the bedside table.

“If Elise had not stopped me, would you have kept silent?” She peered at him through narrowed eyes.

“Of course.”

Poised to pour the cold water over him, Mereck grabbed her. They laughed and tussled over the pitcher. The water spilled, drenching them both.

“You didna let me finish, love. I wouldna have spoken, for I would have taken your hand and lifted the onion to show you what you drooled over. Hmm. Knowing your hearty appetite, I wondered if you would have popped it into your mouth anyway? Extra meat, mayhap?”

Netta howled with laughter. Mereck pulled her beneath him and began to kiss her witless.

It was a beautiful night for loving.

Mereck proved how much he loved his Netta.

Again and again and again.

Bleddyn reassured Mereck, for nigh on the hundredth time, that Netta's labor progressed smoothly. They did not need Bleddyn's presence in the birthing chamber, for Brianna saw no signs of trouble.

He also assured Mereck, time and time again, that helping Netta through her travail would not harm Brianna's babe. She would labor with her own bairn in another month, and she glowed with health.

Mereck wondered if Brianna and Bran's hearing would e'er be the same? Netta made up curses of her own instead of borrowing from someone else. He sighed when she shouted she would kill that “flipping, mind-eating, savage barbarian.”

Conner grinned and rolled his eyes at the other men. Netta's last shriek proved too much for Mereck. He shoved past Eric and Marcus, whom Brianna had stationed outside the room to keep him from entering, and crashed through the doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks.

His wife's bloodcurdling scream did not divert his attention from the sight of his bairn entering the world. Seeing the blood, his mind screamed with memories of witnessing Brianna's terrible ordeal, and of the Baresark legend.

Hearing a loud crash, the men ran into Netta's room.

The bed had not fallen. Mereck had. He lay passed out cold on the floor, his face as white as Brianna's roses.

Damron shook his head in disgust as they left the room. Some time later, a very sheepish Mereck awoke and squeezed his eyes shut. Damn. His head hurt. He pushed himself to his feet, gripped his head with his big hands and wove his way to his wife's side.

“You have stopped screaming curses about me, love. Does it mean you forgive me?”

He sounded so hopeful that Netta laughed. And she cursed him again with the pain the laughter caused.

“Did you enjoy your rest, my fearless Baresark? Had you slept any longer, you would have missed our son's christening.”

 

The two brothers stood beside the bed where Netta slept. Mereck held his swaddled son in his arms. Even a blind man would have sensed the pride radiating from every pore in Mereck's body. Grinning, he peeled back the plaid to show Damron what a beautiful son Netta had given him.

When the bairn lay naked to their gaze, Mereck pointed out that he had beautiful black hair like his mother. His eyes would surely be her lovely violet color, for now they seemed deep indigo.

He had all his fingers. Mereck counted to make sure.

And all his toes…

“God's holy teeth!” The words were a whispered shout, if such a thing exists. “Look at me puir wee Donald, brither.”

Mereck stared down at what marked the babe his heir and not his heiress. His eyes misted and he gulped. The fact he reverted to a Scottish brogue proved his distress.

“Dinna tell me darlin' Netta, but our bairn has a dreadful deformity.”

Damron looked at his brother's son and frowned.

“What deformity, brither? I see no extra limbs or strange marks.”

“Blessed sweet Jesus. Look at his ballocks.” Mereck whispered so low Damron leaned closer to hear. “Do ye no' see how huge they be? Oh, me puir son,” he groaned. “The lad will ne'er be able to walk with sech a burden betwixt his legs.”

Brianna chuckled behind him. He turned and glared at her.

“It's no deformity, Mereck. All wee boys are born with swollen, er, ballocks. In a sennight they'll be normal.”

Mereck's relieved sigh whooshed so strong it fluttered the hair over Brianna's forehead.

Everyone tiptoed in to see his treasure, then left him alone with his loves. He went to lay beside Netta, the babe snuggled tight to his chest. She woke after a time and smiled at him.

“What think you of our son, husband?” Netta's voice was hoarse from all the shouting she had done.

“He is the most beautiful bairn I have e'er seen.” Mereck didna consider he had seen few unclothed nurslings. “Look, Netta. See how perfect our wee bairn is.”

He stripped the babe of his swaddling to show her their bare-arsed marvel.

“Oh my word, love,” Netta exclaimed, staring down at her naked son. “He is your very image.”

Seeing her wide eyes, Mereck's heart was near to breaking.

“Do ye think we have made another Baresark?”

“Nay, love. Not a Baresark.” She reached up and kissed him between his eyes. “One day, our Donald will be exactly like his father—a kind and gentle man.”