by Lynsay Sands
"A pitcher of whiskey on an empty stomach first thing in the morn will do that to you." The woman didn't sound terribly sympathetic. "And you gave yourself a nice goose egg on your forehead when you fell on your face, too. I'm sure that's not helping. Here, sit up and get this into you. It'll help ease the pain."
"Fell on my face?" Alex growled, eyes popping open. His gaze landed on the wooden mug she was holding out and, after the briefest hesitation, he sat up to take it.
"Aye," she assured him. "Right at the feet of your betrothed, too. Made a fine first impression I'm sure. Drink it," she added, sounding a bit impatient when he started to lower the mug full of vile-smelling liquid, his mouth opening on another question.
Alex briefly considered reminding the woman of her place and that he was her lord, but knew from experience that neither reminder would impress her. It was hard to impress someone with your power and position when she'd changed your nappies as a babe. Grimacing, he didn't even bother attempting to argue with the stubborn old woman, but quickly downed the drink. It tasted as bad as it smelled, of course. He wasn't surprised. Bet's medicinals had always been the most god-awful tasting brews, but they also usually worked damned well. He would have been grateful for her vile concoctions and less-than-tender mercies more than a time or two in Tunis.
Managing to down the entire contents in two healthy swallows, Alex grimaced at the taste as he handed the mug back and then growled, "What was that about my betrothed being here?"
"She and her kin arrived just as Grefin was making his attempt to yank out your bad tooth," Bet announced, and there was no mistaking the amusement on her wrinkled face.
Alex ignored it for now, instead scowling as the fuzzy memory of the morning's misery slid through his mind. Just poking at the tooth had caused agony, but the blacksmith's clamping his pincers on it and trying to yank it from his jaw had been hell. The pain of it had been so shockingly fierce that Alex hadn't, at first, even been able to find the breath to roar his agony. But then something had distracted the men holding him, and he'd managed to break free and grab Grefin by the throat to bring his torture to an end. The blacksmith had dropped his pincers and tried to back away, and the moment he wasn't fiddling with his tooth, Alex had got his breath back and roared his fury as he'd followed the man, stumbling to his feet before the two of them had tumbled to the floor.
He could only think it was a good thing he'd roared because that had caught his men's attention and recalled them to their duty. It was probably the only thing that had saved Grefin a good thrashing. Alex also decided it had been a good thing Grefin had insisted on their waiting half an hour for the whiskey he'd downed to take effect before making the attempt. If there was a worse pain than that he'd suffered while numbed by whiskey, Alex had no desire to experience it. Honestly, he'd taken sword wounds in Tunis that had hurt less.
The thought made him search around inside his mouth for the tooth in question. Relief slid through him when he felt a hole where the tooth had once been.
"He got the tooth out once you were in your bed," Bet announced. "Grefin said it was much easier to yank out when you weren't fighting him. It only took him a moment once you were unconscious."
Alex grimaced at the claim and shook his head. Those vague memories of Grefin's struggling to remove his tooth down in the great hall and then his attacking him were the last things he recalled. He had no recollection at all of Merewen Stewart's arrival. "Why is my betrothed here?"
"To marry you, why else?" Bet said with a shrug as she began to put away her pouch of medicinals.
Alex scowled at the woman. "She should have waited for me to go to her, not--"
"You were dragging your feet over the business, were you not?" Bet asked dryly. "It seems she grew weary of the waiting and came to see the deed done."
Alex pursed his lips with displeasure. He wasn't ready to marry. He'd planned to take the time to get matters in order here and then visit his sister. After that, perhaps on the way home, he might have stopped to claim the wench. Or not. There was no rush. Apparently, she didn't see it that way.
"Although," Bet continued when he remained silent, "from what I've seen and heard, I suspect it was really her kin who are eager to be rid of the chit."
"Well, I am not surprised," Alex muttered, feeling worry rise up in him as he thought of the things he'd heard about his future wife. Noting the raised eyebrows Bet had turned his way, he explained, "She's called the Stewart Shrew."
Bet nodded and commented dryly, "So you said when you saw her."
"What?" he asked sharply.
"When she arrived and you first saw her, I'm told your greeting was to say she didn't look much like a shrew or some such thing," Bet explained, her eyes now twinkling with silent mirth.
"I didn't!" Alex said with shock, and felt a frisson of horror slide down the back of his neck when the old woman nodded. While he'd spent much of the last three years surrounded by men, he'd retained enough of his training to know greeting his intended bride that way was beyond rude. It was hardly likely to encourage good relations with the woman.
"Aye, you did," Bet said, and added dryly, "Not the most welcoming greeting you could have offered your future wife."
"Dear God," he breathed in dismay, and then asked, "What did she do?"
Bet chuckled openly as she answered, "I was not there. I heard all of this from one of the maids, but I gather while she looked unimpressed, all she said was thank you...and then you fell flat on your face and she had your men pick you up and cart you up here to bed. That's when Grefin finished pulling out your tooth," she added. "After that, the men left you to sleep off the whiskey."
Alex sank back in the bed, his mind whirling with dismay, but then sat up abruptly and asked, "What time is it?"
"Nearing the dinner hour," Bet answered, putting away the last of her things and moving toward the door. "I thought you might be stirring by now and need a tonic to help your head. Besides, it seemed best to wake you before the girl completely takes over the castle."
"What?" He tossed aside the linens that had been covering him. Much to Alex's relief, he was fully clothed and, despite his aching head, could give chase to the old woman as she tried to slip out of his room on that cryptic comment.
"Get back here, Bet," he growled, rushing forward to catch the door as she tried to pull it closed behind her. Taking the woman by the arm, he tugged her back into the room, careful to be gentle with her frail old bones. He wasn't at all surprised when she came willingly. Knowing her, she was probably enjoying the whole thing. Bet had always had a bit of the devil in her and had enjoyed a good stirring up. "Explain what you meant by that. How is she taking over my castle?"
"Well, once she'd ordered the men to take your 'worthless hide' up to your room--"
"Worthless?" Alex snapped with affront.
"Aye. That's apparently what she said," Bet informed him with a grin that displayed several gaps where teeth had once resided. "And once the men had carted you out, Edda appeared and the two women put their heads together for a bit."
Alex stiffened at this news. He was sure that couldn't be a good thing.
"And then your little Merry rushed around taking matters in hand and running d'Aumesbery as if she were already lady here."
Alex took note of the name Merry rather than Merewen, but merely asked shortly, "What has she been doing?"
Bet shrugged mildly. "Doing what a lady does. She's spoken with Cook and several of the other servants. She's started arrangements for a feast to follow the wedding tomorrow and--"
"Tomorrow?" he growled, horror coursing through him. This was all happening too fast.
"Aye. And now she's down overseeing the men at their training."
Alex stiffened and began irritably, "She has no business--"
"Go tell it to her, boy," Bet interrupted dryly, tugging her arm free to turn to the door. "I've too much to do to be standing about here while you bellow at me over what your betrothed is getting up to."
>
Alex glared after the old woman as she slid out of the room again, but she paused once in the hall and glanced back to add, "You might be wanting to change your clothes and clean up a bit ere you go looking for her. You fair reek of whiskey, and I doubt that will impress her any. From what I have heard, she's had enough of that with her father and brothers."
Alex glanced down at his tunic and then lifted the material to give himself a sniff as the door closed behind the old nursemaid. His nose immediately wrinkled with distaste. It did reek of whiskey, and it was a bitter, stale smell, too.
Grimacing, he immediately tore off the tunic and tossed it across the foot of his bed. Alex then moved to the basin of water on the small table by the window to give himself a quick wash before searching out a fresh tunic from one of the two chests that held his belongings. Once satisfied that he was presentable, he then left his room and rushed below stairs.
Alex had intended to head straight out to the bailey to find his betrothed, but found himself halting on the bottom step to stare at the men presently seated at his trestle table. There were nearly a dozen of them, and every one wore a plaid and looked in need of a good washing. Obviously, these were his betrothed's brothers and father as well as the soldiers they'd brought with them on the journey. It looked to him as if, on arriving that morning, they'd settled themselves at his table and not moved since except to raise their drinks to their mouths. They were obviously drunk and loud and boisterous with it. He wasn't pleased, but wasn't terribly surprised, either. Gossip tended to travel on the wind, often carried by traveling performers as well as salesmen selling spices and other foreign goods. From what he'd heard over the years, Eachann Stewart and his two sons had a reputation for being over-fond of their drink...and apparently his own, and anyone else's they could get their hands on. His father, James, had not been much for drink himself, and Alex suspected Lord Stewart's tendency toward drunkenness was part of the reason the friendship had ended, and possibly why his father had not been pushing him to marry Merewen Stewart.
Thoughts of his betrothed reminded Alex of the task he'd set himself and he turned toward the door, but had hardly taken a step before he was spotted and hailed. "Oy! Lad, come sit yerself fer a minute and visit with yer new kin."
Heaving out a breath at how near he'd been to escaping unnoticed, Alex turned back and reluctantly moved to the table, thinking he'd just explain he was off to find Merry and excuse himself. However, before he could say anything at all, before he'd even quite reached them, the oldest man in the group--Eachann Stewart, he supposed--announced, "'Tis glad I am I'm gettin' a chance to speak to ye ere our Merry does."
"Oh? Why is that?" Alex asked cautiously as he paused. Eachann Stewart appeared to have seen nearly six decades. He was more paunch than shoulders, a rat's nest of wiry grey hair springing out of an oddly large head over a face that was flushed from drink and made up of small squinting eyes, thin lips, and a slightly bulbous nose. He was also obviously well into his cups. His speech was slurred, and he was swaying like a sapling in a stiff breeze in the larger of the only two chairs at the table. They were the lord's and lady's chairs. Everyone else used the benches that ran around the tables. The man he thought was Eachann Stewart presently sat in the chair Alexander had occupied since returning from Tunis. A younger version of the man sat in the smaller chair.
"Well, lad," Eachann Stewart said, drawing his gaze back to his face. "Ye see, when we heard ye were returned, we decided to save ye a trip north and bring our Merry to ye, but we kenned she'd no agree. She'd expect ye to collect her all good and proper, ye see. So we fibbed a little to our lass."
Alex let his eyebrows rise in question.
"We told her ye were the one to send fer her," he explained, and then added slyly, "We knew ye would o' course. After all, 'tis well past time the two o' ye were married, and ye wouldn't be wantin' anyone thinking ye were trying to avoid the duty."
Alex managed not to wince at the accusation in the man's voice.
"'Tis understandable if ye were delayin' as long as ye could," he went on in a friendly manner. "I ken from yer greeting on our arrival that ye've heard Merry's called the Stewart Shrew, and that name's no' likely to make ye eager to claim her, but she isna as bad as all that."
Alex was still. He'd heard she was called that, but had never thought to hear her own father bring up the name.
"'Tis our fault she's called that," Eachann added almost regretfully.
"Aye," the younger man in the second chair said. He was very similar in looks to his father, but with carrot-colored hair. He also sounded amused rather than regretful as he added, "We gave her the name."
"My son Brodie," Eachann introduced, glaring at his boy, and then he turned to the man on his other side, one who could have been the first's twin, and introduced him as well. "And this is Gawain."
Both younger men nodded, and Alex nodded a bit stiffly back. The brothers were in at least as bad a state as their father. All three were swaying back and forth in their seats almost in time. It made Alex feel like he was on a ship in rough waters.
"Aye, we did give her the name," Eachann admitted. "I fear our Merry tends to worry and fret over us. She doesna understand about a man and his drink. Got that from her mother," he confided. "My Maighread was always disapproving when we had a little whiskey. But that's the only complaint I have with the girl. She's a good chit, generally good-natured, and always willing to lend a hand and take care of things," he assured him, and added, "Why, right now she's down overseeing the men at practice fer ye because ye were too...er...indisposed to manage the task yerself."
The old man grinned. "To be in such a state ye must ha'e been at the end o' a long celebration. We like to do that oursel'es and understand, but Merry might be a bit testy about it. Ne'er fear, though, she may get angry, but she'll still tend to anything that needs tending and stand in fer ye where she has to."
Alex's brow puckered at these words. It seemed obvious they had no idea he'd only drunk the whiskey that morning to have a tooth pulled, but believed he'd actually just been drinking for drink's sake that early. He found the idea, and their easy and cheerful acceptance of such behavior, absolutely deplorable. Alex had met men over the years too fond of their drink. He'd even had a man or two under him take to the problem. The minute he suspected someone of it, he dealt with it by first trying to get the man to stop, and then by releasing the man from his vow to serve under him. He had no desire to have a drunk under his command. Dependence on drink made a soldier sloppy and undependable and like to get himself or someone else killed.
"I'm getting a crick in me neck staring up at ye," the Stewart complained, and then turned to give the son seated in the chair next to his own a push. "Get out o' the chair, lad, and let our host sit with us."
"There is no need for that," Alex said quietly, having no desire to join the men. "I was just going out to oversee my men at practice."
"But, lad, like I told ye, Merry'll tend to it. She's a fair hand with the men."
Alex stiffened. "'Tis my place to--"
"There's no need," Eachann interrupted. "Her mother raised her well, Merry's a fine helpmate. She'll tend everything do ye wish it. She does everything at Stewart."
"And what do you do?" he asked curiously.
"Whatever we wish," Gawain said with a laugh.
"Aye. 'Tis a grand life ye're headed for," Brodie informed him, and then snickered as if that were a joke. It brought a glare from his father.
"'Tis a grand life ye're headed for," Eachann insisted quietly when Brodie fell solemn. "My Merry's a hard worker. She'll step in and tend whatever needs tending."
"Which would be grand if she did so without glaring at us like we've done something wrong," Brodie put in, appearing irritated at the compliment to his missing sister.
"Aye," Gawain agreed, and warned, "she has a glare that'll singe the hair off yer arse."
"And then there's her fish face," Brodie muttered, gaining an elbow in the ribs from h
is father. Unsteady as he was, it nearly sent the younger man tumbling to the rushes before he caught at the table to save himself.
"Fish face?" Alex asked with bewilderment.
"Aye," Gawain answered as his brother struggled to sit up straight. "She narrows her eyes and purses her lips like this and looks just like a fish when she's disapproving or--" His words came to an end on a yelp as his father now slammed his other elbow into him. While Brodie had managed to save himself, Gawain couldn't and landed in the rushes. He burst out laughing as if his state of inebriation were a grand joke rather than the sad showing it was, and then his laughter faded and his eyes closed and he began to snore.
"Don't trouble yerself about him," Laird Stewart slurred with unconcern. "We've been celebrating yer upcoming nuptials since arriving and he's in his cups. He'll be fine and fit for the ceremony tomorrow though, I'm sure."
Alex shifted his gaze to the older man as he continued.
"As for Merry, aye, she glares and makes strange faces, but that's the worst o' it, and that's damned good by anyone's standards, especially when ye get the benefit o' her tending to everything fer ye in return. She'll be a good wife to ye."
Alex's gaze moved from Eachann to Brodie and back. Brodie was scowling with resentment, obviously not pleased at the compliments to his sister. As for Eachann, he was looking a tad sad and regretful, and Alex suspected the man was realizing what he was losing. Who was going to run Stewart when these men returned and slipped completely into their cups? He knew from what little gossip he'd heard over the years that the burden had fallen to Merry since her mother's death, and suspected her father, at least, knew what they were losing. It made him wonder why the old man had lied to get her there and not done everything he could to delay losing her to this marriage instead. Alex wanted to think it was because the man had some sense of decency left in him and wished to see her happy and married despite the burden losing her would be, but he suspected the truth was he'd merely bowed to the wishes and demands of his sons, who were obviously happy at the prospect of being rid of her.