Midnight's Bride

by Sophia Johnson

  Elise’s knees wobbled so badly it was a wonder she still stood by the time Connor grabbed her shoulders. Eric held up a hand and leaned close to waggle his brows and grin.

  “Let her speak, Connor. Her words are most curious.”

  “I meant not to draw your interest. By Saint Martha’s sweet hair. Do you not know when someone insults you?” She stamped her foot, but soon her eyes brightened. “You are even more of a prick than Sir Connor. There. That should draw your ire.” She released her breath in a gusty sigh.

  Mereck beckoned to Eric and grabbed a livid Connor by the shoulder. He chuckled as he led them toward the practice field. Before they reached there, Damron joined them. Spying Connor’s countenance, he frowned.

  “What has upset ye, cousin? Yer face is the color of an overripe plum.”

  Since Connor was still spluttering half words, Mereck answered for him. “The fair Elise has found a curious way to remain unwed. She hopes to discourage suitors by shocking them.” When asked to explain, he made light of the incident.

  Damron sighed and shook his head.

  “I will have words with her on the morrow.” He eyed Connor and Mereck. “If ye have any thoughts on how to curb her, I will hear of them then.”

  Meghan watched until the men were out of hearing distance before she cautioned Elise.

  “Dinna be too swift with yer insults Elise, or ye may find Damron weds ye to a man ye have angered unduly. Now come. Let us visit Netta’s Tuan.”

  Simon watched with an indulgent smile as Netta fed and watered the little eyas. Tuan, his stomach filled, was soon tucked in his nest. Meghan coaxed her sparrowhawk, Simple, onto her gauntlet, and they went out into the bailey so she could show Netta how she exercised the bird.

  “What caused you to name a lovely creature such an ugsome name?” Netta admired the elegant hawk as she stroked its back.

  “Because she is right glaikit, of course.” When Netta frowned, Meghan explained, “Glaikit means silly or foolish. I could have called her Gowk. For certs she be a great fool when she hunts, gettin’ excited and not lookin’ where she is goin’. The first thing in her path knocks her to the ground.”

  Meghan removed the green leather hood from Simple’s head and raised her wrist for the impatient bird to take flight. Simple soared upward while Meghan tied a chicken neck on the end of a slender line. She whirled it in the air in sweeping circles that coaxed Simple to dive and attack. Then she shifted the arc of her swing to make the sparrowhawk work for her treat.

  Meghan next offered a chicken head. Instead of tying it to the line, she cast it high into the air. Simple screeched and swooped after it. When she caught it, she plunged to land and enjoy her catch. True to Meghan’s word, the hawk took no note of a sentry patrolling the walkway. The hawk crashed into the warrior’s shoulder, making the warrior lurch. Dazed, Simple flopped at the man’s feet.

  “Meghan, lass, didna I tell ye to draw this’un a map?” he shouted and righted the raptor.

  Wobbling on shaky legs, Simple squawked and watched the man nudge the dropped reward toward her. Wisely, she ate it afore taking flight when Meghan whistled.

  After they returned the hawk to her perch, Meghan coached Netta to whistle a three-note tune to call Tuan. Netta pursed her lips, huffed and puffed until she drew forth a whistle close to the notes she was to use.

  The afternoon had turned cold. Back in their room, they sat on brown fur rugs close to a large brazier of coals. Netta felt restless. She couldn’t stop picturing what Mereck had said he would do to her in the loch. Had he known that all the while he talked, she had felt that rigid heat of him pressed against her side?

  “Ye look worried, Netta. Are ye thinkin’ of Mereck?”

  “Does it turn red?” Netta blurted in a wobbly voice.

  “Did yer mother never tell ye about men?”

  “She died birthing me. Father’s new wife said I was sinful to wish knowing anything afore my husband tutored me in the marriage bed.”

  “Scots are more open about teachin’ a lass what to expect. If by it ye mean his shaft, I’m told the tip darkens somewhat. Not the rest of it. What made ye think so?”

  “He pressed against me, and I felt hard, fiery heat. It changes too. Is it normal for it to change shapes?” From the glimpses she had seen of the men at the practice area, they did not look like what she had felt.

  “Not all the time.” Meghan laughed. “Only when he is near ye and thinkin’ lusty thoughts.”

  “Do they not dangle all the time?” Elise’s blue eyes lit with curiosity.

  “Ha, only if they are pursuin’ their other favorite sports—eatin’ and fightin’.” Meghan snorted.

  Before Netta could pose her next questions, their bath water arrived. It was just as well. She already had enough new knowledge to ponder.

  At the end of the evening meal, Mereck fed Netta pastries filled with wild berries. His finger rubbed juice over her lower lip. She ran the tip of her tongue to lap it up.

  “You didna get this spot, love,” he murmured.

  Mereck’s head lowered. His beautiful mouth came close. She held her breath. When she did not draw back, a growl rumbled low in his throat as he nibbled and feathered kisses on her lips.

  She should stop him. She did not. His gentle handling turned her thoughts of him to the impressive Barearse, rather than the fearsome Baresark. She forgot she didn’t want to marry her barbarian.

  Far from it. He tempted her with his soft love play. She longed to taste his enticing lower lip, to draw it into her own mouth. If she were to be so bold, what would he do?

  Eric interrupted her exciting thoughts when he asked if Brianna would tell one of her famous stories. Servants hurried to clear tables and arrange benches opposite the great hearth. Mereck draped Netta’s cloak about her shoulders and sat close beside her.

  “Why are Brianna’s stories famous? The only teller of tales we had at Castle Wycliffe was an old, grizzled warrior. His tales were not very interesting.”

  Mereck’s answer surprised her.

  “Brianna began telling them on her travels here. Damron at last had to forbid her to tell any others while crossing the forests. The squires and even some warriors were, eh, worried by them.” He winked. “We are a superstitious lot. Many Scots believe in faery people, witches and shape changers.”

  Soon after Brianna’s unusual voice started the tale, Netta knew why Damron had stopped his wife.

  “Once upon a very long time ago, in a country close to this, a strange beast terrorized small mountain towns,” Brianna began. “The nights of the full moon, all the residents in this cursed hamlet locked themselves in their homes before dusk fell. The sun no sooner set than terrible groans and screams, the sounds of a man in anguish, rent the air. After what seemed eternity, the screams deepened. Growls and howls like the triumphant calls of a giant wolf echoed in the dark night.”

  “Yech,” Elise shouted and edged closer to Connor.

  Brianna wove the tale of the shape changer who became a werewolf. Netta noted several stalwart warriors glancing over their shoulders. Were they afeared the creature would appear in the pitch-dark hallways? Dafydd hurdled into her back, near knocking her from the bench in his bid to be near Mereck’s stalwart protection.

  Mereck moved close to put his arm around her shoulder. Netta didn’t mind. She was grateful for his presence.

  When his arm moved from her shoulder to her waist, she didn’t protest. Brianna’s story so engrossed her that she paid little note to his large hand stealing ever lower to cuddle her stomach.

  When his long fingers roamed lower, she shivered.

  But, when he pinched her thigh and nibbled her neck, that got her attention.

  She yelped and near jumped out of her seat, but for his restraining arm.

  Damron shook his head and looked up at the rafters. Elise hunched forward, her face buried on her knees, her arms over her head. Connor touched her shoulder in inquiry. Her arms flew out and her outstretch
ed hand struck his mouth. A shriek came from her lips, muffled curses from his. Between their noise and Spencer’s frightened howls, they barely heard the laird’s growled commands.

  “Eneuch.” Damron turned to Brianna. “’Tis too frightenin’ a tale to finish. Wife, ye should save yer voice for singin’, not for scarin’.”

  Not even Meghan scoffed at the men’s offer to escort them to their room. Connor kept Elise at his side and shouldered Eric away whenever he sauntered close.

  The women spent a goodly portion of the next morn in Brianna’s solar visiting her and the old laird. Meghan had told them Brianna called Damron’s grandfather “Poppa Dougie,” much to Damron’s chagrin. Brianna explained she never knew her own grandparents, but if she had, she would have been as familiar with them as she was to Lord Douglas.

  Netta looked with longing at the old man cuddling little Serena in his arm. His was an impressive face framed with shaggy brown hair streaked with white, a short beard, and golden brown eyes.

  Though he could shout and command even Damron into submission, Meghan claimed her grandfather was not the hard man he portrayed. Most times his ranting was bluster. When Guardian entered the room, Elise, wary after the previous night’s werewolf story, near crawled into the old man’s lap.

  The ferocious-looking wolf gave her a haughty look, padded over to Brianna and rolled onto his back for her to scratch his chest. Netta laughed. Would her fierce Mereck one day sprawl before her and pant for her to run her fingers through the crisp mat of blond hair she glimpsed on his torso? Heaviness pulsed at the joining of her legs when she thought about the hair that narrowed down his abdomen to the place which stoked her curiosity.

  She may not want to wed and be a man’s possession, but she began to believe she would revel in the physical parts of marriage. Whatever they were.

  “What causes yer frown, granddaughter?” Lord Douglas’ voice had a rich dark tone.

  Netta glanced at Brianna, awaiting her answer. Brianna smiled back and motioned toward her Poppa Dougie. Why, he had called her, Netta, granddaughter. She now had a grandfather. Happiness surged through her. She looked at him and saw he watched her with compassionate eyes.

  Never at Wycliffe had any man looked at her thus. She swallowed. Could she speak her mind?

  He motioned for her to sit on the rug beside him, then patted her head much as Brianna stroked Guardian. She couldn’t stop the current of words which sprang forth.

  “Since I have been at Blackthorn, I have had more freedom than ever before in my life. I come and go about the castle and bailey as I wish, and I have Sprite and Tuan to love. I don’t want to marry. After we wed, I’ll lose what little I have gained. Mereck holds no love for me. He will be like Father. If I displease him…” She shuddered. “He is much larger than my father and his temper…” Again her voice trailed off. Her eyes blurred. She hunched her shoulders, making herself a smaller target.

  Lord Douglas cradled the sleeping Serena high on his shoulder. His hand stroked Netta’s hair and soothed her as he would a frightened child.

  “Like Father, he will demand I obey his every wish. To sew and do wifely things. Everyone will know how unworthy I am.” She hesitated, but went on when his nod encouraged her.

  “My stepsisters were never easy to be with like Meghan and Elise. I may never learn to properly toss a knife or use a sword, but I’m able to try. Mereck told me Fletch, your master archer, is making a bow and arrows for me.” Why did he grin at her?

  “Do ye not hear yerself, granddaughter?”

  “What mean you, Lord Douglas?”

  “Call me Granda as Meghan does.” He smoothed a stray curl from her forehead and nodded. “Think on what ye have told us. Who saw to it ye had Sprite and Tuan?” He tilted his head and waited.

  “Mereck, of course.”

  “Who took over when he learned ye wished to master a weapon? I know it didna go well with the swords. Did ye not just tell me he had a bow fashioned for ye?”

  “Aye, he did. But when he is my husband, he will change. He will command my every moment.”

  “From the time Mereck signed the betrothal contract, he had the right to govern ye as if ye were already wed. Yer freedom since leaving Wycliffe, these special privileges ye enjoy, are they not ones he has granted ye? Ask Brianna, and she will tell ye how lightly Mereck treats ye.”

  “I was much like you,” Brianna said softly. “When Damron brought me here, he knew my every move. If he could not be near, he assigned guards to shadow me and made David their captain. I no longer notice someone is forever close-by.” At Netta’s wide-eyed look, she explained. “I’ve all the freedom any woman could want. Damron has a terrible fear something will happen to me when he’s not by my side to prevent it. I don’t mind the guards, for I know it’s a sign of his great love for me.”

  Netta saw the truth of it moments later when Brianna rose. The morning had tired her, for her face was pale.

  “Poppa Dougie, I think it is time for our morning rest.”

  Brianna gently took Serena from his arms, then kissed his cheek and told him she loved him. She had not taken two steps afore a young warrior stood close-by, proving her point. Brianna smiled, and he puffed up his chest as if she had given him the greatest courtesy of his life. Lord Douglas accepted the guard’s help as they left the room.

  “Damron fears for Brianna. We all do.” Meghan nodded at them. “On bringin’ her from England as his bride, knaves abducted her. When Damron gained on them, their swinish leader tossed her from his horse. But not afore he bit her so she’d ne’er forget him. ’Tis the crescent scars ye see on her jaw. Later, other attacks occurred. Damron’s leman was behind them. He ne’er ceases fearin’ he will lose Brianna.”

  Netta knew Brianna to be different. Mystery lurked in her eyes, and her words and tone of speech were unusual. Brianna radiated such love and compassion. How could Damron have been so foolish to have a leman for even a day after they wed?

  It was common practice for men to keep a lover. Did Mereck? Could one of the women who drooled over him at his battle practice also be his leman? Anger rolled through her.

  During the noon meal, she watched to see if Mereck gazed overlong at any woman. He kissed Brianna’s cheek. But it was his habit when he saw her for the first time each day. He patted Elise’s head and nodded at Elizabeth Neilson. Hmm, Elizabeth. She was beautiful with straight, red hair and large sky-blue eyes. She oft glanced at Eric, who teased Elise most when Elizabeth appeared nearby.

  The rogue sought to make Elizabeth jealous. A cruel ploy. Had he not already spoken to Damron, offering for Elise?

  “Come, Netta. Fletch crafted the finest bow in either Scotland or England. He waits to gift you with it.” Mereck grasped her elbow and urged her to rise.

  Fletch awaited them near a man’s replica fastened to a post. He beamed when he showed her the bow made from supple wood. It weighed less than was usual for a woman. He had also crafted a quiver filled with arrows. Each arrow, identical in size and weight, bore the initial “L.” After she thanked him and told him how lovely they were, he left to attend his duties, a grin lighting his face.

  Mereck showed her how to aim and release the arrow and explained the reasons behind each motion. He had her heft the bow several times to grow accustomed to the weight. When ready, she notched an arrow with his guidance. Her first attempt to loose the arrow was weak. It fell to the ground a short space away. She laughed up at him.

  “I pray no curious worms are about.”

  “At least ye pointed at yon target,” Meghan said with a chuckle.

  Mereck smiled and handed Netta another arrow. “I will help you this time.”

  He moved behind her, his hot, muscled body molded against her back. His hands covered hers, the hair-roughed skin of his arms teased her own. She inhaled his scent, enjoying the tingling it evoked in her. Being held within his strong arms, his body surrounding her, she could not stop the shivers his touch created.

  His breath
ruffled the hair on her neck; her breathing became rapid.

  By the time the arrow sped toward the target and struck firmly in the heart painted on the target, she panted.

  Once they loosed several arrows, she was in danger of melting into the ground.

  “May I try the next one on my own, Mereck?” Hearing her unsteady voice, she flushed and hoped he did not notice her reaction to him.

  He stepped back with a knowing smile. Rats. He noticed.

  Netta aimed her next arrow at the straw man and repeated what he had shown her. Pleased, she watched the arrow whiz through the air a good distance. It went left and wide of its mark.

  “Humph.” She held her hand out for another, tried again, and this time sighted a bit right of the target. The arrow struck low on the base.

  “Blessed Saint Wistan, did you see it?” Netta crowed and grinned with delight.

  “Saint Wistan? Did ye make him up?” Meghan huffed out a breath. “I vow ye sneak in saints no one has e’er heard of.”

  “Nay. She did not.” Elise defended Netta. “Saint Wistan lived until the year of our Lord, 850. June is his own month.”

  “Ladies, enough quibbling. Netta must keep her mind on her training,” Mereck ordered. “Raise your sight on this next arrow, wife. Allow for its weight.”

  Why must he call her “wife”? He knew she did not favor it. She started to protest, but he brushed a stray curl from her eyes. She took a deep breath. His hand held his arousing scent. His smoldering eyes meet hers and made her forget what she had thought to say. He continued handing her arrows until her arms and back quivered from strain. He praised each effort.

  “I believe ye are much more apt with the bow than at knife throwin’.” Meghan punched her fist high in a salute and yelled a battle cry.

  Netta beamed with pride.

  Soon after, Spencer arrived with a summons for Mereck.

  “Rest a bit while Dafydd gathers your arrows.” Mereck patted her shoulder and motioned his squire to stay with her. “When you are ready, Meghan will guide your practice.”