Midnight's Bride

by Sophia Johnson

  She clenched her teeth to keep from blurting out another thought. Oh, God in heaven. Without thinking, she had rattled on saying everything that came to her mind, just one thing after the other, and goodness she even did it in her thoughts. It must be the wine Meghan made her drink before coming here.

  “Why do ye think my brither believes ye despoiled?”

  Netta stared at the tips of Damron’s boots. A curl slipped over her brow, and he brushed it back from her bruised face.

  “Why? Because.” She blinked, trying to ward off tears of shame. “That is why.”

  “Because of what, Netta?”

  “He tore my clothes off.” She swallowed and kept her voice low. Only he would hear her.

  “Me brither?” Damron’s voice rose in surprise.

  “Nay. That foul man. He touched me and bumped me and ruined me, and everybody saw me naked.” Her last words trailed off. She swiped away the tears wending their way to her jaw, and felt further shame when she hiccupped.

  Damron patted the top of her head. Before he drew Mereck and Connor to the far end of the room, he eyed Meghan and tilted his head at Netta.

  Meghan moved close to smooth the ebony curls back from Netta’s damp cheeks. “Henny, because the man mistreated ye doesna mean ye are unclean or soiled. Did he hurt ye in any other way ye didn’t tell me of?”

  “That filthy man bumped me.” She hiccupped again, then looked suspiciously at Mereck. She pulled Meghan between them to safeguard her thoughts. “He didn’t sound like it hurt him the way Marcus had in the stable, but he bumped me and moaned and beat my bare bottom when I tried to get away.”

  “Bumped ye?”

  “Aye.”

  Meghan sounded more than a little confused to Netta. She looked it, too. Why, her not knowing about bumping was strange.

  “Tell me about this ‘bumping’ and Marcus. Why do ye think it makes ye unclean?”

  Netta blushed and described what she saw Marcus doing in the stable. She told her how the vile man had kept bumping his horrible sex against her arse while he fought to free his tarse. Meghan chuckled. Netta didn’t think it was one bit funny. Meghan hugged her and told her the “bumping” forced on her was nothing like what Marcus had done, for the man had not uncovered his sex.

  “Blessed saints. He didn’t despoil me? I am only unclean?”

  “Nay. Ye’re not unclean either. I had me doubts ye would have any skin left on yer hide the way ye scrubbed it last eve.”

  Netta was woozy with relief. Or was it the wine again? She wished they had waited one more day to question her, for every bone in her body ached.

  Reassuring warmth, like a warm breeze blowing across the room, flowed from her head to her toes. On a dreary Highland day? Puzzled, she peeked around Meghan in the direction it seemed to come from, and met Mereck’s gaze. She could not believe the warmth and gentleness there, so at odds with his battered face. So very at odds with the Baresark she had seen.

  He came toward her, his voice as soft as his look. “Netta, lass. You are neither unclean nor despoiled. Not one thing that another could do to you would e’er make you unworthy. E’en if the worst had happened, you would remain pure in my eyes.”

  He lifted his once beautiful hands to touch her face. She flinched and drew back. His battered knuckles were split and swollen now. The blackguard’s dirty nails had dug long bloody gashes in their backs when he fought to free his wretched neck from their grasp.

  Mereck dropped his hands and stepped away, his movements stiff and painful.

  Wary still, she studied him. She noted the cuts on his face, on his arms. White bindings swathed his chest. Merciful heavens. The swelling on his left cheekbone almost closed his eye. His split lower lip looked likely to bleed if he smiled. Her stomach sank. She had caused this.

  Brianna called out Damron’s name and entered the room. Netta was grateful for the respite. The changes in Damron’s face whenever his wife was nearby still surprised her. Why, that huge man near turned to mush. Elise trailed behind her, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “Cloud Dancer flew right to the window opening of Brianna’s solar. He had a parchment bound to his leg.” Elise’s voice squeaked with excitement. “Look. Bleddyn rolled and sealed it with wax. Like a regular missive.” She was so interested she ignored Connor’s arm around her shoulders, and even that he drew her against his side.

  “He is but a day away. Father Matthew is with him.” Brianna handed her husband the Welshman’s message.

  “What say ye to a wedding Sunday, two days hence, lass?”

  Damron strolled over to sit on the edge of the table he used to keep his accounts. He handed the small missive to Mereck.

  Netta hoped he was speaking to Elise. He was not. He looked at her, waiting for an answer. She blanched. How could she stand in front of the world and God and vow to be a wife? She was woefully ignorant on matters between a man and woman. What if he didn’t like the way she bumped? She would sooner spend her life in a nunnery than chance angering Mereck.

  “Should we not wait until Spring? We do not know each other well. Lord Bleddyn wouldn’t want us to be hasty.” Seeing Damron’s brows raise, she added, “Surely he would not.”

  Mereck came to stand toe to toe with her.

  “Netta, Bleddyn himself suggested we hold the ceremony on his arrival.” His forefinger under her chin lifted her face. He did not let her flinch away. “You may go to your room and rest, but you must attend the evening meal. We will announce our plans then.”

  She thought to protest; he frowned and shook his head.

  “You will be there,” he commanded and released her. He kept his gaze on hers, showing her his resolve.

  Well, rats. Hundreds of fleas, too. He was doing his mind thing again. She had a hard time tearing her gaze from his. When she did, she turned and bounded from the room. Elise was hot on her heels.

  “I suspected the same as Bleddyn has written,” Mereck told the others after she left. “It was no random assault, and no paid kidnapping for ransom. It had the flavor of revenge.” In his concern over Netta’s distress, he forgot Meghan was in the room. “I believed it was the MacDhaidh, but Bleddyn suggests otherwise.” Hearing Meghan’s alarmed thoughts, Mereck rubbed his hand over his face, winced and drew it away.

  “Let me see the note.” Meghan snatched it from Damron’s hand and scanned it quickly. “Saxon men are eejits.”

  “Aye. They are passing strange.” Mereck flexed his shoulders to ward off the stiffness settling in. “Baron Wycliffe has a problem I couldna wish on a more despicable father. The fool insists Netta’s a changeling, though Bleddyn confirms she looks markedly like her mother.”

  “He must be havin’ a time of it, what with five of her former suitors threatenin’war.” Damron strolled over and sat on a chair. He patted his lap while looking at Brianna. She soon settled against him with a sigh.

  “They believe he betrayed them. When they heard Wycliffe betrothed her by his infamous decree, they must have been furious since they previously offered their suits. An immediate wedding is wise.” Brianna wriggled on her husband’s lap. He growled deep in his throat; she giggled and cuddled closer. “That wily old bastard will take the biggest bribe to break your contract.”

  “We will have the wedding. I canna promise the bedding.”

  Mereck’s face was rueful as he sprawled in a chair next to Damron’s. He raked his fingers through his hair, messing it.

  “Oh?” Damron’s voice rose in surprise.

  “Don’t you understand, husband?” Brianna prodded him with a sharp elbow. “I doubt that doughy old Wycliffe ever lifted a sword in his life. He never exposed Netta to warriors. Not only did her abductor frighten her near witless, but she saw a man being strangled by her betrothed’s hands. Mereck will have a hard time getting those hands on her any day soon.”

  Damron pinched her as a warning to still her wriggling against his already turgid rod. “Well now, brither. I seem to remember yer great laugh at
my expense when ye learned I didna have my weddin’ night fer sennights.”

  “Aye, but that was different. Your bride was mad as Hades at you. Netta is afeared I’ll drain her very sanity from her. Now she’s terrified I’ll go berserk and strangle her. How did you fake your, uhh, husbandly duties?” Mereck’s smile was bleak.

  “Hah. Your ever diligent brother near cut his arm off over the sheets. Thinking he skewered me in haste, my poor aunts were so upset.” Brianna scowled at Damron while waiting for them to stop laughing. She used her name for him when she continued. “It’s not funny, milord Demon. You didn’t have to accept those jars of healing salve and wonder why everyone was so worried.”

  “If ye do not stop yer wrigglin’, wife, ye will have need of those jars afore the day passes.” His eyes twinkled when her hand flew up to cover his mouth.

  To Netta’s thinking, the hours passing were far too swift. She dressed in a light green chemise with a deep green tunic, and a silver girdle hung low on her hips. Elise combed and arranged Netta’s black, silky curls to sweep down her forehead to hide the bruises on her face.

  Netta explored one excuse after another to avoid going to the hall. She finally hid one of her shoes in the bedcovers.

  “I must needs send Mereck a message that I cannot attend the evening meal. He would not want me to appear wearing naught but stockings.” She pretended a diligent search for the missing shoe.

  “Do you think that great wolf took your shoe?” Elise’s eyes grew huge with the thought. “Maybe he ate it thinking it a part of you.”

  “Guardian wouldna do such. He likes his meat raw. The shoe is leather.” Meghan grinned at her. “How can ye lose one shoe, Netta? The other is here where ye left it before yer bath.” She stopped her own search to watch the Saxon girls.

  “You could have lost it when we hurried up here. Perchance you left it outside the door.”

  Elise cracked open the door and peeked out. When she found nothing that even resembled the missing shoe, she searched the room. When she came to the bed, she knelt to thrust her head beneath the bed ropes. She drew back, sneezed and rubbed her eyes, declaring it far too dark to see. She marched over to Netta’s trunk and lifted the lid, then near stood on her head while she searched through the few things there.

  She must have made herself dizzy between the kneeling and leaning over, for she wobbled her way to the bed and threw herself face down.

  “Youch!” She jumped up, rubbed her breast and scowled.

  Meghan pulled back the cover and found the missing shoe. She turned to Netta and shook her head.

  “Ye willna get off so easily. If ye dinna hurry, Mereck will be demandin’ ye come to the meal.”

  “Aye, shoeless or not, you will come. Without delay.” Mereck braced his shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Netta groaned. How long had he been there?

  “Wife, put on your shoes.” His voice softened to a husky purr. “If you dinna, I must carry you down. I wouldna want the stones to injure your feet.”

  Stiff from bruised and injured areas she could not see, he moved toward her without his usual grace.

  Netta’s heart slammed against her ribs. She shivered at the thought of him carrying her anywhere. He was so big he filled the doorway. She didn’t think she was a coward. Any woman would be leery of such a giant. His eyes, the color of a new leaf, stared at her. They didn’t soften.

  She grabbed the shoe from the floor and leaned against the bedpost to slide it on. After she snatched the second from atop the covers, she hopped in a circle trying to slip it on her foot. A sigh, sounding like a strong gust of wind, should have warned her. It ruffled the hair on her head. She gasped when he lifted her, sat on the bed and settled her on his lap. She sucked in a full breath, capturing his scent.

  “Be still,” Mereck’s deep voice cautioned. He slid the remaining shoe on her foot and laced both shoes around her ankles. When done, he lifted her like a child and stood her in front of him. His gaze scanned over her to see if she had missed putting on anything else. Satisfied, he turned her toward the door and gave her a light shove.

  She startled. He may have meant it as a command to get her moving, but she thought it was more an excuse to touch her arse with his big hand. She did what he expected—she bolted. Before she remembered she didn’t want to go down to the hall, she was halfway down the stairs.

  On the last step, she halted. Memory of her disgrace flooded back on seeing the crowded hall. She backed up a step. Mereck’s hard body, but one step above hers, pressed against her. The back of her head was against his lower ribs, her shoulders against his corded stomach.

  Saints help her. Something hot and hard jutted against her back. When she realized what it must be, she flew down the remaining steps. Connor, who stood at the foot of the stairs, took her arm to steady her. She scowled at him when he laughed. He didn’t release her until Mereck took possession of her arm.

  Damron sauntered over to thunk a pewter tankard hard on the high table, getting everyone’s attention.

  “We will have a weddin’ on Sunday, just two days hence. Mereck and Lynette will be joined as man and wife. We have much to prepare in so short of time, and I expect yer help.”

  By the rowdy response, Netta expected the men looked forward to the diversion. Mereck seated her and selected the choicest morsels of the foods she enjoyed. When her stomach rumbled, she realized how hungry she was. He waited, patient, not eating himself. Did his lips and jaw hurt too much to attempt it?

  His belabored face made her stomach lurch with guilt. It was her fault the horrible man abducted her. And if she had not worn male apparel, he might not have wondered what lay beneath her clothing. She was to blame for Mereck’s rage when he found her naked to the man’s eyes. Her fault, too, that he had turned into Baresark before her eyes.

  She was the cause of his split lips and swollen face. She cringed, thinking of the blood that had streaked across his chest from the foul man’s knife. If she had not been so selfish in wanting to practice alone, that hateful man wouldn’t have injured him. She glanced up at his beautiful eyes, then dropped her gaze to her clasped hands.

  “Mereck. I am so very sorry.”

  Her whispered voice barely carried to him. He tilted his head. What he didn’t hear with his ears, he heard with his heart and mind.

  “Ah, little wife, ’tis not your fault the man stole you away. ’Twas mine. I should have better protected you. The blame was not yours that I did not keep a rein on my temper. You did not cause my rage.”

  Noting her puzzled expression, he tried to explain.

  “Seeing what he had done to you, I wanted to break every bone in his hateful body. ’Twas not because Connor or Marcus saw you unclothed, but because he dared to strike you and tear your clothes from your body. No one should e’er cause you pain, whether of the body, or of the mind. No person has the right to treat you in that way. Not me. Not your father. Not anyone.

  “Come now. Eat and regain your strength. You have been through a terrible ordeal.”

  Her face relaxed. He smiled and coaxed laughter from her when he related escapades he and the other men had gotten into as young lads.

  All through the night Netta tossed and turned, no longer sure how she felt about Mereck. His voice, his beautiful hands, the way he looked at her so tenderly made her heartbeat quicken. When she thought of his scent, of his hot skin and graceful body, she sighed. However, she was still frightened of the unknown. At last she fell into a restless sleep.

  On going down to the hall to break her fast at dawn, she found Bleddyn sat at the table with Mereck and Damron. Blue paint covered the left side of his face, and red outlined the long ragged scar on the right side. He dressed much as Mereck did at Wycliffe, but instead of wolf skins across his shoulders he wore his beautiful cape.

  His black eyes glanced at Mereck and Damron. Both left without a word. Well, rats. Did everyone in this blasted keep read thoughts? Mayhap Mere
ck had signaled Damron in some other way, she decided, trying to calm herself.

  “Mereck told me of your horror when you witnessed the fight, Netta. Fearing conflict is natural for you. Wycliffe was isolated, and you never saw a castle besieged. While your father did his share of killing in his time, they have not called him to war since he injured his leg. You were but a babe at the time. He has paid scutage since, and sent knights in lieu of his own service to the king.”

  Netta nodded. “I don’t think I should marry Mereck until we know each other better. He will surely find we do not suit. Then what will happen?” She didn’t give him time to reply. “Why, he will be unhappy every time I think ugly things about the dreadful gift he possesses. He might even be angry enough he would never allow me to again have another sensible thought.” She shuddered.

  “Do you believe him to be so cruel?” Bleddyn’s black eyes crinkled at the corners. “Mereck has long since learned to control his gift.”

  “Then how did he know when I was where I should not be the other day? Also, how did he find me in that horrible abandoned bothy?” Her frown deepened.

  “That day you went out to the warrior’s practice field with Elise and Meghan, he heard your surprise at what you saw. In the bothy, your mind cried out for him to save you. These were unusual conditions, where you could not help sending him your thoughts.”

  “Oh, saints alive,” she groaned, resting her elbows on the table and putting her chin in her hands. How could she go through life without any surprises? Would she have to think only dull, ordinary thoughts? She’d rather go to bed and not get up again. Her eyes brightened. Could she plead an illness?

  “Netta, do not think to delay your wedding.” His smile was kind.

  She threw up her arms and muttered, “I’ll never think near you both again, just see if I do.”