Midnight's Bride

by Sophia Johnson

  “By chance he wanted to be sure they earned their keep? What think you?” He truly thought George Wycliffe spiteful.

  Musing over his question, she was silent for a time.

  “I believe both you and the maids must be right. He did leave boot marks on the shirts. And he was also very tight with his coins. But I think he was spiteful to cause them more work.”

  When he smiled and nodded in agreement, she looked pleased. He removed the belt and held on to the gathered plaid as it slid from his body. Turning from her, he rolled his belt and folded the plaid over the back of a chair. Knowing she could see his naked body from the fire’s glow, he sought to keep his movements slow and nonthreatening. When he strolled toward the bed, she glanced up at him and then down to the snowy white linens. She seemed drawn to look, for she did not keep her gaze lowered for long. After several darting glances, she blinked and slid deeper beneath the covers.

  “Is Elise pleased her family will soon arrive?” He eased into bed and propped his back against the headboard. He drew her up close against him, and she did not pull away. Shy still, she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Oh, aye, she is.” Her head bobbed against his chin. “I hope Sir Galan will come. He is like a brother to Elise. He was but a young boy when he came to foster with them. Did you know Brianna had at first hoped to marry him?”

  “I did. I spent several days with Galan. After compline each night, he went to the highest point of Ridley Castle, faced toward Scotland and sang a melody he wrote for Brianna.” He tilted his head and looked at her. “Would you like to hear it?”

  “Aye,” Netta whispered and snuggled closer while he sang the poignant verses. She sighed and smoothed her hand over his chest.

  When he finished the melody, he nuzzled the top of her head. Lord in Heaven, she smelled like fresh summer flowers. He trailed kisses across her forehead and took his time traveling down to her soft lips. His heart surged on reaching them for, soft and pliant, they awaited him. When his tongue first slid between her teeth, she startled, near biting down on it. His tongue flirted lightly and danced around her own until she tried to anticipate its next move. When he stilled for a second, she tentatively stroked her own against it.

  Her response pleased him. He continued his sensual assault until her body softened against him. While his hand slid down her waist and hip, he occupied her mind with his kisses. He cupped the rounded curves of her buttocks and turned her toward him. When his hand moved back up and over her hips and continued to the side of her breast, she squirmed. Gently he cupped her breast in his warm hand and fondled it. All the while, his tongue thrust deep into her mouth.

  He whispered while his thumb rubbed over the hardening nipple, “Do you like this, mo gradh, my love?” Netta gasped with budding desire and clutched his arms. He rolled her onto her back and moved his body to cover her. Careful to keep his weight rested on his arms, he continued to caress her. He eased a hand between her thighs to coax them open for a moment, then allowed his hard sex to nestle there. He stroked, up and down, and kept a tight curb on his desires as his tarse teased her.

  “And this, mo cridhe, my heart?” Her whimper as she dug her fingers into his shoulders answered for her. Soon he felt her nether curls dampened with dew. Sweat beaded his forehead. When he could stand no more of this self-inflicted torture, he gave one final, deep kiss. For this night’s lesson, it was enough.

  Tomorrow would be another matter.

  During the night, Netta awoke pressed close against Mereck’s side. She felt protected in his arms, and knowing he was asleep, she nuzzled her cheek against the soft mat of hair covering his chest. His heartbeat was strong against her ear. She liked the sound of it. Before she reached her fingertips to feel over his face, she lifted her head to reassure herself he slept.

  His strong forehead and straight nose pleased her. His lips in sleep were as soft as a rose petal. Her hand explored his cheeks and jaw, and she enjoyed the raspy feel against her fingertips. Thinking of how that hard part of him had touched her, she grew hot and moist between her thighs. She squeezed her legs together, but it made the pulsing worse. The heat coming from his body intensified the feeling, and she inched away. A short while later, she felt normal again.

  Satisfied, she turned back to him and threw her arm over his chest. As if he were her favorite pillow, she tried to mold him tighter against her. Soon, she fell fast asleep and dreamed she was a loved and cherished wife.

  It was late afternoon. With Simon’s guidance, Netta had Tuan on a lead training him to fly for his daily rations. Tuan’s lead had been short to begin with, but as the kestrel became adept at its lessons, they extended the length of the lead. Soon it would fly on its own and attack the lure as it would do its prey.

  “Simon, is not Tuan the smartest raptor you have ever seen?” Netta turned her head to peer at the falconer. “Except for Cloud Dancer, of course. An eagle is much larger. Surely their brain is also. I think Cloud Dancer does the training, not us.” She looked over and smiled at the raptor.

  Cloud Dancer always stayed close to the little raptor. When Tuan was first attached to the lead, the eagle flew beside him as if to reassure him. Now the great eagle watched from a stoop, sometimes nodding. Was it in approval? At other times, he swooped off into the air, scolding the kestrel in a loud voice.

  “Aye,” Simon agreed. “He has been doing some teaching. Of an evening they yatter like two ole women. The way he behaves is most amazing. We could trust no other great bird to be free. It would soon make a feast of all others in the mews.”

  Netta grinned and whistled for Tuan to come to her gauntleted hand and laughed with delight when the kestrel obeyed. She turned Tuan over to Simon, thanked him and left.

  The day was sunny and crisp, with not a hint of rain. Netta strolled through the baileys having ample time before the evening meal. After leaving the mews, she stopped for a brief visit at the hut where the candle makers had finished for the day. She asked the chandler to send a week’s supply to their room and felt a sense of pride at this wifely duty.

  The sounds of horses racing in the side paddock, the shrill whinny of a mare and the loud trumpet of a stallion drew her attention. Her father had told her you did not turn a mare and a stallion out in the same field. He never explained why. She took off as fast as she could run, intending to find the stable master to tell him someone had made a mistake.

  When she approached the paddock, Netta jolted to a halt. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Brianna’s mare Sweetpea raced from one side of the enclosure to the other with Angel, Damron’s white destrier, in pursuit. In a flash, Angel maneuvered Sweetpea into a corner where she could not elude him. He threw back his head and shrilled his triumph.

  Why, he was trying to climb atop the trembling mare.

  Horrified, Netta turned to a pillar of salt. At the mare’s scream of protest, Angel bit down on her long, curved neck, holding her still for his purpose. Both horses panted. Surely the mare would fall under the weight of the great destrier?

  Netta’s salt melted when she spied Damron, Bleddyn and Marcus calmly watching.

  “Make him release her,” she bellowed in outrage. “How can you stand by while that huge warhorse is almost crushing her? Can you not see she needs help?” She whacked Damron on the shoulder with her fist to get his attention. He didn’t move, but looked at her like he thought her deranged. “If you do not get in there and pull him off, he will kill your wife’s horse.”

  A hand on her shoulder startled her. Mereck was there, looking like he had been running. He would put a stop to this budding tragedy.

  “Husband, tell your brother Brianna is not going to be happy when she wants to go riding and finds he let that great warhorse cripple Sweetpea. Why, all that weight on her back could break her legs.” Now she understood the rules about mares and stallions not being together. They fight.

  “Shh, love. You will lose your voice, and I’ll lose my hearing if you dinna stop bellowing. Dinna upset you
rself so.” Mereck saw the amused looks from the men. They eagerly awaited his explanation to his bride. “They are not fighting, Netta. Sweetpea is ready to carry a foal.” Seeing her blank expression, he added, “A baby horse. Angel is giving her one.”

  Fortunately for Mereck, while Netta wasn’t looking, Angel completed his chore, gave a last trumpet and pulled away. Angel nuzzled Sweetpea’s neck as if to soothe it.

  Netta looked over her shoulder, pointed to the horses and scowled. “Do you see Angel giving her anything, husband?”

  “He planted the seed for one, love. ’Tis the way to make bairns.”

  “Nay. You cannot be serious.” Reaching up, she yanked the braid at his temple until his ear was close. “I changed my mind about wanting a bairn, Mereck.”

  “Why, wife? I thought all women wanted bairns.”

  “I don’t wish you to chase me about the room, and I don’t want you to bite my neck. Is there some other way to plant the seed?” She prayed there was.

  “Dinna worry, love. I promise. You will enjoy it.”

  Netta let go of his hair. Before she agreed she would enjoy it, she would insist he explain it to her.

  As they walked and talked to the horses to soothe them, Damron and Bleddyn hid their amusement. The laird ran his hands down and across Sweetpea’s head, neck and body and spoke lovingly to her, telling her what a beautiful mare she was and what fine colts she would bear.

  Netta decided Sweetpea looked pleased with the compliments. She gulped and shivered when Mereck whispered his own loving words in her ear.

  “Tonight, my heart. Tonight we will make our own bairn.”

  Chapter 23

  Mereck suggested they seek their bed; Netta suggested they take a walk. A long walk. A very long walk.

  She wished to tire him before they went to their rooms and he started with the chasing. Saints help her. She wasn’t the fastest runner in her family. Her legs were too short. Netta shuddered, remembering the most frightening time she’d needed speed and came up lacking. On her eighteenth birthday, her father presented his gift to her.

  A suitor.

  Roger was a tall, thin man with pale blue eyes so small they looked as if he had squinted them into shrinking. His lips were near nonexistent, too. What there was of them looked mean.

  She rubbed her arms, feeling the pinches and bruises he put there when she refused to allow him a kiss. The day she lied and told him she was no longer a virgin and was barren, he flew into a rage. She thought he would withdraw his attentions. He didn’t. He cornered her in the formal gardens of her father’s castle.

  His venom-laced voice rang in her ears as she struggled against him.

  “Yield, little bitch.” He had hissed the words at her, spewing a disgusting trail of spittle on her cheek.

  He was amazingly strong for such a thin man, for only hard muscle covered his lanky bones. Gripping her with one hand, he hiked up her skirts with the other. Cold, hurtful fingers clawed at her thighs while his lips crushed hers.

  She seized the opportunity and bit his tongue.

  He screeched curses. His grip slackened. She shoved him off balance and dashed through the maze entrance.

  “Return fer yer punishment, stupid girl, or I will take the skin from yer back fer yer disobedience.” Roger shouted what else he would do to her when he caught her, most of which she was thankful she didn’t understand. She screamed and raised such a ruckus her stepsisters said they thought he was slaughtering her. Finally, he caught her and raised a stout branch torn from a tree at the maze entrance. If arriving men-at-arms hadn’t grasped it and held tight, he would have beat her across her head and shoulders with it.

  Castle knights escorted him outside the castle gates. She thought her father valued her, because he had refused Roger’s suit. It was not so. Prissy told her a messenger had arrived that very hour and informed him Roger’s finances were in desperate straits. It was then she learned her father demanded a large bride price for her.

  “Netta?”

  Blessed saints. She hummed and stared at Mereck. What if she was too late and he had already stolen her thoughts about her disgrace? Merciful heavens. Another horrific thought occurred. She stopped humming.

  “Did you pay my father a great deal of money for me?”

  “Your father didna ask it of me, but had he, I would have paid my entire fortune for the privilege of having such a worthy wife.”

  Little tingles of desire filled her at his words. She studied his face to see if he mocked her. His expression showed admiration. She decided to accept the compliment. Her thoughts kept her so occupied she didn’t realize they had finished their walk and stood afore their bedroom door. He embraced her shoulders and guided her inside.

  While Bran helped her prepare for bed, Mereck disappeared behind the privacy screen. On emerging, he wore a soft green chamber robe belted at his waist. His bare feet and ankles drew her attention. Feet are not usually an appealing part of a person’s body, but Mereck’s were truly different. Could you call feet pretty? Probably not, but surely they were handsome? Bran helped her tie her robe when Netta’s hands couldn’t seem to handle the job. Mayhap she could think of a reason to delay Bran’s leaving? She would ask her about her family.

  Mereck did not give her the chance.

  “Thank you, Bran. Your mistress has no further need of you.”

  Well, rats and fleas. Netta hummed again as the servant left the room.

  Mereck drew her to him, making soft soothing circles with his hands over the tense muscles of her back. His lips lowered to float light as a butterfly’s wing against hers. They hovered over the corners of her mouth, and the tip of his tongue teased her there. He followed the rim of her lips and returned to dampen the seam with a subtle increase of pressure.

  “Open to me, my love.” His husky voice surprised her. She did not heed him. He doubled his efforts until she opened the smallest bit. His tongue slid beyond her teeth and explored hers.

  Merreck’s thudding heartbeat against her breasts made her sigh. When he drew back, she was disappointed. Ha. That was putting it mildly. He might be inexperienced at bumping, but not kissing. She never wanted his kisses to stop. He lowered his mouth to her shoulders.

  “Tell me what you know of mating between a man and woman, my heart,” he murmured.

  “Whenever I asked my father’s wife about the subject, she said my husband would teach me all I needed to know.”

  Embarrassed, she squirmed against him. “She said it is painful and scolded that I was not to scream and ruin my husband’s pleasure. Um. Was she not confused, husband?”

  He smiled. “I will give you no reason to scream, Netta. The first time is sometimes painful for a woman, but the pain is soon gone and pleasure replaces it.”

  “Blessed saints. Now you are confused.” She reached up to whisper in his ear, “The man is the one who suffers.”

  Not wanting to remind him of his groans at night, she clamped her lips and thought about hearing Marcus and the serving girl in the stable. She forgot to hum.

  “What we did before was very pleasant.” He stopped to nuzzle her neck. “However, I didna plant my seed in your body.”

  “There is another way?” Her eyes felt like they bulged from their sockets. When he took her face between his hands and his gaze clung to hers, her face felt hot. She hummed, loud, then lowered her lids to shield her from his piercing gaze. He picked her up in his arms and went to sit on the bed, an arm around her waist.

  She stared at those beautiful hands, those elegant fingers that looked to have a will of their own. The white lines of scars proved they had many stories to tell of where they had been and what they had done. She hesitated, then ran her fingertips over them. Curious, she turned his hand over to study his palm. Calluses from wielding weapons had hardened his skin. One long scar crossed from his left wrist to the base of his fingers.

  Such strength was in his hands—how was it possible they were so gentle when they touched her? Thi
nking of the way he would plant his seed, she shuddered. He had said they could do the deed another way? Hopefully, it didn’t include a bite on her neck.

  “Netta, in these past nights you have seen the differences in our bodies.”

  She knew he was not referring to the greater abundance of hair on his. He was not reminding her of the affliction in his chest, either. Tonight, the muscles in his chest were not moving against her shoulders. That left what she had seen of naked men on the practice field and glimpsed here in their room. She swallowed and nodded.

  “Your body is different from mine in the same area.” When she stiffened, he smoothed her hair and murmured soothing sounds. “You have an opening where my shaft will enter to plant the seeds for a bairn deep inside your body.”

  He took her hand and guided it to his hot, engorged member jutting high beneath his robe. She jerked her hand away. If his arms had not held her, she would have bounded from his lap.

  “I think we will wait, husband.” She could barely lift her voice above a whisper. “I have decided I’m not yet ready for a bairn. Mayhap in a fortnight or two, you will not be so swollen? You must have done yourself an injury.”

  “’Tis no injury, sweet, but my need for you.”

  Those words did not reassure her. He stretched out on the bed with her resting atop his length. He did nothing more threatening than rub her back and stroke her arms. When he kissed the top of her head, she could not stop herself from squirming closer to his face so he could reach her mouth.

  She craved his kisses.

  His lips wandered across her brow, down to the tip of her nose and back over her eyelids, leaving soft kisses along the way. Her cheeks were next. The silky feel of his warm lips on her skin delighted her. When he finally obliged her impatient, pursed lips, she sighed. He whispered soft words and endearments.

  He kissed her witless.

  Had he not, she would have known when he removed her robe.

  And she was no longer atop him.