Midnight s Bride

by Sophia Johnson

  Did she favor another? Ugh. Not Edward of Chester, who shoved her in alcoves and tried to suck her earlobes. William of Hampstead was not too awful. Except that he said she would have to defer to his mother in all things. The hateful woman would ruin her disposition in a day’s time. She grew nauseous thinking of Charles and placed her hand over her nose. His rotted teeth had caused her to hold her breath every time he spoke. Hmpf! Several other were not suitable either, because of their attitudes. They thought of her as chattel, nothing more.

  Not one of them would allow her to have a bow and arrows. She was sure of it. In fact, she could not recall a single man who would trouble to teach her to use a sword. Except for Mereck. Nor would they be kind enough to allow her a pet. Or her own raptor.

  She sighed. Never before had she felt the strange yearning that filled her when Mereck came near. Nor did she recall feeling heat in the center of her body when any other man touched her arm. She felt it with Mereck. Not only the heat, but other more curious sensations. Just a look from him, for that matter, and her body tingled and throbbed in alarming places.

  She sighed again. Still in deep thought, she stood and left the room.

  Mereck was hers. She was going to keep him.

  Chapter 20

  “Hurry, Netta, hurry. ’Tis late. The sun is already high.”

  Elise’s burst of excited chatter awoke Netta the next morn. She swallowed, scrunched her eyes tight, and tried to hide beneath the covers. What foolish reasoning befuddled her brain into keeping Mereck? Saints help her! She must wed him today. Panic sizzled through her veins. Her stomach lurched like she rode the waves crashing against the cliffs below.

  Elise darted around the room with the servant Bran following her from one side of the room to the other, trying to slip Elise’s shift on her. Meghan sat on the bed laughing at them both.

  “Do you want to eat first, or take your bath? Meghan ordered your bath, and Bran brought our food so we need not go down to the hall. You can have mine. I’m too excited to eat. You must keep up your strength though.”

  Elise skidded to a halt. Bran seized the moment to pull the tunic over her head.

  “Bran said you must eat for energy because sleeping with a man is strenuous. Why?” She looked expectantly at Bran.

  Bran grinned, but kept her reasons to herself.

  Elise frowned and drew her own conclusions. “Of course! It is because they snore and flop around on the bed. That is why Bran is so stiff this morn. She said her husband was restless last night.”

  “I dinna think his floppin’ caused it. What say ye, Bran?” Meghan’s eyes twinkled; laughter was in her voice.

  “He ne’er flops. At least not fer long. He be more the rammin’ kind.” Bran rolled her eyes and sighed.

  Netta looked at Elise and shrugged. What were they talking about? Mayhap eating would fill that falling sensation in the pit of her stomach. A bad decision. Ugh! The porridge clung to her mouth like a lump of rising dough.

  “Ye must eat, Netta, else that bear grumblin’ in yer stomach will frighten Father Matthew when ye say yer vows.” Meghan chuckled and handed her a hot scone slathered with honey and a goblet of milk.

  Never had she taken so long to eat so little. She couldn’t swallow without a gulp of milk to wash it down. After several bites, she hid the scone under a linen cloth.

  “Ye’ll not get away with such. Eat now, or ye will faint when ye see yer handsome husband awaitin’ below.” Meghan raised a brow and swiped the cloth off.

  Brianna slipped into the room, a beautiful smile on her face.

  “Netta, I’ve never seen Mereck at such loose ends. I doubt he slept a wink. In the wee hours of morning, Damron heard swords clashing on the practice field. He found Mereck and Bleddyn happily grunting and slashing at each other, as happy as two dogs with a yard full of bones.” She smoothed Netta’s wedding dress out on the bed and grinned at her. “He’ll want to retire early tonight and get a good night’s sleep.”

  That sounded like a good idea to Netta. After the wedding banquet, she would suggest he looked weary and should hie himself off to bed. With any luck at all, he would be fast asleep afore she joined him. She sighed with relief and got into her waiting bath.

  Below in the men’s bathing room, two oversized wooden tubs sat in the center of the room opposite a fireplace, a naked man in each. Buckets of steaming rinse water awaited nearby. Drying cloths, large enough to wrap around a warrior’s body, rested atop a crude pine table. A long gutter ran from beside the tubs and ended at a narrow opening that emptied the water into the moat.

  Mereck’s lips quirked in a smile as he stared up at the ceiling.

  Damron threw a glob of soap, striking him on the shoulder.

  “Stop listenin’, brither. Let the lass keep her thoughts private on her weddin’ day.”

  Mereck waited in the hall with Father Matthew, Damron at his side. He watched the stairway, uneasy that Netta might still balk at marrying him. He couldna let her. Not only because of what she brought to him—Caer Cad-well, its holdings and great wealth—things he, a bastard, had never dared dream about. More important was the greatest gift. Netta. He watched her coming down the grooved granite stairs, her hand clutching Bleddyn’s arm.

  She was the most beautiful bride a man could dream of. When he looked at her, his body’s response was as powerful as if he hadna had a woman in many years. He kept a close rein on his thoughts, for he didna want to send her scrambling from the room if she noted how she aroused him.

  An ice-blue smock, topped with a deep violet tunic the color of her eyes, hid her graceful curves beneath it. The women had embroidered Celtic dragons on the square neckline of her overdress. More silver embroidery circled the full sleeves at her elbows; a silver filigree girdle rode low on her slender waist. A circlet of woven blue and violet ribbons banded her forehead and streamed down the back over her flowing black curls.

  His fingers longed to comb through the silky hair falling past her waist; his lips longed to taste her slender neck. Meeting his gaze, she flushed and lifted her chin.

  Netta mightily pleased him. Not for her appearance. Beauty is something with which a person is born. Her courage pleased him. Though she trembled, her eyes stayed bravely on his. He did not allow himself to hear her thoughts.

  He knew she feared him.

  He did not want to know he repulsed her.

  To Netta, Mereck looked larger and more threatening than he had last eve. Blessed Saint Monica. Was the man growing? Or was it because he stood so still, watching her? With each downward step, she studied him.

  He had braided his tawny hair on either side of his temples. His eyes were the light green of the sea on a calm day. He wore a creamy white shirt tucked beneath a finely woven green, black and blue plaid belted around his trim waist and draped over his shoulder.

  Etched pewter decorated his sporran. What design was on it? She flushed, hoping he did not think she stared at anything other than the fur pouch. She had never seen the beautiful sword strapped to his side, its hilt encased with many jewels. Long white stockings covered from his feet up over muscular calves, black garters holding them just below his knees. Black leather shoes covered his feet.

  “The sword you admire long ago belonged to his Welsh great-great-grandfather Gruffyd,” Bleddyn murmured. “Mereck’s father, Donald, took it from the battlefield afore he found Aeneid, Mereck’s mother.”

  Mereck’s gaze engulfed her as she stood before him. Glancing up at his somber face, she blinked. She avoided his eyes in favor of his high cheekbones and strong nose. The bruises on his face were not as vivid. When she came to his full sensual lips, she decided he was a wolfishly handsome man.

  “Come, the priest awaits.” Mereck kept his voice gentle.

  He smiled and offered his left hand, palm up and nonthreatening. He watched her swallow and allow Bleddyn to place her hand in his. It felt like a small, quivering bird nestled there.

  During the ceremony, he gently sque
ezed her fingers to remind her to respond to the vows. He was prepared to be resolute, if she offered resistence, for only he could protect her. Any man forced on her by her father would not be gentle, but would quickly kill her spirit.

  “Mo fear bean, my little wife,” he whispered.

  “Are we married, then? ’Tis over?”

  “Aye, we are wed. But until the night is through, ’tis not over.” Not wanting to give her time to worry, he brushed a kiss on her lips. He intended only a light kiss, favoring his still sore lip, but found he could not separate from her sweetness. His arms enfolded her, molding her soft body to his. Gentle still, his lips moved over hers to nibble her lower lip. He drew its lush fullness between his teeth and sucked, arousing his male needs. A growl formed low in his throat when he released her,

  He longed to taste all of her.

  Netta studied his handsome face. She stared at his moist lips. They had tasted of mint. Her cheeks heated wishing he would kiss her again. Her mouth felt puffy. Would anyone notice? Well, rats, of course they would. They stood in the great hall, didn’t they? When Mereck released her, her knees buckled. She was thankful he slipped his arm around her shoulders and held her close to his side.

  “Dinna break her bones, brither,” Damron cautioned, then kissed Netta on the forehead. “Welcome, wee sister.”

  “Ha, you call that a kiss of welcome?” Connor jostled Damron aside, took Netta’s flushed cheeks between warm hands and kissed her soundly on the lips.

  “Ouch!”

  Mereck slammed his foot on Connor’s toes. When a dainty foot kicked his leg, Connor’s eyes widened in surprise. He glanced over his shoulder to find Elise scowling at him.

  “What was that about, Mousie?”

  “You’re not supposed to kiss the bride that way.” Her voice sounded stern.

  “Oh? I didna know there is a special way to kiss a bride. Will you show me how to do it right? I dinna want to disgrace myself again.” He pulled her into his arms and started to lower his lips to hers. She shoved him away.

  “Horrid man. Keep your puckered lips to yourself.”

  Netta giggled and relaxed her stiff spine. The hall was fair to bursting with everyone at Blackthorn. One by one, knights and warriors offered their tributes. By the time they finished, the men had kissed every inch of her face. The younger men, who had hoped to win her hand, took their one opportunity to kiss her lips. As they drew back, Mereck spoke.

  “Dawn. The far field after you break your fast. Be there.” Each time he said it, his eyes became more stern, his expression more forbidding.

  “It was well worth it,” claimed one man.

  “Can I have another and meet you twice?” another offered.

  “Why are you asking them to meet you, husband?”

  “Since they dinna work this day, they must practice harder the next.”

  “Ha. He speaks an untruth, Netta. He means to make them pay fer slabberin’ on ye.” Meghan chuckled and hugged Netta.

  “Pay? You do not mean to punish them, do you Mereck?” She frowned at her new husband.

  “Punish? I wouldna dream of it.” He patted her shoulder and switched to Gaelic to say, “Nay. Not punish, but I sure as Lucifer’s blood-speckled eyes plan to reshape some noses.”

  She started to ask Meghan what he said, but Eric stepped forward. He kissed her hand. Catching him wink at Mereck, she decided he did not want to deal with her husband at dawn.

  Netta felt the weight of a ring on her finger. When had Mereck placed it there? She peeked and saw a silver band. Encircling the ring, the silversmith had engraved hearts connected with lovers’ knots. In the center of the largest heart lay a glistening sea-green stone.

  “Thank you for the beautiful token, Mereck.” Feeling shy, she whispered.

  “You are welcome. The band is a mo cridhe, a ‘my heart’ wedding ring. ’Tis the custom to place a jewel the color of the husband’s eyes in the center heart. The other hearts are for children yet to be born.”

  “Hear me. Take yer seats so we may toast my brither’s good fortune,” Damron bellowed from the center of the room.

  Netta sighed, relieved. Servants had covered the trestle tables with fine white linen, and at the head table stood silver trenchers and carved wooden spoons, along with silver chalices engraved with wolves and deers. She blinked at the chalice’s size. How many toasts did they expect her and Mereck to honor?

  No sooner did one toast finish afore another began.

  Mayhap it was a good thing. If she could get her new husband to take a hearty swallow with each toast, he could not help but fall asleep as soon as he went to bed. As the toasting wore on, she relaxed. She was doing a fine job of hiding her fear of him.

  Cook, with the aid of a score of servants, brought food to the tables. They had decorated the foods with violets, rose buds and marigolds. The aroma of roasted boar stuffed with mushrooms and large platters of beef, venison, veal, and oysters cooked with almonds and ginger made her mouth water. Bowls of beets, turnips, lettuce, and wild carrots in honey sat aside the meats. Brianna insisted on vegetables with each meal. Loaves of ale-flavored bread rounded out the meal.

  Whenever Mereck offered her the wine chalice, she kept her eyes on his hands. By the time they served the puddings and pastries, she felt soft as butter. In fact, she felt downright boneless.

  It took a mighty effort to keep her spine straight.

  Much later, after the jugglers, mimes, acrobats and jongleurs finished entertaining, the clan piper Angus announced a contest to find the most agile sword dancer. Eager warriors scattered crossed swords on the floor in the center of the room until they covered every available spot.

  “Merciful heavens, Netta. They are brainsick.” Elise bolted up from her seat and pointed. “They have tippled so much they can hardly walk, yet they plan to dance around a bunch of sharp swords? Blood will be all over the place. Yes it will.” She nodded so fast it was a wonder she did not make herself dizzy.

  Before the words left her mouth, Connor vaulted over the table and joined the laughing men. Damron and Mereck refused to participate. Netta decided they did not because they were the most skillful and would ruin the other’s chances. She thought it a most considerate thing to do.

  Also sensible. Before the pipers began to increase the rhythm of the tune, several men limped from the floor. Netta found it a most interesting dance. When the music became livelier, so did the dancers.

  Their knees lifted high; their plaids lifted higher.

  “Could I have more wine, husband? ’Tis quite hot.” Netta fanned her flaming face and avoided looking at the dancers. When she glanced sideways and saw Elise peeking between her fingers, she giggled. Mereck lifted a chalice to her lips. Cool water from the well. She looked at him, wondering.

  “You dinna want to be sick on your wedding night, mo cridhe, my heart.” He nuzzled the soft skin behind her ear.

  “Nay.” Why did her voice squeak like a mouse?

  “Nay? Nay what, mo bean, my wife.” His warm lips moved down the side of her neck and pressed a kiss on the hollow there.

  “Nay, I do not wish to be sick, of course.”

  The music ended with Connor and Eric equally taking the honors. A strange little man came over to the table carrying a gaily painted jug. He spoke in Gaelic. Why did everyone cheer?

  “Dougal has brought a gift of wedding mead,” Mereck explained. “We will drink it each night for the next fortnight to assure a son will be born afore the year is out.”

  Netta’s eyes widened at the mention of a son. “Merciful saints. I forgot about babes.”

  “Dinna you want children, wife?”

  Though his voice was soft, she heard worry in it. She nodded, but how could she tell him it was the one thing that made her think this marriage would work. She had always wanted a babe. Now that they would be bumping, surely they would make one of their own. He smiled back at her with sleepy eyes.

  “Would you like to seek your bed now, husband?�
�� She hoped he would. If he didn’t, they would stay here until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

  “It has been a long day.” His eyelids drooped even farther. He patted a yawn.

  Why was Connor laughing? Mereck glared at him from near-closed lids. When her husband yawned again, Connor choked and put his hand over his mouth.

  Concerned, Elise pounded his back. At least Netta thought it was Elise. Her eyes tended to see double. She rubbed them and blinked, until only one Elise appeared in her view.

  “’Tis off to bed then. Mereck, give us a small while afore ye come bargin’ up the stairs.” Meghan took Netta by the elbow, Brianna smiled and stood, and Elise bounded off her bench to follow them.

  Unfailingly polite, Netta thanked Damron, Lady Phillipa, Lord Douglas, Brianna, Elise, Connor, Meghan, the widows and even the four squires. Did she miss anyone? She frowned and looked for Marcus and Eric. Meghan tugged her forward.

  “Do ye think to dawdle the evenin’ away?” Meghan’s smile broadened as she made sure Netta did not trip on the first step.

  “Nay. I’m trying to wait until Mereck is near asleep.” Netta’s whisper was more of a soft bellow. When she heard laughter, it surprised her. “They are all sotted,” she explained to the women accompanying her. When the laugher grew, she craned her head and looked for the entertainer. “For truth, Scots are passing strange.”

  It was good she kept her head about her, for when they reached the third floor, the women bypassed Meghan’s bedroom.

  “You have forgotten where I sleep.”

  “Ye dinna sleep with us any longer. Mereck has taken the room next to Damron’s. Bran has moved yer things to it and will serve as yer maid.” Meghan grinned at her.