Midnight's Bride Read online

  “If women were given the same freedoms as men, family structure would collapse. You would not have time to tend our comforts.”

  Meghan snorted and raised her hand at him, her third finger aimed upward. A most strange gesture.

  Connor needed an extra pair of hands. He tried to cover Elise’s eyes but was not quick enough.

  “What does that…” Elise could say no more afore he interrupted her.

  “So help me, Meghan, if ye e’er do such a vulgar thing again, I will have Damron take the flat of his hand to yer arse.”

  Netta blinked in surprise.

  “Fat lot of guid it would do him,” Meghan scoffed. “Damron kens I will be a lady when I wish. Quit yer slabberin’ over Elise, brother. Canna ye see ye upset the poor lass slappin’ yer paws from one part of her face to the other? Now that we have livened Granda’s rest, we had best freshen up.”

  Meghan glared at her brother’s hands still lingering on Elise’s shoulder. When he released her, Elise bolted off the bed and detoured around him.

  Mereck moved aside for both her and Meghan. Before Netta could leave, he shifted, partially blocking the doorway. She tried to scoot past. Her breasts brushed his chest, sending hot flashes of pleasure straight to his tarse. When her hand grazed his suffering sex, he snapped his jaw tight. Wide-eyed, she glanced down, blushed and jerked her arm back. She bolted after Meghan.

  Netta gazed around Meghan’s room, pleased by the way it reflected Meghan’s brisk personality. Sprigs of pink and purple heather spilled from a wicker basket setting beside the door, their fresh scent drifting on the air.

  She crossed to the opposite wall, and peered out a large window slit. It overlooked a steep slope into the valley. The sun’s rays entered to brighten the leaf-green bed curtains tied to the posts of a large bed. Someone had neatly folded their few belongings atop the forest green cover. Alongside their clothing lay several colorful tunics and smocks.

  “Ye are close to my height.” Meghan selected a tunic and held it up to Elise’s shoulders. “I chose some of my own garments for ye. I ne’er wear skirts if I can help it. Why should a man have the comfort of breeches, when we must drag a mountain of cloth about our legs?” Meghan’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Not to mention it hinders carryin’ a blade.”

  Three wooden chests, one with a sword atop it, sat beneath colorful tapestries on each side of the room. Netta picked up the sword to study it. “Ah, the sword is your own? ’Tis beautiful. Was it crafted for you?” A small crystal sat low on the handle. The sword’s blade, engraved with Celtic designs, reflected the room’s colors.

  “Aye.” Meghan nodded. “Damron gifted me with it on my sixteenth name day.” She threw the door open and called for servants to bring a tub and buckets of water for bathing.

  In a far corner of the room, the bath was soon set up beside a washstand holding a pitcher, basin and cloths. A privacy screen shielded it. After the door closed behind the servants, Elise insisted Netta should be first to use it.

  “Meghan, what is a prick? Is it the same as a tarse?” Netta’s voice was only loud enough to hear above the sounds of her bathing.

  “Aye. Their member has many names. If it be long, they do like to call it a tarse, a rod or shaft; if hard and strong it becomes a ram, a dabbler or weapon. Sometimes it be small and pitiful afore it grows, and prick or pintle seems more apt. A man does hate to have his weapon called a prick.” Hearing Netta’s bark of laughter and Elise’s surprised giggles, Meghan grinned and rolled her eyes.

  “Father would never let me attend male visitors.” Netta grimaced, realizing her own naivete. “I thought they were like those on little boys. Until I started watching our escorts. The wind was most helpful.”

  Meghan chuckled. “So Mereck didna lie about yer lookin’ at the men? Did ye really try to seduce him while he slept?” The bed ropes squeaked when she sat on the pallet.

  “I never did!” Netta sprang from the tub in such haste water sloshed onto the floor. Hugging a drying clothing about her, she rushed from behind the screen.

  “He insisted on sleeping so close to my pallet, that in my sleep, I thought he was part of it. I did wake to find my bedding warm as fresh baked bannocks. Instead of bread, I found my head on his chest, his heartbeat beneath my ear. Its pounding awakened me.”

  Thinking about Mereck reminded her to ask about Meghan’s unusual gesture. Surely it meant something men disliked intensely, else Connor would not be so offended.

  “What was that sign you made? Connor was so aggrieved I thought he would thrash you.”

  Netta picked up a stool and moved it to where the sun’s rays streamed through the window slit. She sat and combed the tangles from her hair while Elise bathed.

  “Huh. He can try.” Meghan shrugged. “As a young girl, I had a frightenin’ experience. After it, I persuaded Granda to allow me to train with the boys. Years later, when my skills equaled theirs, they dubbed me the Warrior Woman of Blackthorn. Connor knows I can hold my own with him.

  “The gesture was somethin’ Brianna used one day, when we women dunked rose-scented, soapy water o’er the men. The dirty auld sheep lovers canna bear to cleanse their bodies. They believe water will shrivel their male parts. When Damron ordered Brianna to stop, she threw him what she called ‘the finger.’ She said it was common in the strange far away land where she was born. It means a man should swive himself.”

  Netta thought that would be an unusual event, for she did not know how one would swive to begin with.

  “Does Damron not mind that Mereck loves Brianna? I watched him with her and the babe. He turned soft as gruel around them.” Nettta felt a sharp twinge. Surely not jealousy?

  “Aye, Mereck loves Brianna. But as a sister. Since he was but seven winters old, he has vowed ne’er to love a woman as wife. He has led a strange life. After our parents and Damron’s father were murdered, Damron and Connor fostered for six months of each year with King William’s family in Normandy. Aunt Phillipa took me with her.”

  “Did not Mereck go?” Elise asked as she splashed a tide of water under the screen.

  “Nay. For a reason. Afore Damron was born, his Da captured a Welsh woman in a raid. She fell deeply in love with him. She died when Mereck was born. Earlier that same hour, Aunt Phillipa had birthed Damron. She refused wet nurses and insisted on nursing Mereck along with Damron. She would have kept Mereck with us when we went to Normandy, but Granda wouldna allow it.

  “Because he feared for him. When still a youth, Mereck learned he was called the last Baresark in Wales. The wild blood of the Welsh strengthened the fighting blood of the Scots in Mereck. My cousin ne’er speaks overmuch, but his temper is legendary. The first man in Normandy to call him a by-blow would have found himself with Mereck’s great weight on his chest, his short sword at his neck. Any clan would be honored to call him their own. He is the finest warrior in Scotland.”

  Netta felt a pang of sympathy. Mereck must have always felt like an outcast. What a terrible burden for anyone to bear.

  “How does that explain the closeness between Mereck and Brianna?”

  “Why, because of Damron’s French leman. ’Twas unfortunate she was already increasin’ when Damron brought Brianna to Blackthorn. The leman swore ’twas Damron’s doin’. Our Brianna’s bairn was stillborn.

  “The leman birthed a girl and ordered Johanna to kill it, then disappeared. Johanna protected the bairn, but the little one refused to nurse. When Brianna heard her pitiful cries, she demanded they bring the child to her. The bairn latched onto Brianna’s breast and still wails pitifully if she canna see or hear her new mother.

  “Ye ken, Brianna did for Serena what Aunt Phillipa did for Mereck? Mereck loves her for it.”

  Elise bobbed her head as she came from behind the screen. “Saints preserve us, Netta. I do not want to wed a Highland giant who has those leman creatures hanging about. Father would rather I died a shriveled old lady, he would.”

  “Damron has oft tried to find a ma
n with a ‘firm hand’ to wed me. I soon discourage them.” Meghan laughed.

  “How have you gone about it?” Netta fought to control her ebony curls with a silver circlet around her brow. “I have not found men easy to turn away. At times, I acted like they had an unpleasant smell to insult them. If it did not, I crossed my eyes whenever the suitor was around. Too often, I could not keep it up.” She looked up and grinned. “If the man was fastidious about his person, I did not bathe and spilled food down my clothing. I even sprinkled dirt around my neck. It made nasty little mud balls when I began to sweat. I wore the same tunic until the suitor left in disgust.”

  Meghan laughed as she combed her own hair.

  “Aunt Phillipa watches me too closely for those tricks, but I ha’e my own ways to upset the churls.”

  “What do you do? My eyes don’t cross easily, and I hate dirt.” Elise looked surprised when they laughed. “What? Why do you laugh?”

  “I have known ye for but half a day, and yer eyes cross every time Connor comes near. Have ye not noticed?”

  Elise put her hands on her cheeks, hiding her blush. Meghan hugged her shoulders.

  “If the unwanted man plays the pipes,” Meghan said, “I invite him to a contest. I can out-pipe the best of them. If he thinks himself a great swordsman, I demand we meet in the practice field. They fall o’er their feet afeared to draw a drop of my blood. They worried for naught, for I can compete with most men. If neither of these ideas works, I aim my dirk at a spot on the bench.”

  “Why would that stop them?” Netta could not think why Meghan’s solution would scare a man away.

  “It will. If the spot is betwixt their hairy thighs.” In a flash, Meghan’s arm raised and a blade flashed across the room and thudded into the door.

  Her skill was so great, Netta had not even seen her draw the blade from the sheath at her thigh.

  “Damnation, Meg, cease,” Connor yelled from the corridor.

  He eased the door open and scowled at Meghan, then stood aside.

  Brianna’s maid servant entered carrying an armful of bright clothing, saying her mistress wanted Netta to have them. They were of the same small stature. On the morrow, the ladies of the castle would help sew the young women new outfits.

  Connor’s entrance kept Netta from asking Meghan if she had found a particular man to her liking. When she had spoken about her suitors, her eyes had filled with sadness.

  “Have you not noted how late it becomes? Granda is enjoying a nip with Mereck.” Connor looked down at Netta, his eyes twinkling. “Lady, Mereck declares you are to present yourself at once, or he will change his mind.”

  “Change his mind, sir? About what?” Netta reached up to sweep an unruly curl from her face.

  “He didna say.” Connor pivoted on his heels and left.

  Upon entering the great hall, Netta did not see Mereck for all the people milling about. They made their way toward the group standing around the fireplace. She spied him deep in conversation with Damron. He lounged with casual grace, one shoulder braced against the heavy wood of the mantel. As if to anchor himself, he had spread his muscular legs slightly apart. A large basket sat beside his feet.

  “Blessed Saint Cuthbert,” Netta blurted. “He wears a wee lambkin about his shoulders.”

  The large bundle of white around Mereck’s neck stiffened and jiggled about precariously. A very fat tail flapped back and forth, swatting his face. Netta could only glimpse his startled green eyes as the tail attacked. A head rose to press close to Mereck’s cheek. It squinted gleaming, yellow eyes at her.

  “Saints! It still lives.” The creature’s yowl of displeasure at rudely being interrupted from a well-earned nap made Netta skid to a halt.

  The fur piece scrambled, stretched and dug its claws into Mereck’s chest. Reaching up with soothing hands, he murmured in Gaelic and gathered the animal in his arms. Fascinated, Netta watched him stroke from the top of its head to the end of a long fluffy tail, comforting the animal. How odd that Scotland’s most feared warrior looked so gentle.

  She felt a fool. Why, it was no small lamb, but the largest white cat she had ever seen. Mereck had imposing shoulders, yet the animal had more than covered their breadth and down the sides of his arms. Surely anyone would have mistaken it?

  “Now that you have disturbed Mither’s much needed rest, lady, I can see nothing for it but that you soothe the savage beasties.” He nodded at the basket, no longer setting quietly but swaying and creaking at her feet.

  Inside was the biggest litter of kittens Netta had ever seen. They were all different colors. Had the cat mated with every tom in the barn? Nay, that could not be the reason. They were also different sizes. She looked up at Mereck, puzzled.

  “They are as you see them. She feeds not only her own get, but the bairns of mothers who became food for a sneaky fox.”

  Little kitten faces peered up at them, their mouths agape. Tiny white teeth and pink tongues showed as they set up a mewling racket begging sustenance. Without thinking, Netta plunked down on the floor beside the basket and folded her legs beneath her tunic.

  Which one should she pet first? The littlest with eyes not fully open? Or the larger kittens that acted like they were starving? She solved it by lining the four smallest on her arm and cuddling them to her chest. After scooping several other babes onto her lap, she soon ran out of room.

  “Oh, I cannot comfort them all.” Distress streaked through her when the other kittens looked up at her and seemed to beg for the same attention.

  Elise joined her, taking over the remaining kittens. Netta’s heart beat happily. She had never had so many small ones to pet and hold. When they crawled up her clothing to nuzzle at her neck, she giggled and shivered when rough little tongues licked her skin and tried to find a teat to nurse.

  Mereck’s gaze roved over Netta. He feigned but mild interest in what he saw. Netta was beautiful enjoying the little balls of fur. He recalled her happy face in Granda’s room when she petted Guardian. Though not born a bastard, her father truly earned the epithet by his deeds.

  Wycliffe had thought to rule Netta, to force her to his will. One did not master such a spirit as hers by harshness. He would seek her compliance by other means.

  He would woo her with what her father denied her. First was her desire to have something to love and call her own.

  His gaze fell to her sweet neck. His bride squirmed as a kitten’s tongue tickled her beneath her ear. Would she squirm when his tongue lapped over her, his mouth suckled her skin? Her innocent face was soft and yearning.

  Sweet Christ, let it soon be for him she yearned. One look at Netta jolted his body to respond. His ballocks ached, his tarse hardened and stirred. Never had a woman caused him to stay in such a ready state of arousal.

  He had neglected his needs far too long afore he met her. Ne’er did he share his favors for long with a lass whose company he enjoyed. If he felt his regard soften, he was always on guard, fearful it would turn to love. Now, he didna feel right swiving another, for Netta was all but his wife.

  “Ye had best settle the beasties, Mereck, afore ye burst.”

  Meghan’s lips fought a grin. When she nodded at his bulging sex, he realized what was evident to all in the room. His desire for Netta. Muttering curses in Gaelic, he knelt beside the two young women.

  “Come, Mither. Yer bairns are demandin’ their bellies be filled.” He put the cat in the empty basket and plucked the smallest kittens off Netta. He helped each latch onto one of Mither’s teats.

  His knuckles brushed against Netta’s breast when he pried a kitten’s claws from her clothing. His ballocks throbbed with need. How sweet she would taste when he drew that same nipple into his mouth. Her breast would swell, the nipple would harden and the areola would pebble with passion. He stifled a groan.

  Netta’s gaze darted to his face. What she saw there must have startled her, for she gasped and plucked the next hungry creature from her chest and put it in his hands. Her face flu
shed. He watched her pulse pounding in her tempting neck.

  His resolve hardened thinking about the marriage contract. She would fight it. But not for long. He would not allow it. If she refused to say her vows afore the priest, he would force her to nod her head in agreement. He would not give up Caer Cad-well.

  Netta shivered again. Something in his face, nay, not something. A look of wildness was there that reminded her of the day he hurtled from the woods, his sword drawn and a snarl on his lips.

  Now, smoldering flames burned in the depths of his darkened eyes. His face looked hungry. Lean. His expression sent tremors through her stomach. Everywhere his gaze touched, heat seared her flesh.

  How could he cause such strange feelings with but a look? She lowered her eyes and placed the last kitten in the basket.

  Mereck gripped her elbow and helped her rise. She didn’t dare pull away. Her legs would not support her. It must be exhaustion from the long journey. Aye. That’s what this is about, the reason for these strange feelings.

  How had they crossed the great hall to the high table so quickly? Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she saw he watched her. His eyes brimmed with amused pleasure.

  “He asked ye twice, Netta”—Meghan’s voice floated to her senses—“which of the wee beasties ye wud like?”

  “Like? I may have a kitten of my own?” She could not keep the surprise from her voice, nor the worry from her soul. Would he be like her father and later take delight in destroying something she loved?

  “Ye seemed to coddle the runt of the litters, lady, but the wee one is not verra strong,” Mereck said, his voice hoarse.

  “Is it the little white one with the black tip on his nose and chin that you call the runt? How can you give a sweet little creature such an ugly name, sir?”

  She stared at his mouth. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips; his lips softened and pursed slightly.

  “Aye, such a sweet little creature.” His finger under her chin tilted her face up to him. His warm lips brushed hers.

  She blinked. Could he have guessed she was curious how his lips would feel against her own? The mewling kittens drew her attention back to them.