Midnight's Bride (3 page)

He cleared his throat and spat into the stale rushes.

Lynette was not of his seed. She was the Welshman's get, Kyrie's first husband Rys. Mayhap a changeling. She should have died with her mother. He had forbad anyone to help with the birthing. Surely a sorceress entered and placed her babe amidst the blood on the bed. He had planned to kill the bairn; his hand had covered her nose and mouth. Her eyes had stopped him.

Remembering, fear flashed through him. He shuddered.

The minute he had touched the babe, her eyes had stared at him. Defying him! Shock like lightning had struck his palm. Anyone would have jerked back. Those eyes. The deep purplish-blue of a bittersweet nightshade. 'Twas a devil's eye, the right one with its honey-colored freckle, that frightened her suitors.

While Lynette remains at Wycliffe, he could not be free of her mother's memory. If he never saw the accursed girl again, he would be content.

Waves of physical hate filled Wycliffe. The restless hounds under the table whined. He kicked out at them.

 

Pain tore through Mereck's head. He fought the urgent need to bend forward and grasp it between his hands. A warm, wet nose nudged him under his outstretched leg. He ran his fingers through the dog's shaggy hair to soothe it. And to soothe himself.

He inhaled a shuddering breath and forced his body to relax. Across from him sat the only man in England, Wales or Scotland who would offer a bastard such vast holdings, the wealth to maintain them, and a beautiful bride. Even stranger than that, Wycliffe unknowingly was returning Mereck's mother's lands, Mereck's own heritage, to him.

His pain eased. He forced a smile and stood.

“Baron, be assured I'll return on the morrow to complete the contracts and bring my own. My man delivered Lynette to Ridley. Have no fear. She will trouble you no more. From this moment on she is
mine
. My charge. My responsibility. Lynette will accompany me when I return to Scotland.”

He bowed and excused himself. After posting several warriors where they could intercept anyone trying to enter Wycliffe before his return, he rode through the misty rain toward Ridley Castle. He breathed deeply, cleansing his body and mind of the miasma surrounding the baron. As the air exploded from his lips, Marcus glanced at him with raised brows.

“What say you, Marcus? Will you take command o'er my men in Wales a year hence? Would you be happy there?” Mereck nodded at his first-in-command's astonished expression.

“The little servant? She was not a servant, was she?” Mereck smiled his answer. Marcus rubbed his jaw and eyed him. “The daughter of the house? Ah, then the tales were true?” He thumped himself on the forehead. “Had I known of it, I would have raced through the barbican afore you!”

Mereck's hearty laughter echoed through the trees. Stunned to silence on hearing that rare sound, his men stared.

 

The moment the helpful squire turned his back, Netta slipped into the shadows and entered the castle. She tucked her head down and prayed no one would recognize her as she used the servants' stairs. For certs, Elise would help her plan how to avoid an odious marriage. Glancing over her shoulder, she slipped into her friend's room.

“Netta! When did you arrive? I was about to go down to the hall. Come, we'll go together.” Elise smiled happily.

“Shh, Elise, no one must know I am here.” Netta led Elise to sit on the bed. She jerked the heavy rose-colored bed drapes closed, in case someone came into the room while they perched atop the warm furs covering the featherbed.

“Father has lost his mind,” Lynette whispered in Elise's ear. “You must help me. That doddering Baron Durham died in my room. Father decided I would wed the first loathsome man who entered Wycliffe this morn, whether he be knight or swineherd.”

Elise shrieked, “He died in your room? You are to marry a keeper of pigs?”

Lynette's hand flashed out to cover her friend's mouth.

“Even worse! The dreaded Baresark my father has always threatened me with arrived at first light. He is a bearded, barbaric Welshman. Father greeted him like a long lost relative. He wears animal hides and furs and leather bands around his arms in the old way. He probably has an enemy's skull in his travel pouch.” Lynette shuddered with horror.

Elise grabbed the back end of her tunic and draped it around her head like a cloak. Only her shocked eyes were visible. “'Tis Baresark? A skull hung from his horse?” If Elise's whisper had been any louder, they would have heard her on the other side of the thick chamber door.

“Shh. Nay, I saw no skull. It would not surprise me, though, for he is even more frightening than Father described. He oft said the savage keeps the skulls of respected enemies. They are supposed to bring him the man's wisdom.” She stopped and listened. “Do you think anyone saw me come up here?”

Before Elise could answer, someone scratched on the door. Netta grabbed Elise's arm and whispered in her ear. “Hurry. See who it is.” Elise scrambled off the bed, and Netta yanked the bed curtains shut.

Elise opened the door a crack.

“Milady, visitors have arrived. Yer father wishes ye to attend him.”

Elise nodded. “I will be down directly. As soon as I find my shoes.” She wriggled, trying to hide her well-shod feet behind the door. “Do not tarry for me.” She slammed the door in the girl's face, then raced back to the bed to Lynette.

“Do you think the barbarian hunted you down like he did those poor creatures he wears on his body?” Elise gulped. “For sure that is why they have sent for me. I cannot go below.”

“Act as if nothing is wrong,” Netta whispered.

“Nay, I could not.” Elise's voice wobbled, her hands shook.

“Someone will come to see why you have not obeyed his summons,” Netta reminded her as she clambered off the bed.

“Let them. I'll not go below.” Elise folded her arms and stood her ground.

Netta took Elise's shoulders and urged her across the room and out into the hallway.

“Do not be affrighted. No one knows I'm here.”

Shortly after Mereck arrived at Ridley Castle, he scrubbed himself clean, scraped the hair from his face and changed into a fine, white linen shirt, dark brown tunic and beige breeches. He stripped away all traces of the warrior Baresark. The next time Netta saw him, she would not recognize him as the man her father determined she would marry.

After the sunset bells of Vespers, Mereck told Baron Ridley and his wife of Wycliffe's harsh decree and of the betrothal contract he had signed that morn.

“Lynette is a keen-witted girl. Disguised as a maid, she came below to see what manner of man her father would force her to wed. He caught sight of her, called her a thief and bid me capture her when she fled.” Remembering how she had winced at his touch, Mereck's brows drew together.

“The poor child.” The baron's wife had tears in her eyes. “I am afeared he beat her soundly after you left.”

“Nay. I would not allow such. I pretended to believe she was of no account and bid my squire to bring her here. No doubt, she is above. Hiding in your daughter's chambers. If she appears dressed as a servant, I would that you pretend not to recognize her in her disguise.”

“Ah, now I see your plan. How fortunate you have arrived to escort Elise to her cousin at Blackthorn. When Lynette learns of it, she will surely think to escape by going with Elise.”

In a soothing gesture, Baron Ridley patted Mereck's shoulder. “Aye. 'Tis unfortunate her father filled her thoughts with terror of the Baresark legend. As she comes to know and trust you, she will learn that though the legend and Mereck of Blackthorn are one and the same, she has no need to be afeared of you.”

 

Netta huddled in the dark bed, awaiting Elise's return. The door burst open, and Elise entered, along with a servant and the appetizing aroma of roasted chicken. Netta's stomach grumbled, reminding her of her neglect.

“Put the tray on the table, please. What I have heard this night surprised me, and I forgot to eat. That's why I had you bring so much food,” she explained loudly.

Noting a hand grasp the bed curtains to draw them back, Netta scrambled to the darkest corner of the bed.

“Nay,” Elise fairly shrieked. “Do not worry with turning down my bed. I will undress later and do it myself.”

Netta heard a disbelieving snort on the other side of the heavy fabric and almost laughed aloud. Elise was childishly dependent on others to do these chores.

“I will be fine. You may go,” Elise added.

Netta parted the bed curtain just enough to glimpse Elise shoving the startled maid through the doorway. Once the maid disappeared, Netta leapt from the bed.

“Food.” She raced to the tray and stood, sniffing the mouth-watering smell wafting through the white linen napkins. “I'm drooling like a bairn. I've had naught but bread and water since Baron Durham came to Wycliffe.”

“Come. It will be warmer over here.” Elise placed the tray on a fur rug close to a brazier of hot coals. After selecting a roasted chicken leg for herself, and handing Netta a thigh from the trencher, she sighed. “All has worked out for the best.”

“What has worked out?” Netta asked.

“Our traveling to Scotland, of course.” Elise waved the juicy leg at Netta.

“What?” Netta dropped her food in her lap. Startled, she looked down at the mess on her clothing. “Who is traveling to Scotland?”

Elise looked at her as if she thought her best friend dim-witted. “We”—she pointed the leg at Netta and then toward herself—“are going to Scotland.” She beamed, but seeing Netta's mouth remained open, she hurried to explain.

“Mereck of Blackthorn is below. My cousin has had a terrible tragedy and has sent for me.” Of a sudden, her eyes widened until the whites showed all around her blue irises. She gasped. “Oh, blessed saints in heaven. The wolves.”

“What? What wolves?” Netta was beginning to think the only word she had spoken in this discourse was “what.”

“You know. The wolves.” Elise explained. Netta stared at her without speaking. “The wolves Galan and his friends told Brianna and me about. Do you not remember? I told you of it,” Elise reminded her. “They said the ferocious Scots have pet wolves. On winter nights, they raid across the borders and take pesky English girls to feed the wolves.” She twisted her fingers together and huddled closer to the brazier. “'Tis soon winter.”

“Saints, Elise.” Netta laughed. “What right-thinking person befriends a wolf? Do not tell me you believed those silly tales.”

“Galan is an honorable knight. He would not lie,” Elise huffed.

“Aye, but he had made no knightly vows then. He was a boy. A tease. When you jumped with fear and cried, did he not comfort you and say he was sorry?” Netta grinned as Elise bobbed her head in agreement. “When your cousin scolded him, did he not look shamed?”

“Aye.” Elise's face brightened. “So. You will go with me?”

“Go where?” Netta asked. All this talks of pet wolves made her forget what they were talking about.

“Where? Really, Netta. You should pay attention. To my cousin Brianna at Blackthorn Castle, of course.” Elise tore off a chunk of dark bread and nibbled on it. Her eyes lit. “Mereck of Blackthorn will escort us. He did not laugh at me about the wolves.” She looked accusingly at Netta. “He told Mother I may take one servant and only what we can put on a single packhorse. Mother will send my things later. Mereck is in a hurry to return to Scotland where our Bleddyn awaits him.”

“Why did you not tell me Lord Bleddyn was in Scotland?” Netta's hopes surged. The Welshman would stop her father from forcing her into an abominable marriage and sure madness. “One servant? Of course I'll go, but I need clothing.” She reached for another piece of chicken. “And a disguise,” she added.

“My tunics will fall off you. Where did you get that ugly garment you wear? It keeps sliding from your shoulders. Why did you stop growing?” Elise frowned at her as if accusing her of being small apurpose. “I know,” she said, one hand in the air extending her forefinger. “Cook has a daughter not full grown. I'll trade what you are wearing for something of hers. She won't mind.”

They ate as they talked and made their plans. Seeing the trencher was empty, Netta eyed it with regret and licked the juice from her fingers. She had a hearty appetite—one suiting a woman as tall as Elise.

 

Switching from one foot to the other, Netta peered out the window opening as dawn lightened the sky. Hearing Elise returning from Matins, she dove behind the bed hangings.

“'Tis me,” Elise whispered.

Netta jumped from the bed and grinned at the sight that greeted her eyes. A very frumpy looking Elise carried a heavy tray across the room.

“I hid the garments from the cook's daughter under my shift. Knowing you would be hungry, I told Maud I needed extra food.” Elise frowned and shrugged. “Though several squires snickered and pointed when I walked past, no one suspected anything was afoot.”

Her normally slender posterior was lumpy and shifted with each step. Trailing behind her like a tail was the sleeve of a brown tunic. Lynette muffled her laughter with a pillow and pointed. Elise craned her neck around, then grinned and wriggled her bottom until the clothing dropped to the floor.

Netta giggled and picked up the tunic to hold it in front of her. “No doubt they thought you could not clothe yourself any better than a babe. I had best put this on afore your mother comes to see how you fare.”

“You cannot wear such coarse cloth next to your body. It will make you itch.” Elise lifted her trunk lid and delved through her garments until she found a linen smock to protect Lynette's delicate skin from chafing.

“Why did you want berries? Cook had some to make a special fruit pastie for Lord Mereck. He favors them. He praises her and kisses her cheek each time he visits. I whined and told her how sad I was to leave and be prey to savages and wolves, and she let me have a few berries.” Elise looked guilty for having deceived the cook.

“They are for my disguise,” Netta told her. Elise's eyes widened, so she explained. “I will blacken some of my teeth, and make a berry paste to make my right cheek appear as if it was marked from birth.”

After donning the smock and brown tunic, she put the berries in an earthenware pot, then mashed them into a paste. She tried the dye on her cheek, but it was too thick and not dark enough. Adding wine, she again tested it.

“Is this unsightly enough?” She turned and faced Elise.

Elise shuddered and made a face. “Bleh!”

Netta plugged the pot with a stopper and set it aside. She blackened two front teeth with walnut stain she had prepared earlier, and turned to see Elise's eyes rounded wide.

“Yech, Netta. 'Tis disgusting.”

“Good. Comely servants attract attention. Perchance your Mereck would want to sport with me. This will discourage him.”

After hiding Netta's curly black hair beneath a scarf, Elise again surveyed her friend. “Keep your gaze lowered. No one has eyes like yours. They are bound to draw notice.”

“Do you think your father will allow someone unfamiliar to attend you?” Worry churned Netta's stomach.

“Mother surprised me after Matins. She said I could choose any servant I wanted.” Elise grinned. “Mereck himself suggested I take someone new. Someone who would not grow homesick for Ridley. Father agreed. Was that not fortunate?”

“Aye, indeed. What would I do without you? Wedding that frightful barbarian would ruin my life.”

“And what would I do if you were not here to go with me to barbaric Scotland?” Elise blushed. “We are helping each other.”

Netta hugged her. “Let us go to the hall for the noon meal. I'll follow and look the dutiful servant. We will learn if my disguise works.”

 

The torches lit around the great room aided Mereck in spying Netta right off. She trailed Elise across the room, her back straight, shoulders squared with unconscious dignity. She smoothed her hands over her sleeves and stealthily scratched her arms. Thick, sweeping lashes framed her almond-shaped eyes. He willed her to look at him.

She did. Hmm. Beautiful eyes colored a purplish-blue. His stare discomfited her, for she quickly looked away, exposing her right cheek. He saw the red mark on her delicate skin. He had not seen it in the dim stable. Pity filled him. Was this one reason her father had been unable to secure a suitable husband for the lady? Why she shunned them? Most likely only unattractive young men and the aged came to seek her hand.

As Mereck watched, Elise elbowed Netta in the ribs. Netta's shoulders slumped, her head tipped humbly down as she shuffled off to sit at one of the lower tables. The last open seat was beside a sweaty shepherd sporting a very large wart between his eyes. Mereck could imagine his fetid odor.

Netta gathered her skirt close to sit on the bench. A visible shudder ran through her. Soon after she settled there, the man did not seem averse to using her sleeve to wipe his nose. Holding her hand over her mouth, she fled the bench. Her skirts flipped up to reveal shapely legs clothed in coarse white stockings.

Nearby diners laughed at Netta's abrupt departure. She grabbed a pitcher of wine from a passing servant and hurried over to the high table.

“Was your business this morn with Baron Wycliffe fruitful, Lord Mereck?” Simon Ridley asked, then took a sip of wine while awaiting Mereck's answer.

“Aye. Most gratifying, Baron.” Mereck kept his face steady as Elise gaped at him. Netta approached the man beside him, the ewer of wine poised to refill his empty chalice.

Elise cleared her throat. “While you were at Wycliffe Castle, my lord, was all well with the baron and his family? Was there a great uproar and searching about the grounds, or warriors riding out with weapons?”

“Search parties? Why would there be search parties, Lady Elise? Has the baron perchance misplaced a daughter?” Mereck hiked his brows.

“Nay, sir,” Elise said. “Many men come to Wycliffe to seek my friend Lynette's hand. They sometimes misplace servants.”

“Hmm. Now you mention it, lady, there was something strange. Many peasants and sheep herders clamored to come through the gates.” Mereck rubbed his jaw and looked pensive. “Each said they were the first to arrive. Many fights broke out amongst them over it. It seemed every man in the village sought an audience with the baron. They all offered to sacrifice themselves at the altar.” He smoothed his hand over the cloth on the table, straightening a wrinkle there.

“The altar? What is this, my lord?” Lady Maud pretended she knew naught of the happenings at Wycliffe.

Mereck told her of the baron's harsh decree, while Netta moved closer, dutifully filling each chalice along the way.

“He cannot mean to do such,” Lady Maud protested.

Remembering Wycliffe's unnatural hatred for his daughter, Mereck's lips thinned in distaste. His hand moved to grip his sword hilt. He regretted he could not have put it to use earlier.

“He did. I
saw
the betrothal contracts signed whilst I was there. They dinna require her signature. The marriage is all but fact, Baron. She is now under another man's control.”