Midnight's Bride (4 page)

At the thought of who Netta now belonged to, warm waves of satisfaction flowed over him. His loins heated and began to stir. Netta was
his
.

“He did what?” Elise yelled and shot to her feet.

Netta leaned to refill his chalice. He caught her scent—roses and heather—and felt alarm crackle like sparks from her. A young man seated next to Mereck reached out and pinched her delightful bottom. Netta gasped and jerked upward. Wine flew from the ewer and landed in Mereck's lap. Eyelids narrowed, he turned an icy glare on the man.

Netta stared at the purple stain on his tunic. Her eyes widened and her chin began to quiver.

Elise hurried to stand between her and Mereck, the gesture protective, as she babbled, “He promised Lynette to the beast, my lord? Did you see the barbarian? I regret my new servant soiled your clothing. Take them off, and she will cleanse them.”

“Lady, I do not think dining naked would be proper.” His lips twitched at the abashed look on Netta's face. “The barbarian? I did not look upon the man to whom her father betrothed her, but I heard his vow to take the utmost care of her.” For truth, he could not see himself at Wycliffe, but he had heard his own voice vow to care for her. His gaze swept over Netta.

He had thought much of the legend of late. Bleddyn was a mystic and healer, and Mereck had spoken to him of it afore leaving Blackthorn. Bleddyn believed it was a foolish legend that blamed a husband's love for their deaths. He deemed the Baresark wives died from difficult labors and unsanitary conditions. 'Twas common. Many women died of childbirth.

Lynette was the means to gain all he wished for in life. His mother's lands and holdings would be his own. As his wife, she would bear his bairns who would never have to hear the hateful taunt of “bastard.” A family to call his own. His sons and daughters would have a father they could claim. One who would leave them security and a legacy.

He would protect his bride. But he would never love her.

The sound of Netta's racing footsteps on the stone floor faded as she fled the room.

 

Netta huddled in the window embrasure of Elise's room. Scratching her arms. Not only did the cook's daughter give her clothing to wear, she also sent along the fleas that lived there. Her shoulders drooped. She fought moisture filling her eyes. Heaven knew she had much to be miserable about—a father who sought to banish her from his life, escaping a betrothed who was a fearsome savage, a trip to the barbarous Highlands and now disgusting fleas.

If she was not so furious, she would wail.

Elise burst into the room, her mother close behind her. Netta stood, jerked her head down and curtsied to the baroness. A particularly ferocious varmint made her twitch and shudder. Lady Maud's brows rose.

“What ails you, girl? Are you so infested with vermin you cannot keep still?”

Netta peeked up at her through lowered lashes. Elise's mother studied Netta with compassionate eyes. Would she recognize her? Netta's hands trembled.

“Aye, milady. I fear ye be right. I slept too close to a hound in the kitchens and he sent his friends to me clothin',” she mumbled.

“Elise, is this the young woman whom you begged me to let accompany you?”

“Aye, if you please, Mother. She will be my protector. She is not afeared of wild men or beasts!”

“What is your name?” Lady Maud asked Netta.

“It is Netta, Mother,” Elise said. “I cannot go to that awful place without her.” She began to wail piteously.

“No need to be upset, love. Come, Netta. I have a lotion that will aid you, and a strong soap that will kill the pesky devils.” Lady Maud beckoned Netta to follow her, then stopped abruptly.

“Elise, have a servant go through the chest in my solar. Surely she can find something serviceable for Netta amid your old clothing stored there.”

Netta's mouth dropped open. She drew near to the baroness, who surprised her by winking and giving her shoulder a quick pat. As they left the room, one woman stood tall and proud, the other slumped and shuffled, watching for any mishap that would deny her her freedom.

 

After attending mass at dawn and breaking their fast, Mereck's party prepared to leave. The bailey swarmed with horses and men, and the servants there to ease their leave-taking. A slight breeze stirred the dust, lifting it to swirl about them. Horses stamped and snorted, and sidled restlessly as their grooms fought to control the great destriers.

Mereck stood close-by as Netta spied the mount she was to ride. She scowled and studied the ugly beast. Had he purchased the swaybacked animal from a village serf?

Her back stiffened and her hands fisted on her waist. She turned to glare at him. Saints help her. Had he grown? He appeared larger today than he did yester eve.

Black breeches covered his massive legs, the pants cross-gartered with leather strips that disappeared beneath leather boots. Over a black shirt he wore his hauberk, a chain mail tunic that covered from his neck to below his knees. A thick red cloak, gathered at his left shoulder, hid all but the hilt of his great sword. His long tawny hair blew back from his face. His squire stood nearby holding a silver conical helm with nose guard in the Norman style.

Netta shouted above the clamor of shields, swords and the din of the many warriors. “This beast is the best you could provide, sirrah?”

Mereck raised a brow at the contemptuous form of address. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared down at her. She soon lowered her gaze, remembering her disguise.

“You expected to ride a fine-blooded mare? I doubt the baron mounts his servants as he does his family. Lightning is no beauty, but he is strong enough to carry you and some of your mistress' belongings.”

“Lightning? Hmpf.” Netta shook her head. “Only a deranged soul would name this broken-down horse Lightning.”

The stable boys snickered. Mereck frowned.

At Blackthorn, Bleddyn had designed two special saddles. They had a high back and right side for a woman's hips to rest against, and a hump in front for her to drape her right leg around. A stirrup supported the left leg.

Before Netta could protest, Mereck gripped her waist and lifted her to the saddle. Taking her left foot, he placed it in the stirrup. With his head still bent, he caught her right ankle and guided her leg to the correct position on the saddle. A prankish gust of wind flirted across the bailey, and snuck beneath the edge of her green tunic. The garment flew up to reveal shapely calves. His manhood stirred, picturing one day having her legs locked around his waist as she urged him deeper.

Netta batted at the billowing fabric, forcing it down.

Pretending to be unmoved by the sight of her bared flesh, Mereck studied the mark on her cheek.

Hmm. The lady tried to hide her beauty behind fake flaws. What he saw was an unblemished face with a smooth forehead and black brows arched above beautiful, deep blue eyes. The spot on her right eye reminded him of a golden freckle. Her nose was perfectly formed, her lips full and begging to be kissed.

Ah, those lips. How would they taste when he nibbled on them? Like honey? The thought caused a rumble to well up from his chest. Netta looked down at him, startled.

He turned his attention to Elise.

If he had known what a demanding task it would be to get the lady started on their journey, he would have sent Marcus to fetch her. Elise ran back and forth between her mount and the members of her family so often he lost count. Each time he attempted to place her on the saddle of her beloved Buttercup, she held up her hand and bade him wait. She would then break into a run up the stone steps to again embrace either her mother or father.

He went, for at least the fifth time, to take Elise by the hand and lead her to Buttercup. He murmured encouragements as he courteously helped her mount and adjust to the new saddle.

Lynette glared shards of ice his way and muttered about arrogant men. Mereck placed his helm on his head and pretended he did not hear. He signaled for his squire to take his place behind Netta, and Marcus' squire to ride close to Elise. Earlier, he had ordered the boys to keep close watch over the ladies in case they should need assistance.

They waved good-bye and rode out from the castle walls. Netta prayed she would not see the dreaded Baresark in hot pursuit. By the time the sun rose high in the east, she began to relax. She mastered the saddle and the swaying beast she rode, but she could no longer hold her tongue.

“Oh, rats and fleas, Elise. This Mereck is a rude, obnoxious churl. How can you think so highly of him? He would better serve us to use this big heap of bones to feed the wolves than as a mount.”

“Wolves? But Father said this morn that we need not fear wolves if we were careful and did not leave a trail of food in our wake. Or bang pots to attract them.” Elise, eyes widened, darted glances at the trees crowding the sides of the road.

“Nay. There are no wolves here. Still, if we chance to meet any, we could offer this broken down steed to keep them busy while we made good our escape,” Netta grumbled, but winced and patted the horse's shaggy neck as if to deny what she had said. “Lightning? No one of right mind would name this steed such. Snail would be more apt.”

“Look. Another man heads into the woods. What do you think they do? Do they not pay heed to where they are going? They must quickly remember, for they are not gone for long.” Elise squirmed in her saddle. “Do you think Mereck will soon stop at a keep?”

“I have not seen even a hint of a keep. He forgets he is not riding to battle. I doubt he recalls we are with him, much less that he would think of our needs.”

Netta watched a man leaving the road. Shortly after, he rejoined the line of warriors to the rear. In but a moment, she realized his purpose.

“No wonder the dratted man does not call a halt. Men go off into the woods any time they want, whilst we must remain on our horses. Inconsiderate churl,” Netta muttered, though she was glad this Mereck also wanted to go swiftly into Scotland. She had oft looked over her shoulder to search the area behind them, fearing the horrible savage pursued her.

Behind her, Mereck's squire Dafydd snickered. He pulled out of line, flashed her a cheeky grin, and made his way to his commander's side. Mereck swivelled in his saddle to study them. Though the nose guard covered much of his face, his eyes frowned. Soon after, they left the trail to enter a shaded area large enough to offer them comfort.

Elise, scurrying to dismount, did not see young Fergus, Marcus' squire, had come to aid her. She lost her balance and began to fall. Her arms flew out and walloped the squire across his face as he reached for her. She toppled into his arms, knocking them both to the ground. Elise landed softly—on the poor lad's stomach.

“Dinna think to attempt the same stunt, Netta.” Mereck's voice was arrogant, but the corners of his lips twitched.

“Nay. I need no assistance, sir.” Glaring haughtily at him, she drew back from his reaching hands. His green eyes flashed wintery sparks now. No longer soft, his lips thinned to a menacing line.

“Suit yourself, girl. But dinna expect me to cushion your fall.”

“Humph! I expect no such chivalry from you.”

Ignoring the narrowing of his eyes, she wriggled her right leg free. Her left foot refused to support her efforts to slide to the ground. After several useless attempts, she hissed in disgust.

She pretended she had no intention of moving.

Were Mereck's feet encased in stone?

Why did he not leave so she could ask Dafydd for help? This dratted horse was much too tall. She missed the willing hands that would have helped her at Wycliffe. Willing hands were here also, but she did not want his huge paws on her body again. Every time he touched her, strange flutters started in the pit of her stomach, and that place between her legs. Never had it happened afore. Netta frowned. She caught her breath, thinking he was really quite comely. What thoughts caused his eyes to sparkle like emeralds in the sun?

Leaning his broad shoulders against a tree, he tossed Dafydd his helm, then folded his arms across his chest. The wind ruffled his tawny hair while he waited, watching her as if he had all day. Standing close-by, Elise shifted from one foot to another, needing company in the woods. Netta was much in need of a visit there herself. Her face heated, realizing she could no longer delay dismounting.

“You may assist me.” She waited. Was he bonded to the tree? Was it possible he had suffered a hearing loss in battle? Speaking louder, she informed him, “I have changed my mind. You may assist me,” she repeated.

He did not move. Except his eyelids. They narrowed even more over a frosty stare. She began to rethink her request.

“Please. I require your aid to dismount, sir.”

He pushed away from the tree and moved close. She caught his scent. Not a stale odor like her father. Nor the sweaty smell she had begun to expect from her suitors. For certs, it was far more troubling. It made her heart beat faster, and a heated sensation flowed from her breasts to her stomach.

Mereck lifted her to the ground, his large hands causing her skin to quiver where he grasped her. Must he hold her so close to his body? She inhaled, deeply. Hmm. His scent. Juniper and musk. And man. She blinked in surprise as heat rushed through her. Smiling, Mereck released her and motioned for Dafydd to lead them to a private area.