Midnight's Bride (7 page)

Netta gulped, sure now that the squires had told Mereck of her foolish tale. Shivers rippled down her spine. Was he angry? The further they went from the group, Elise's face became as frightened as Netta felt.

For certs. They were in trouble.

Silent still, he helped them dismount and tethered the horses. Something about the way he walked made her heart skip a beat. Why did it do that? It should not, for he exuded such pure dominance she gritted her teeth. He halted in front of them and Elise gasped.

Netta stepped in front of her friend to shield her. Heat radiated from Mereck. Their bodies nearly touched as they stood toe to toe, so close her eyes almost crossed. She stretched them wide and stared at the opening of his shirt. Golden hair covered tanned skin. The strong pulse beat at the base of his neck intrigued her.

The scent of juniper rose from his heated skin, and she sniffed. Her father had always smelled of sweat and horse, but Mereck's scent made her nose twitch and her pulse quicken. She shifted, restless, and wondered if all of his skin smelled the same. Feeling crowded, she cleared her throat. He did not budge. Reaching behind her for Elise's waist, she eased her back.

Mereck at last broke his silence.

“I realize you are untried women who know little of men. What made you think boys do such things?” He stared down at them.

“What things, sir?” Netta forced her mind away from its intriguing study of his skin. “Oh. The stones. They do not truly help? Then if not for this exercise, why do men linger by the trees?”

“Who has talked to you of such?” He near shouted his question. The muscles in his jaw twitched.

“Such what?” She tilted her head back and blinked.

Mereck glared back, waiting. She decided she had best answer.

“Uh, do you mean about ‘that' thing?” Netta squirmed. “No one has. I overheard Elizabeth whisper of it with Prissy.”

Somewhere near her shoulder blades, Elise groaned. Her shoulder blades? Was Elise standing in a hole?

“There is no truth to the tale, Netta. If you seek knowledge of a man's body, come to me for the learning.” He rubbed his jaw, eyeing her speculatively. “A servant girl of your advanced years ignorant in such matters? Hmm. The nights grow colder. Mayhap I will school you on the subject.”

Elise grabbed Netta's waist, near toppling her over, and whispered, “What does he mean?”

Netta spread her arms for balance and scowled at him for frightening her timid friend.

Drats! It seemed Elise knew no more about the mystery between a man and woman than Netta did. She knew not how he meant to
school
her, but she knew the suggestion was improper. Intending to belt him in the mouth, she tried to pull from Elise's grip. Elise tugged at Netta's ear to whisper again.

“His temper! I beseech you. Remember his devil's temper.”

“If you are finished insulting me, sir, may I remind you your men must be a league ahead by now?”

Netta ground her teeth to keep from shouting, for she had promised Elise she would take good care of her. She could not do that if she pricked Mereck's temper so badly he stomped her into pulp on the forest floor.

He studied her. Was he pleased she did not attempt to argue with him? His gaze fell to her lips. The color of his eyes changed to murky green. For truth, he seemed no angrier than before, but they assuredly darkened. How strange that a man's eyes would shift colors in such a way. What caused it?

Mereck's full lips drew her attention. The tip of her tongue darted out to dampen her own. Were his lips soft? If so, they were the only softness on his body. Glancing up, she saw he studied her lips just as thoroughly.

“Can we not go now?” Elise whispered behind her.

 

Days later when they made camp at dusk, Mereck came over to her.

“Netta, help Angus prepare the evening meal. My warriors hunted plump hares to make a hearty stew. He will tell you what needs be done.”

She was concerned for Angus. Each daybreak, when she went to serve the porridge, he beamed at her. And each morn, different teeth were black. Was it some sickness of the mouth? It seemed contagious, for each day more of the men smiled, revealing their own black teeth.

She sighed and nodded, hoping Angus would not learn she had never cooked before. She watched him draw turnips, carrots and onions from sacks that had been tied to a pack horse. A large cauldron of water boiled over the fire. He peeled and threw in several onions, before he chopped off the head and feet of the first rabbit and gutted it. She ducked behind him and covered her eyes to rid her of the sight.

“Here ye go, lass. Prepare this'n and put it in the pot,” he ordered and turned to slap the hapless creature into her hand.

Netta stared at it. She had no idea how to go about it. Seeing Angus glance back at her and frown, she held the unsightly thing by one leg. What went into “preparing it”?

She looked around and saw nothing to give her a hint. For certs, he meant for her to start cooking it. Maybe as it boiled the fur came off and they transferred the naked meat to the pot of fresh vegetables.

Netta held her hand over her mouth to keep from retching. She stood far back from the pot and slid the meat into the boiling water. Soon the horrid thing emitted a noisome odor. It made her eyes run.

It also gained Angus' attention.

He stared into the pot, then turned to look at her. His brows raised so high they near met his hair. Soon others in the camp smelled the awful stench and came over as well.

“Angus, mon, are ye thinkin' to poison us now?” Ewen asked.

“'Tis dinner wrapped for the winter he is makin'. Canna you see the coat is still on the wee creature?” Marcus grinned at Netta.

“What did you think, Netta? Have you e'er eaten food where you had to fight the fur for the meat?” Mereck quirked a brow at her.

Holding her soiled hands away from her, she stared in horror at the bubbling water and the creature bobbing about in it. Her shoulders slumped, and she could not stop her chin from an embarrassing quiver.

“Begone if ye wud have a meal.” Angus scowled at the grinning men and shooed them off. He frowned at Mereck, then nodded his head toward Netta.

“Come, Netta. Ewen will help Angus with the cookin'.” Mereck turned a steely gaze on the freckled warrior, who did not dare quibble about the duty. Calling for Dafydd to bring soap, he grasped Netta's wrist and led her back to the stream where she had bathed earlier.

Netta's chin near touched her chest. She did not look at him or speak. He must think her a mindless nit. A cook's niece who knew naught of cooking. Even as a lady, they should have taught her more about how to run the kitchens, but her stepmother had ignored this part of her training so Lynette would be free to fetch and carry for her stepsisters.

Before she could brood further, Dafydd delivered a small bowl of soap and a soft cloth. Mereck led her to a flat rock and motioned for her to kneel. Wordless, she raised her hand for him to give her the soap. He shook his head and tugged her to kneel beside him.

He drew her arms forward, pushed up her sleeves, and then scooped great handfuls of water over them. He lathered his hands and washed over her arms until the unsightly mess was cleaned away.

She could not take her eyes from his beautiful hands. Never before had she thought a man's hands to be comely. Mereck's fascinated her. They were large, of course. As was the rest of him. They looked strong, their palms calloused. Thin white scars crisscrossed their backs. Battle wounds? Watching the long, graceful fingers moving over her skin, she blinked.

Her heartbeat quickened. Her breath caught. If they caressed her in the same way, could they be any more gentle? She felt a sense of loss when he rinsed off the soap. He reached for a drying cloth. She tried to take it from him.

He shook his head and dried her arms.

Still, they did not speak. She stared up at him, mesmerized, for his green gaze never moved from hers.

She did not stop him when he laved her face and jaw.

Tenderly, he moved the cloth toward her eyes. She closed them.

His calloused fingertips explored her lips.

She trembled and opened her eyes. His own had darkened to deep, sleepy emerald. Tilting his head to the side, he lowered his lids and slightly parted his lips. She stared, fascinated. Warm, calloused fingers moved to grasp her chin. His lips approached hers, a hairbreadth away.

The tip of Netta's tongue dampened her lips. She swayed toward Mereck, eyes locked on his tempting mouth. Would his kiss be soft and pleasurable, or would it be like Roger's—cold and hurtful? At the thought, she jolted back and sprang to her feet.

“We must return. Mistress Elise will be upset. She is not at ease around men.” Blood raced through her veins, heating her face and neck. Was it this that made her voice so hoarse?

“As you wish.” Mereck stood, a soft smile on his lips.

When they returned to camp, she hastened to Angus and Ewen. “I'm sorry I ruined your stew by my lack of cooking skills. Is there some chore I can do to help?”

“Dinna think about the wee mistake, lass.” Angus patted her shoulder. “When all is ready, ye may serve as ye did at dawn. Sit and soothe yer mistress. She is no braw henny like yerself and is hidin' in the shelter.”

“Aye, rest, lassie. Helping Angus is a right pleasant chore.” Ewen winked at her. He turned his back to Angus and filched a small turnip from the stew. Popping it in his mouth, he rolled his eyes and rubbed his stomach. She started to chuckle, but he put his finger to his lips, a comical expression spreading on his face. “Dinna give me away, wee lass,” he whispered.

Why had they grinned when they saw her? Instead of being angry that she had caused them extra work, they seemed amused. Netta's shoulders relaxed. She smiled and nodded her thanks.

She found Elise sitting on her pallet, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped tight around them. Her eyes were wide as a frightened kitten's.

“Elise, come. Help me spread the plaid beneath the trees.” She took her friend's hand and urged her from the tent. “We will sit until Angus tells me 'tis time to serve the meal.”

Elise jumped up and hugged Netta. “I was so afeared for you. Was Mereck very angry?”

They found an area cushioned with pine straw and spread the plaid atop it. A canopy of rustling branches above made soft music in the breeze.

“Nay. He was most strange. He spoke few words.” Netta knew not how to describe Mereck's gentle behavior, nor the heat that came from his body and flashed from his eyes. Shivers ran down her spine, remembering the feel of his beautiful hands on her arms. How would they feel should they smooth so gently over her body? Her breasts? That strange feeling she often had in his presence throbbed in the pit of her stomach.

She had no further time to think on it, for he joined them. He and Marcus talked together, their voices low. Why did Marcus stare at her? Every time she glanced at him he grinned like a lad with a secret. His silent mirth made her frown. What amused him? Mereck, on the other hand, glared at him.

While they waited for their meal, Mereck began to question Elise.

“Elise, you mentioned knowing Lynette of Wycliffe. Is the lady so plain of face and form her father couldna contract a suitable husband for her?”

“Plain, sir? Ne…, uhh, Lynette? Oh nay, she is far from plain.”

“If not plain, are her eyes beady? Or do they cross at every opportunity?” He glanced at Netta. “Such as Netta's often do? Or perchance she is missing teeth?”

Netta gasped.

“Cross? I have never noticed such,” she said, surprised. “Minstrels across the land have praised her eyes. They are a rare purplish-blue with flecks of gold. Nor are they beady, for they are oval shaped and beautiful.” She twitched when Netta's elbow jabbed her side. “As for her teeth, they are white and even.”

Netta squirmed and lowered her head. How did a person disguise their eyes? A puff of wind blew a leaf onto her lap. She studied it, clamping her lips together to keep from blurting denials.

“Does she lack hair? I have heard it said she is a pale Saxon with scrawny tresses. She must needs use the aid of a horsetail wig to cover her shiny dome.”

Marcus strangled on a cough. He quieted, seeing Mereck's cold glare.

“Nay! That is not true,” Elise blurted. “Her hair is thick and glossy with curls any woman would envy.” She stopped, her curiosity aroused. “Wigs made from a horse's tail? I have never heard of such.” She frowned at the men. “My friend has no need to alter her appearance. She is most beautiful.”

Netta's hands twitched with the sudden urge to cover her head, but resisted it.

“Ah. Then her form causes men to turn away,” Marcus declared. “I have heard she eats from dawn to dusk. Mereck has heard the opposite. Be she plump as a fat sheep, or so thin a man fears her bones will prod him? Perchance she is too tall or too short?” Marcus' voice quivered, and his lips jerked.

What ailed the man? Netta glowered at him then lowered her head until her chin touched her chest.

“Fat? Thin?” Elise held up her hand. “Uh, how can bones prod? The goose girl at Ridley is very skinny, and she and the chandler often embraced behind his shop. He never looked to be in pain.” She put a finger on her chin and raised her brow in question. “Now I think on it, he did moan a great deal.”

Marcus coughed again but did not say whether the girl's sharp bones caused her swain's discomfort.

“Lynette is nigh perfect. She is a hand shorter than I. If she was not a great beauty, why do you think suitors have besieged her father demanding her hand?” Elise's face reddened with indignation.

Netta wanted to sit upright to appear taller, but she could not do so and keep her face lowered where they could not study it.

“Ahh, then your friend is a shrew who demands her way at all costs,” Mereck said. “The lady will now be wed without her consent. They but need her presence before the priest.”

“Lynette will never say the vows, sir. Her father tries to shackle her to a savage beast.” Elise glared at them.

“Lady, she need not speak. Her betrothed will see she complies.” Mereck rubbed his chin. “A bit of cloth in her mouth will stifle her protest. Add a hand behind her head to force a nod at each vow, and it will be all 'tis needed for an ambitious priest. What think you, Marcus?”

“Aye. It could be a new chapel, or a healthy stipend and the promise of the baron's favor will be enough to prod the priest to sanctify the union. It has been done many times since the Conquest.”

Elise's horrified gasp near sucked a leaf from the forest floor. Netta could stand it no longer. Her head snapped up. She glared at the two men. They wore surprised expressions as if to ask what had sparked her ire. She fisted her hands and bolted to her feet. It was most fortunate Angus called out the food was ready. She hurried to him.

“Simpletons. Dolts.” Netta forced words through a throat tight with anger. “They think so little of my worth they would approve of forcing me to accept vows? Bob my head for me?”

Tears clouded her vision, for when Mereck had cleansed the blood off her arms, he drew her regard with the gentle way he treated her. She felt betrayed. Now she knew him to be no better than any of her hateful suitors.

“A woman is but a means to gain land and riches. They take all that was once ours, and then we must needs cater to them. Bow and scrape and have one babe after the other. Were we farther from Wycliffe and that despicable, loathsome savage, I would tell Mereck what a churl he is.”

“Nay. Do not think to stoke Mereck's anger,” Elise begged.

Netta eyed the trenchers of food Angus had served. She stepped aside to avoid a fallen branch and spied a cluster of worms on a leaf. She clinched her teeth. Seeing Angus' back was turned, she shuddered and picked up the leaf. Taking a prepared trencher, she shook two of the squirmy things on the food. They would be for Mereck.

Ha. This will give him extra meat with his meal. Wigs! If someone forced him to wed a toothless hag with warts on her nose, how would he like it? Let a woman want a fitting mate, and men become irate and carped like the meanest crone.

Glancing through her thick lashes, she watched Mereck tilt his head to the side. Did he listen to the sounds of insects? One worm started crawling atop a turnip. She placed a chunk of onion to cover it.

Elise's face turned every shade of green in the woods. She could not tear her gaze from Mereck's trencher.

“Do not stare at the food, Elise,” Netta snapped. She grabbed a second trencher and stamped toward the men.

Taking two others, Elise followed.

Netta forced a smile to her lips when she handed Mereck his trencher then placed the other in front of Marcus. After Elise put their food where they were to sit, they went back to fetch cups of ale for the men and watered wine for themselves.

“Merciful saints,” Elise gasped, almost skidding to a stop.

Netta could see nothing, for her tall friend blocked her view. As soon as they sat, Elise tugged on Netta's tunic sleeve.

“Elise, dinna disturb Netta while she eats,” Mereck ordered, his voice ringing with authority. “She has worked hard to show what a conscientious servant she is. 'Tis a most admirable trait. She deserves to eat her food and enjoy the results of her labors.”

Marcus choked on a mouthful of food. Mereck frowned and thumped him on the back.

Netta sniffed the delicious aroma from the stew as she dipped her fingers in her trencher and picked up a carrot. It was sweet and just tender enough.

“But—” Elise started.

Mereck frowned and raised his hand. “Silence.”

Netta selected a juicy sliver of meat and savored it. Elise gasped, rolled her eyes and made strange faces at her. What ailed her? Elise had not touched her food, but the men were eating with gusto. Netta grinned. Would Mereck notice aught strange about his meal?

Why did they watch her so intently? Marcus looked near to crying. His eyes watered, and he blinked to clear his vision. Did something in the forest cause his problem? Her father had the same happen when around weeds. Sometimes his eyes ran fountains.

She continued eating, scooping up a turnip with a bit of onion clinging to it. She brought it to her lips. Elise screeched and slapped the turnip from Netta's fingers then groaned and began to gag.

“Saints, Elise, what ails you? Are you in pain?” Netta leaned over to peer in her face.

“Do tell us. What causes your distress, lady?” Mereck's voice was soft as silk. “Was it too large a morsel for Netta's rotted teeth? Do you wish to exchange trenchers, for your meat is in smaller pieces?” He reached for their food.

Elise's face was a strange shade, neither yellow nor green. She clutched her trencher close to her body and swatted his hand away. Marcus roared with laughter.

“I just recalled, sir. Netta is prone to illness when she eats rabbit stew.” Elise's voice was shrill. “She will break out in unsightly spots and her head will ache. In truth, I shall break out also if she eats another bite. For certs I will be sick and keep you all from your sleep this night.”

“You do look green around the mouth, lady,” Mereck agreed. “I will give your trenchers to Angus to take to the men on sentry duty. They will be pleased to exchange your stew for their rations of bannocks and dried beef.” He stood and had to near wrestle their food from them.

“But, but—,” Elise spluttered.

Mereck stared down, eyebrows raised, inviting her to finish her sentence. She looked from him to Netta and back again. It was a wonder she did not make herself dizzy with her head swiveling back and forth. When she did not continue, he turned and strolled over to Angus. He kept his back to them while he talked with the cook.

Netta raised her brows and tilted her head at Elise, who squirmed and glanced at Marcus. If he would withdraw his attention, mayhap Elise would speak. Rats! The man was not about to look away. He chuckled and acted like he could not take his eyes from them.

“This should be easier on your delicate stomachs.” Mereck handed them bannocks and dried beef. “I insist you eat every crumb. I canna have you fainting from hunger on the morrow.”

Netta's stomach growled. It was forever doing that of late. Although she was small and slender, she had the appetite of a much larger woman. She eyed Marcus' food, her mouth watering. Stew was one of her favorite meals. Why had Elise told such a story about her? Meanwhile, she avoided looking at Mereck's trencher.

The men ate with gusto. On occasion, Mereck hoisted a dripping piece of turnip or carrot and quirked his brows, questioning her. She shuddered and shook her head. Several times she peeked through her lashes and spied a pensive look on his face when he moved food around in his mouth. After his tongue finished its search, he shrugged and resumed chewing.

She had a sick feeling in her stomach, like when she peered over a steep ledge. Blinking rapidly, she stared at the ground. Why had she done it? Never before had she played such a mean prank. Guilt claimed her. She began to squirm. Mereck thought her a servant, yet he treated her more kindly than her father ever had. She could not fault him for insisting she serve them. After all, it was her duty since she posed as a servant. Shame filled her that she had let her hurt pride override her behavior as a lady. Remembering Elise's warning of Mereck's anger, she gulped, fearing he would discover her hateful prank.

She nibbled on the dry bannock, but the dratted thing was more than a day old. As hard as the bark on yonder trees. She dipped it in her watered wine, softening it. The dried meat was salty, but she was so hungry she devoured it.