Taming the Highland Bride (4 page)

“Really, Lord Stewart, I should explain—” he tried again, but paused as a sudden roar of fury sounded from the center of the group of men before them. It was followed by shuffling and shifting as the men whirled back to whatever had held their attention earlier. Merry stood on her tiptoes, trying to see what was happening, but couldn’t see a thing. Then Gerhard shifted past her and pushed his way through the crowd, Merry quickly following in his wake. When he paused, she stood up on tiptoes again to peer over his shoulder and this time was able to see what was happening. Two men were rolling about
on the floor, a slender, smaller man attempting to defend himself as a larger man appeared to be trying to throttle him to death. The sight had apparently startled Gerhard to a halt, but only briefly; he was already moving forward, barking at the others, “I told you to hold him down, dammit!”

The rebuke had several men moving forward to help as Gerhard struggled to drag the one man off the other. It took a bit of effort, but eventually they were able to separate the two. Merry suspected it was only because the larger man had grown weary of the struggle, or perhaps he’d got over whatever it was that had made him attack the smaller fellow in the first place. It appeared to her that the larger man simply stopped fighting and allowed the others to pull him upright and away. The smaller man immediately scrambled out of reach and, shaking his head, Gerhard quickly stepped forward. He brushed down the larger man and straightened his clothes, saying, “Your betrothed is here.”

Merry sucked in a breath as she realized that the man presently swaying in the grasp of the men still holding him upright was her betrothed. She was not the only one shocked. Alexander d’Aumesbery appeared absolutely appalled by them and gasped, “The Stewart Shrew? What the devil is she doing here?”

The men surrounding them all turned wide and even apologetic eyes her way, and Merry felt herself flush with embarrassment, but lifted her chin as Gerhard hissed, “She’s right here, Alex, right in front of you.”

He then urged his lord toward her, and Merry’s
eyes narrowed as she noted how unsteady her betrothed was on his feet. Gerhard was having to help him stay upright with the grasp he had on his upper arm.

“My lord, your betrothed, Lady Merewen Stewart,” Gerhard introduced, drawing the other man to a halt before her. Or at least he tried to; while Gerhard’s hold on his lord’s arm should have stopped him, Alexander d’Aumesbery’s feet were slower to get the message, so that he nearly walked right into Merry before the hold on his arm made him swing in a clumsy half circle. Gerhard immediately caught the man by both arms and turned him to stand before her like a naughty little boy. He then repeated grimly, “Lady Merewen Stewart.”

Seeming oblivious of Gerhard’s pained expression, Alex peered blearily at Merry, and then blew whiskey fumes all over her, saying, “Damn me. You’re pretty. You don’t look like a shrew.”

There was a collective gasp of dismay from those around them, and Eachann Stewart actually drew himself up as if to say something, but Merry placed a hand on his arm and merely said in dry tones, “Thank you.”

Really, what else could she say? The man was obviously beyond drunk and wouldn’t remember any reprimand anyway.

“You’re welcome.” He beamed at her and then in the next moment grimaced and turned to tell Gerhard, “I don’t feel so good.”

The last word had barely slipped from his lips before he suddenly fell forward and flat on his face on the floor.

For a moment, the room was silent and still as everyone stared down at the unconscious man. But Merry’s thoughts were not silent. Her mind was wailing in loss and fury as every last dream she’d had on the way here died a sudden, horrible death. She had gone from the pot into the fire, leaving one home of drunks to live in another, but this was worse. This drunk had rights to her bed and body. And he’d been in a drunken rage, throttling another man just moments ago, so appeared to be a mean drunk.

Merry closed her eyes, depression and misery settling over her. She would never get away from drunkards and fools. She allowed herself a moment of self-pity, then she straightened her shoulders and forced her eyes open again. Finding everyone now peering not at the man on the floor but at her, Merry controlled her expression and raised her head.

“Well,” she said grimly. “Diya no think ye’d best carry yer laird’s worthless hide up to his bed?”

Glances were exchanged, and then there was a sudden rush as every single man present began to shuffle forward. There were too many for the task. In the end only four were needed, each taking an arm or leg to cart him toward the stairs. The others followed, however, even the man whom her betrothed had been throttling when she’d first arrived.

Merry watched them go and then started to glance toward her father, but her gaze caught on a woman she hadn’t noted earlier. Standing on the other side of where the men had been, the brunette appeared a good fifteen years older than she. She was also taller, with a thick frame and small eyes presently
narrowed thoughtfully as she looked after the men carrying Alexander away. Merry peered at her curiously, wondering who she was. Then the woman glanced toward her, offered an anxious smile, and rushed forward.

“Good morn, Merewen. I am Edda, Alexander’s stepmother. Welcome to d’Aumesbery.”

“Thank you,” Merry murmured as her hands were clasped in the woman’s larger, strong hands. “Pray, call me Merry.”

“Thank you, dear.” Edda smiled, but it was a crooked smile, tinged with worry, and she rushed on. “I am ever so sorry you saw that. Did Gerhard explain matters to you?”

“Aye,” Merry said dryly. “He explained when he greeted us that my betrothed was indisposed.”

“Oh, good.” She looked relieved. “I feared you might get the entirely wrong impression. But truly, while Alexander has been away these three years, I am quite positive he has not become a drinker and normally does not down a full pitcher of whiskey first thing in the morn. These are somewhat unusual circumstances.” She smiled wryly and then urged Merewen toward the table. “Come, sit yourselves down. Have you broken your fast yet this morn?”

“Nay,” Merry’s father answered as they settled themselves at the trestle table. “We reached yer woods late last night and camped out there until this morning, but Merry was up early and through with her ablutions by the time the rest o’ us woke so we rode straight here.”

Edda nodded and then glanced to a maid who was hovering several feet away. “Lia, fetch some
mead for Lady Merewen and…” She paused and glanced to Eachann Stewart. “For you gentlemen?”

“Mead fer them, too,” Merry said firmly.

“Merry,” Eachann protested, “we’ve been traveling for days without a drop o’ whiskey, surely we—”

“—shall manage without it so long as ye’re here,” she said grimly and then leaned forward to hiss in a voice she hoped Edda could not hear, “I’ll no ha’e the three o’ ye embarrassing me while ye’re here. There’ll be no whiskey fer ye.”

He scowled but didn’t protest further, and Merry turned to Edda and offered a relieved smile. “They are fine with mead, too.”

“Mead then for the men as well, Lia, and something for them to eat.” The moment the girl rushed away, Edda turned back and offered a smile. “I hope your journey here was a pleasant one.”

Merry grimaced. “Riding from dusk until well past dawn fer days on end is rarely pleasant, but we were fortunate and didna run into bandits or trouble o’ that sort.”

“From dusk until dawn?” Edda asked with surprise.

“Aye, well, meself and me sons are all here, are we no’?” her father said defensively. “We left one o’ the men in charge o’ Stewart while we’re away, but ’tis no’ the same as me being there.”

Merry snorted at this, earning a glare from her father before he continued, “We wanted to get the gel here, see her wed, and then get back to Stewart.”

“Oh, aye, of course,” Edda murmured sympathetically. “I suppose you must get back as quickly as
you can. ’Tis a reflection of your caring for Merry that you would all come to see her wed and leave someone else in charge.”

Merry managed not to snort as her father and brothers all puffed up under the compliment. ’Twas not caring but eagerness to be rid of her, she was sure, but didn’t say so.

“Aye, just so,” her father said staunchly, and then added, “That being the case, mayhap ye can send fer yer priest and—”

“Father,” Merry snapped.

“What?” he asked defensively. “Yer betrothed wishes to get to Donnachaidh and we need to return to Stewart. There is no reason to delay.”

“Except fer the wee matter of the groom bein’ unconscious,” she pointed out dryly.

“Aye, that does put a bit of a wrinkle in things,” Edda said with a twinkle in her eye. “But I am sure he shall be recovered by the sup, or by tomorrow morn at the latest. There is no reason the wedding cannot take place first thing on the morrow, and then everyone may set out on their journeys.”

Her father and brothers agreed quickly, but Merry remained silent. She was no longer eager to be married, but there was really no reason to delay. The contract was binding and she would have to marry him eventually. Realizing that Edda was peering at her in question, apparently looking for her agreement, Merry sighed and nodded.

“Good!” Edda said brightly. “Then after you have eaten, I shall hunt down Father Gibbon while you talk to Cook.”

“Me?” Merry asked with surprise.

“Aye, well, you will be the lady here by the morrow and in charge of everyone. You may as well begin now. Besides, ’tis your wedding, dear, and while it may be a bit rushed, you should really be the one to chose the menu for the wedding feast and so on.”

Merry smiled uncertainly, but again nodded. Put that way, there really seemed little reason for her not to be the one to talk to Cook. She just hoped Cook agreed and would take orders from her despite the fact that she hadn’t yet married his lord and officially become his lady.

P
ain was a great monster inside Alexander’s skull, slamming a mace around with sharp blows. It made him shut his eyes more tightly and groan as he instinctively fought returning to consciousness and fully experiencing the pain attacking him.

“You can squeeze your eyes closed all you like, but ’twill not stop the pain.”

Alex’s eyes popped open at those raspy words, and he scowled at the gnarled old woman who stood beside the bed mixing something in a wooden mug. However, the moment he recognized Bet, his mother’s old nursemaid, he forced the scowl from
his face and squeezed his eyes closed once more. “I feel like hell.”

“A pitcher of whiskey on an empty stomach first thing in the morn will do that to you.” The woman didn’t sound terribly sympathetic. “And you gave yourself a nice goose egg on your forehead when you fell on your face, too. I’m sure that’s not helping. Here, sit up and get this into you. It’ll help ease the pain.”

“Fell on my face?” Alex growled, eyes popping open. His gaze landed on the wooden mug she was holding out and, after the briefest hesitation, he sat up to take it.

“Aye,” she assured him. “Right at the feet of your betrothed, too. Made a fine first impression I’m sure. Drink it,” she added, sounding a bit impatient when he started to lower the mug full of vile-smelling liquid, his mouth opening on another question.

Alex briefly considered reminding the woman of her place and that he was her lord, but knew from experience that neither reminder would impress her. It was hard to impress someone with your power and position when she’d changed your nappies as a babe. Grimacing, he didn’t even bother attempting to argue with the stubborn old woman, but quickly downed the drink. It tasted as bad as it smelled, of course. He wasn’t surprised. Bet’s medicinals had always been the most god-awful tasting brews, but they also usually worked damned well. He would have been grateful for her vile concoctions and less-than-tender mercies more than a time or two in Tunis.

Managing to down the entire contents in two healthy swallows, Alex grimaced at the taste as he
handed the mug back and then growled, “What was that about my betrothed being here?”

“She and her kin arrived just as Grefin was making his attempt to yank out your bad tooth,” Bet announced, and there was no mistaking the amusement on her wrinkled face.

Alex ignored it for now, instead scowling as the fuzzy memory of the morning’s misery slid through his mind. Just poking at the tooth had caused agony, but the blacksmith’s clamping his pincers on it and trying to yank it from his jaw had been hell. The pain of it had been so shockingly fierce that Alex hadn’t, at first, even been able to find the breath to roar his agony. But then something had distracted the men holding him, and he’d managed to break free and grab Grefin by the throat to bring his torture to an end. The blacksmith had dropped his pincers and tried to back away, and the moment he wasn’t fiddling with his tooth, Alex had got his breath back and roared his fury as he’d followed the man, stumbling to his feet before the two of them had tumbled to the floor.

He could only think it was a good thing he’d roared because that had caught his men’s attention and recalled them to their duty. It was probably the only thing that had saved Grefin a good thrashing. Alex also decided it had been a good thing Grefin had insisted on their waiting half an hour for the whiskey he’d downed to take effect before making the attempt. If there was a worse pain than that he’d suffered while numbed by whiskey, Alex had no desire to experience it. Honestly, he’d taken sword wounds in Tunis that had hurt less.

The thought made him search around inside his mouth for the tooth in question. Relief slid through him when he felt a hole where the tooth had once been.

“He got the tooth out once you were in your bed,” Bet announced. “Grefin said it was much easier to yank out when you weren’t fighting him. It only took him a moment once you were unconscious.”

Alex grimaced at the claim and shook his head. Those vague memories of Grefin’s struggling to remove his tooth down in the great hall and then his attacking him were the last things he recalled. He had no recollection at all of Merewen Stewart’s arrival. “Why is my betrothed here?”

“To marry you, why else?” Bet said with a shrug as she began to put away her pouch of medicinals.

Alex scowled at the woman. “She should have waited for me to go to her, not—”

“You were dragging your feet over the business, were you not?” Bet asked dryly. “It seems she grew weary of the waiting and came to see the deed done.”

Alex pursed his lips with displeasure. He wasn’t ready to marry. He’d planned to take the time to get matters in order here and then visit his sister. After that, perhaps on the way home, he might have stopped to claim the wench. Or not. There was no rush. Apparently, she didn’t see it that way.

“Although,” Bet continued when he remained silent, “from what I’ve seen and heard, I suspect it was really her kin who are eager to be rid of the chit.”

“Well, I am not surprised,” Alex muttered, feeling
worry rise up in him as he thought of the things he’d heard about his future wife. Noting the raised eyebrows Bet had turned his way, he explained, “She’s called the Stewart Shrew.”

Bet nodded and commented dryly, “So you said when you saw her.”

“
What?
” he asked sharply.

“When she arrived and you first saw her, I’m told your greeting was to say she didn’t look much like a shrew or some such thing,” Bet explained, her eyes now twinkling with silent mirth.

“I didn’t!” Alex said with shock, and felt a frisson of horror slide down the back of his neck when the old woman nodded. While he’d spent much of the last three years surrounded by men, he’d retained enough of his training to know greeting his intended bride that way was beyond rude. It was hardly likely to encourage good relations with the woman.

“Aye, you did,” Bet said, and added dryly, “Not the most welcoming greeting you could have offered your future wife.”

“Dear God,” he breathed in dismay, and then asked, “What did she do?”

Bet chuckled openly as she answered, “I was not there. I heard all of this from one of the maids, but I gather while she looked unimpressed, all she said was thank you…and then you fell flat on your face and she had your men pick you up and cart you up here to bed. That’s when Grefin finished pulling out your tooth,” she added. “After that, the men left you to sleep off the whiskey.”

Alex sank back in the bed, his mind whirling with
dismay, but then sat up abruptly and asked, “What time is it?”

“Nearing the dinner hour,” Bet answered, putting away the last of her things and moving toward the door. “I thought you might be stirring by now and need a tonic to help your head. Besides, it seemed best to wake you before the girl completely takes over the castle.”

“What?” He tossed aside the linens that had been covering him. Much to Alex’s relief, he was fully clothed and, despite his aching head, could give chase to the old woman as she tried to slip out of his room on that cryptic comment.

“Get back here, Bet,” he growled, rushing forward to catch the door as she tried to pull it closed behind her. Taking the woman by the arm, he tugged her back into the room, careful to be gentle with her frail old bones. He wasn’t at all surprised when she came willingly. Knowing her, she was probably enjoying the whole thing. Bet had always had a bit of the devil in her and had enjoyed a good stirring up. “Explain what you meant by that. How is she taking over my castle?”

“Well, once she’d ordered the men to take your ‘worthless hide’ up to your room—”

“Worthless?” Alex snapped with affront.

“Aye. That’s apparently what she said,” Bet informed him with a grin that displayed several gaps where teeth had once resided. “And once the men had carted you out, Edda appeared and the two women put their heads together for a bit.”

Alex stiffened at this news. He was sure that couldn’t be a good thing.

“And then your little Merry rushed around taking matters in hand and running d’Aumesbery as if she were already lady here.”

Alex took note of the name Merry rather than Merewen, but merely asked shortly, “What has she been doing?”

Bet shrugged mildly. “Doing what a lady does. She’s spoken with Cook and several of the other servants. She’s started arrangements for a feast to follow the wedding tomorrow and—”

“Tomorrow?” he growled, horror coursing through him. This was all happening too fast.

“Aye. And now she’s down overseeing the men at their training.”

Alex stiffened and began irritably, “She has no business—”

“Go tell it to
her
, boy,” Bet interrupted dryly, tugging her arm free to turn to the door. “I’ve too much to do to be standing about here while you bellow at me over what your betrothed is getting up to.”

Alex glared after the old woman as she slid out of the room again, but she paused once in the hall and glanced back to add, “You might be wanting to change your clothes and clean up a bit ere you go looking for her. You fair reek of whiskey, and I doubt that will impress her any. From what I have heard, she’s had enough of that with her father and brothers.”

Alex glanced down at his tunic and then lifted the material to give himself a sniff as the door closed behind the old nursemaid. His nose immediately wrinkled with distaste. It did reek of whiskey, and it was a bitter, stale smell, too.

Grimacing, he immediately tore off the tunic and tossed it across the foot of his bed. Alex then moved to the basin of water on the small table by the window to give himself a quick wash before searching out a fresh tunic from one of the two chests that held his belongings. Once satisfied that he was presentable, he then left his room and rushed below stairs.

Alex had intended to head straight out to the bailey to find his betrothed, but found himself halting on the bottom step to stare at the men presently seated at his trestle table. There were nearly a dozen of them, and every one wore a plaid and looked in need of a good washing. Obviously, these were his betrothed’s brothers and father as well as the soldiers they’d brought with them on the journey. It looked to him as if, on arriving that morning, they’d settled themselves at his table and not moved since except to raise their drinks to their mouths. They were obviously drunk and loud and boisterous with it. He wasn’t pleased, but wasn’t terribly surprised, either. Gossip tended to travel on the wind, often carried by traveling performers as well as salesmen selling spices and other foreign goods. From what he’d heard over the years, Eachann Stewart and his two sons had a reputation for being over-fond of their drink…and apparently his own, and anyone else’s they could get their hands on. His father, James, had not been much for drink himself, and Alex suspected Lord Stewart’s tendency toward drunkenness was part of the reason the friendship had ended, and possibly why his father had not been pushing him to marry Merewen Stewart.

Thoughts of his betrothed reminded Alex of the
task he’d set himself and he turned toward the door, but had hardly taken a step before he was spotted and hailed. “Oy! Lad, come sit yerself fer a minute and visit with yer new kin.”

Heaving out a breath at how near he’d been to escaping unnoticed, Alex turned back and reluctantly moved to the table, thinking he’d just explain he was off to find Merry and excuse himself. However, before he could say anything at all, before he’d even quite reached them, the oldest man in the group—Eachann Stewart, he supposed—announced, “’Tis glad I am I’m gettin’ a chance to speak to ye ere our Merry does.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Alex asked cautiously as he paused. Eachann Stewart appeared to have seen nearly six decades. He was more paunch than shoulders, a rat’s nest of wiry grey hair springing out of an oddly large head over a face that was flushed from drink and made up of small squinting eyes, thin lips, and a slightly bulbous nose. He was also obviously well into his cups. His speech was slurred, and he was swaying like a sapling in a stiff breeze in the larger of the only two chairs at the table. They were the lord’s and lady’s chairs. Everyone else used the benches that ran around the tables. The man he thought was Eachann Stewart presently sat in the chair Alexander had occupied since returning from Tunis. A younger version of the man sat in the smaller chair.

“Well, lad,” Eachann Stewart said, drawing his gaze back to his face. “Ye see, when we heard ye were returned, we decided to save ye a trip north and bring our Merry to ye, but we kenned she’d no
agree. She’d expect ye to collect her all good and proper, ye see. So we fibbed a little to our lass.”

Alex let his eyebrows rise in question.

“We told her ye were the one to send fer her,” he explained, and then added slyly, “We knew ye would o’ course. After all, ’tis well past time the two o’ ye were married, and ye wouldn’t be wantin’ anyone thinking ye were trying to avoid the duty.”

Alex managed not to wince at the accusation in the man’s voice.

“’Tis understandable if ye were delayin’ as long as ye could,” he went on in a friendly manner. “I ken from yer greeting on our arrival that ye’ve heard Merry’s called the Stewart Shrew, and that name’s no’ likely to make ye eager to claim her, but she isna as bad as all that.”

Alex was still. He’d heard she was called that, but had never thought to hear her own father bring up the name.

“’Tis our fault she’s called that,” Eachann added almost regretfully.

“Aye,” the younger man in the second chair said. He was very similar in looks to his father, but with carrot-colored hair. He also sounded amused rather than regretful as he added, “We gave her the name.”

“My son Brodie,” Eachann introduced, glaring at his boy, and then he turned to the man on his other side, one who could have been the first’s twin, and introduced him as well. “And this is Gawain.”

Both younger men nodded, and Alex nodded a bit stiffly back. The brothers were in at least as bad a state as their father. All three were swaying back
and forth in their seats almost in time. It made Alex feel like he was on a ship in rough waters.