Taming the Highland Bride (6 page)

“Aye.”

“They’re no’ drinking, are they?”

“Aye, and my best whiskey from what I could tell,” Alex said dryly.

Much to his amazement, Merry spat out a curse he’d never expected to come from a woman though he’d heard it often enough on the tongues of his soldiers, and then she whirled and hurried away toward the keep.

Sudden concern claiming him, Alex was about to follow when Gerhard appeared at his side and commented, “I did try to steer her away from the practice field, but she’s a determined little thing.”

Alex grunted, but before he could respond, the man added, “I tried to explain about your tooth and the whiskey this morning when they arrived, but her father wouldn’t let me and kept interrupting.”

“He probably thought you would say something that would give away that I had not sent for her,” Alex said dryly.

“She thinks you sent for her?” Gerhard asked with surprise.

Alex nodded. “I gather her father and brothers thought my sending for her more likely to get her to come, and they seem eager to be free of her disapproval of their drinking. It sounds to me as if they do a lot of it, leaving Merry to run Stewart these last years.”

Gerhard nodded, not appearing surprised. “She seems to be very able at it. While I did try to steer her away from overseeing practice, she was good at it, picking out problems and flaws in the fighters and insisting on training them herself. She is surprisingly skilled.”

“Aye, so I noticed,” Alex murmured, his eyes narrowing on his betrothed. Her steps became stiffer and more militant with every step toward the keep, and he suspected the Stewart men were about to get more than the usual glare and fish face. It suddenly seemed a good idea for him to be there. Glancing at Gerhard, he said, “Tell the men ’tis enough practice for today. ’Tis nearly time for the sup anyway.”

He waited just long enough to see Gerhard nod and then hurried after his betrothed. Fast as she was moving, and though she had a head start, Alex had longer legs and had reduced the distance between them by the time Merry reached the keep.

He was just starting up the steps when she reached the keep doors, still he was close enough to hear the shrieks coming from inside the moment the door opened.

Alarm coursing through him, Alex charged up
the stairs even as Merry cursed and rushed inside. The door closed behind her with a loud thud that silenced the screams from inside before he reached it. Those screams reached him again, however, the moment Alex opened the door himself. He took in what was happening at a glance. The rest of the Scots were quiet and wary-looking as they noted Merry’s arrival, but Gawain was still unconscious on the floor beside the trestle table, and Laird Eachann himself appeared to have passed out slumped forward on the table. Brodie, however, was still conscious and was presently trying to hold one of the struggling d’Aumesbery maids in his lap and kiss her. He wasn’t succeeding very well. The girl was struggling in earnest to be free of his clutches, but those struggles ceased and her mouth made an O of surprise when Merry reached them and promptly smashed her shield down over her brother’s head with a bong that made even Alex wince.

Brodie apparently had a thick skull. He merely shook his head and stood up, dumping the maid to the floor so that he could swing around and confront his attacker.

Alex put on even more speed, rushing forward to be at hand to defend Merry if necessary, but the lass didn’t need defending. When her brother turned unsteadily and swayed before her, face furious and mouth opening, no doubt to berate her, Merry slammed the shield over his head again.

“What diya think ye’re doing, ye great gowk?” she snapped as her brother reached up to rub his head. “The lass isna willing. Leave her be.”

“I was just havin’ a little fun,” Brodie growled,
swaying like a giant oak whose base had all but been hacked away by men with axes.

“Well
she
wasna having fun,” Merry barked, and hit him again for good measure.

The third time was the charm. Where the first two had hardly seemed to do more than get his attention, the third blow finally felled the man, sending him first to his knees, where he blinked briefly with confusion before slumping forward on his face in the rushes.

Alex slowed, his eyes shifting to Merewen Stewart. The expression that crossed her face as she peered down at her brother was a combination of shame, fury, and disgust, and then she turned on the maid.

“I told ye all no’ to let them drink aught but ale.”

“Aye, my lady, but they are guests and were demanding whiskey and—”

Merry silenced her by grabbing her arm to give her a small shake. “I care naught what they were demanding. Listen to me in future. They’re no’ to have a drop o’ whiskey here. Understand?”

“Aye, my lady. I’m sorry, my lady,” the girl said quickly.

Merry patted the girl’s arm and then turned to sweep a glance over the three unconscious Stewart men before turning to the soldiers still seated at the table. “Well? What are ye waitin’ fer? Gather yer laird and me brothers and take their worthless hides above stairs. They can sleep this off in their rooms.”

The soldiers moved at once, getting to their feet to follow her orders. Alex watched them with interest.
He had assumed that they were as drunk as their laird and his sons, but now realized he’d thought wrong. Not one of them appeared the least unsteady on his feet as they began to drag the three Stewart men away. It seemed while they’d kept them company, not a one had drunk as deeply as the men they served. He also couldn’t help but notice the respectful deference the men showed Merry. It was only now, seeing the glances and nods they cast her way, that he realized that respect had been missing from their expressions as they’d sat with her father and brothers earlier. They hadn’t been openly disrespectful then, but he could now see the difference in their attitudes to each.

Once the men had disappeared above stairs with their burdens, Alex turned his gaze back to Merry. He was just in time to see her head and shoulders droop as if under a terrible weight. He realized then that she had no idea he’d followed her inside. Alex was positive Merry wouldn’t allow herself to be seen as anything but strong and capable in the normal course of events and usually hid any feelings of defeat or weariness her family’s antics caused. He was glad to see it, however. It allowed him to see a vulnerability he suspected he otherwise wouldn’t have been privy to.

It was a very brief vulnerability. Barely a heartbeat had passed before Merry released a heavy sigh, straightened her shoulders, and moved off toward the stairs. Alex found his eyes sliding down over her lithe shape as she went, traveling over the bulky mail jerkin she wore to her behind in the braies. He’d never before seen a woman wear braies. It was
really quite…Alex licked his lips as he watched the cheeks of her bottom move with each step and then realized what he was doing, gave his head a shake, and forced himself to turn away as she reached the stairs and began to ascend them. Moving to the table then, he sat down and considered the situation at hand.

It seemed he was getting married on the morrow…to a woman who presently thought him a drunken lout like her father and brothers. He could simply sit her down and explain things and tell her that he wasn’t a drinking man, but having dealt with drunks himself, he knew they were prone to lying to hide their affliction and doubted she would believe him if he simply told her. The best way, he supposed, was to show her by his actions. After a week or so of their living together, she would see that he didn’t drink and wasn’t like her father and brothers.

H
er husband was a drunk, Merry acknowledged unhappily as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

It was dinnertime on the day after she and her kin had arrived at d’Aumesbery. Her wedding feast, but that wasn’t the only reason this meal differed from the one the night before. That had been a quiet affair. Her father and brothers had been sleeping off their drink in their rooms, and Merry had been so embarrassed about them that she’d found it difficult to relax or respond much to Alex’s efforts to engage her in conversation at the table. She’d been relieved when the meal had come to an end and she could
excuse herself, claiming weariness from her journey to make her way up to her room. Not that she’d slept. Mostly she’d found her mind whirling with worries about her looming marriage and the wedding night that would follow, so that it was quite late when she’d finally drifted off to sleep.

It had been late when her maid, Una, had woken her. The woman wasn’t pleased to have to move to England and had been quiet since they’d left Stewart. She’d continued that way this morning, saying little to distract Merry from her worries about the coming bedding as she’d helped her bathe, dress, and fix her hair. The great hall had been empty when Merry had made her way below, but Edda had soon joined her and kept her company as she broke her fast. From her she’d learned that Alex was out passing the morning training the men and would come in to bathe and prepare for the wedding at the nooning hour.

The rest of the day had passed in something of a nervous blur for her; the nooning meal, the wait for the priest and Alex to be ready, the ceremony itself…The only thing that Merry really recalled about the wedding was the moment when Alex had pressed his lips to hers to seal the marriage. She’d gone stiff in his hold, but every sense in her had been on the alert and she’d been aware of the fresh, male scent of him wafting into her nose, the feel of his warm, gentle hands on either side of her face, the pressure of his lips brushing softly across hers, and even his taste when she’d licked her lips nervously afterward.

Now, she watched her husband slur out his
answer to a question her father had asked and felt her heart sink. It was disappointing when the meal had started with such promise. At first, Alex had refused the drinks flowing so freely around the table and she’d felt relieved that, this night at least, he would refrain from drinking, and she’d hoped the bedding would be, if not easy, at least less of an ordeal than she’d feared since arriving to find her betrothed was as much of a drunken lout as her father and brothers. But halfway through the meal her father had stood to make a toast and had insisted that Alex must have a drink to toast it with, else he’d be insulting the Stewarts. Alex had reluctantly allowed some whiskey to be poured into the empty mug he’d been drinking mead from ere that, but had stopped them after only a couple of drops had been poured in. However, he’d obviously topped it up since then. The man was unmistakably in his cups. Aside from slurring, he was also unsteady in his seat, and twice she’d seen him reach for something on the table and miss it.

Merry feared it didn’t bode well for the night ahead. She couldn’t be sure, of course. Her mother had died when she was just sixteen, and the matter of the marriage bed had never come up between them. Still, she suspected what was to come was not going to be made easier by her husband’s being drunk.

A tap on her shoulder distracted Merry from this worry and she glanced back to see Edda. The woman wore a smile that was a little crooked and uncertain. There was a gaggle of maids gathered behind her, however, who were all grinning widely.

“’Tis time for the bedding,” Edda announced, not sounding sure whether Merry would welcome the announcement or not.

The answer was decidedly “not,” but despite wishing she could scream,
Nay
, Merry forced a smile to her own lips and got to her feet. Her brothers immediately began cheering, laughing, and making lewd comments, and she felt a blush claim her cheeks. There was nothing she could do about that, but Merry did her best to ignore them otherwise and—resisting the urge to box their ears—mustered all the dignity she possessed and forced her head up and shoulders straight as she allowed herself to be led away.

With so many to help, Merry found herself stripped and bathed in no time. She was perfumed and oiled until she felt like a boar being prepared for the spit before she was allowed to climb into bed. Most of the women left the room then, taking the bath with them, but Una and Edda remained behind. As Una quickly cleaned up the room and put away her clothes, Edda settled herself on the edge of the bed next to Merry and took her hands in her own.

“Merry dear, I know we do not know each other well yet, but I went to my wedding bed not knowing what to expect and I really think it just made things harder and more scary than it needed to be. I know your mother passed away some time ago and so may not have had the chance to talk to you about your wedding night.” She paused then and bit her lip briefly before asking, “Do you know what to expect?”

Merry briefly considered lying. Part of her duties as lady at Stewart had been to help their healer tend to the ill and injured. She’d seen boys naked and even a wounded man or two. She’d also helped with more births than she could recall. She did know the physical differences between a man and a woman. She even had some idea of what actually took place but wouldn’t mind knowing exactly what to expect. “Nay.”

Edda nodded. “Well then…” She paused and bit her lip again and then grimaced and said with a light laugh, “I can see why my mother did not explain, but simply said, ‘He will know what to do, just obey your husband and do as he says.’”

Merry smiled, but it was a tense smile, and she said, “If ’tis making ye uncomfortable, ye need no’ explain.”

“Nay. ’Tis all right.” Edda patted her hand. “’Twill be easier on you do you know.”

Merry nodded solemnly and waited…and waited.

“Well,” Edda said finally. “You see, men are built differently than we women. The man has a…” She paused again and chewed on her lip briefly before brightening and saying, “Have you ever been in the kitchens at Stewart while your cook was preparing a chicken?”

Merry blinked at the question, not at all sure what a chicken had to do with this, but said, “Aye.”

“Well, think of the neck when the cook has plucked and cut it off to throw it in soup. A man has one of those between his legs.”

“A chicken neck?” Merry asked blankly. She
would never have described the few male parts she’d seen as a chicken neck.

“Sort of,” Edda said with dissatisfaction. “’Tis straighter. At least ’tis when they are excited. And it does not have the bony ridges and it may be a tad bigger than a chicken neck.”

“Oh,” Merry said faintly.

Edda nodded solemnly. “’Tis most odd-looking. It sticks out from their body like a misplaced nose, but you must not laugh when you first see it,” she cautioned, and nodded to emphasize the point. “They become very offended. For some reason they are very proud of their chicken neck.”

“Ah,” Merry choked out, trying desperately not to laugh. It would be incredibly rude when the woman was trying so earnestly to help her. Fortunately, Edda seemed to think the amusement she was trying to smother was about men’s pride in their parts.

“Aye. Silly, I know, but they truly do strut around with it waving about like a war banner as if ’tis the most wonderful thing in the world. ’Tis really quite sad.” She shook her head with mild exasperation and then continued, “And we women have a—Well, ’tis sort of like a sheath for their chicken neck. In fact, they use it as such, wielding their chicken neck like a sword and sheathing it in the woman.”

Merry pursed her lips to control her expression. War banner? Sheath? Sword? She couldn’t help but notice Edda seemed to use a lot of battle imagery. She waited for the woman to continue, but after a moment noted that her expression was quite satisfied, as if she were done.

“Is that it?” she asked with surprise. “He will just
walk in here and sheath his chicken neck and ’tis over?”

“Oh, well, no,” Edda admitted. Much to Merry’s surprise the woman was now blushing and avoiding looking at her. “He will no doubt kiss you a time or two, and then squeeze your breasts once or twice, and then if his chicken neck is excited enough and stiff, thrust it in your sheath.”

“Humph,” Merry muttered, slightly disgruntled. It didn’t sound all that impressive or frightening to her.

“I suppose I should mention that it will hurt if ’tis your first time, and I am sure it is,” she added quickly.

“Aye,” Merry assured her solemnly, knowing the woman had merely misspoken in her discomfort and was not trying to insult her.

Edda nodded. “It shall hurt a lot as he breaks through your maiden’s veil. That’s a bit of skin inside your sheath,” she added, gesturing toward Merry’s lap before continuing. “And there shall be blood, and in the morning we will come for the bloodied sheet and it will be hung from the stair rail for all to see the proof of your innocence,” she finished in a rush.

Merry was worrying about the hurt-a-lot bit when the door suddenly burst open and a group of men began to crowd into the room, carrying Alexander d’Aumesbery before them. It seemed either the men had grown weary of waiting, or the women had informed the men that she was ready and in bed when they’d gone below. She wasn’t too pleased about that. Merry would have liked to ask more about this pain and blood. That didn’t sound at all appetizing,
but then none of it had. Kiss, kiss, squeeze, squeeze, and in it went? It hardly sounded the most exciting business in the world, and it made her wonder why the maids were so willing to let the soldiers and her brothers have at them at Stewart.

Merry’s thoughts scattered when her husband was set on his feet, and he promptly fell on his face. This brought laughter from the men, but made her grind her teeth and glare.

“Oh dear, I hope he is not so sotted he cannot manage the matter,” Edda muttered.

Merry didn’t comment, but she hoped so, too. Not because she would be embarrassed not to have her sheet hung in the hall, but because she didn’t wish to go through the next day worrying about the night ahead as she’d done today. That concern in her mind, she watched the men lift her new husband up off the floor and hold him upright to undress him.

She watched his clothing slip away, noting a little distractedly that he really had a fine physique. It was easy to believe the man had been at battle these last three years. He had none of the bloating and flab her father and brothers had from their main pastime of drinking. His shoulders were wide and muscular, his waist trim, his…Merry’s thoughts died. That definitely didn’t look like a chicken neck to her, she decided as she stared at the erection jutting out from between her husband’s legs.

It seemed to her the kiss, kiss, squeeze, squeeze would not be needed to excite her husband. He was already sporting an erection that was large, full, hard, and angry-looking. She wasn’t the only one to notice. The men had taken note and were grinning
widely and making ribald jokes, and Edda suddenly relaxed beside her and patted her shoulder as she breathed out, “All will be well. The whiskey has not affected his ability to consummate.”

Merry suddenly wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Honestly, it looked more like a small log than a chicken neck, and the idea of being stabbed with it was not exactly inspiring either pleasure or relaxation in her right then.

She stopped worrying about that for the moment, however, when she realized the men were done undressing him and were now carrying her husband forward to place him in the bed beside her. Merry steeled herself against what was coming, but still felt her face flush and her teeth grind together as the linen was lifted and she was briefly revealed to all before her husband was in bed beside her and the linens allowed to fall back over her as well as him. And then it was over and the men and women were moving out of the room, leaving them alone.

Merry watched them go, managing an uncertain smile when Edda glanced back encouragingly before walking out. Her brother Brodie was the last to leave the room. Merry released a breath of relief when he went out pulling the door closed behind him, but then just as quickly frowned when the door slid back open a crack, and she realized he hadn’t pulled it to.

She wasn’t the only one to notice. Her husband muttered a soft, slightly slurred curse before he tossed the linen aside and rose to close it. He staggered a bit as he walked to the door, but made it there fine. It was on the way back that he ran into
problems. Merry was so distracted staring at the part bobbing about between his legs that she, too, was taken completely by surprise when he stumbled over the clothing the men had left strewn on the floor. Eyes widening, she sat up just as he crashed into the upper end of the straw-stuffed mattress. At least his lower body did. His upper body was bent forward as he struggled to get back his balance and he was at an angle so that his head slammed into upper post of the bed.

Alex didn’t cry out in pain, but a low moan slid from his mouth and then he collapsed, his chest and arms on the bed and his legs hanging off.

Merry stared at him, wide-eyed, waiting for him to lift his head and speak, but nothing happened. He just lay there. After a moment, she cleared her throat and said tentatively, “My lord?”

When that got no response, she reached out to poke at his arm.

Still nothing.

Merry tossed the linens aside and shifted to her hands and knees to see his face, which was turned in the opposite direction. She had to lean far forward to get a look at it. The man’s eyes were closed, his face slack. Worried, she gave his arm a shake. “Husband?”

When there was no response and his eyelids didn’t even flicker, Merry sat back on her haunches, unsure what to do. The silly man had knocked himself out. She stared at him for a moment, but was starting to feel uncomfortable about sitting there nude and got out of bed to quickly draw on her chemise. She then walked around the bed to get a
better look at him. He was definitely unconscious. At least she hoped he was. It was hard to tell if he was breathing, crumpled up on the top corner of the bed as he was.