Merry was still blinking in surprise at the unexpected embrace when Brodie took his place and caught her in a bear hug. His message was a little different. As he released her, he pointed at her chest and said, "If he gets too bothersome, a blade right here and twisted will end him fer ye."
She smiled crookedly at the advice and pointed out, "'Twould put an end to both of us since I'd be hung fer murder."
"Aye," he acknowledged, and then suggested, "Jest push him down the stairs then so it looks an accident."
"Stop giving her advice, Brodie, ye're like to get her hung," Gawain muttered, displacing him to clasp her in a warm embrace of his own so he could whisper, "I ken we've been a pain, Merry. But we love ye fer all of that. I want a letter a month from ye so we ken ye're well. All right?"
Merry nodded silently, unable to speak through the lump suddenly lodged in her throat. They were like strangers to her, or perhaps it was more as if her true brothers and father had been briefly returned to her. The ones who had existed before the drink had got the better of them. It made her heart ache. This was what they could have been all these years had drink not muddled their minds and made them so selfish and hard to handle.
"Come," Laird Stewart growled, and Merry found herself jostled between Gawain and Brodie as they followed their father to the keep doors. A half sob, half laugh slipped from her lips when she was led outside to see their already saddled mounts, and the Stewart soldiers all milling about the empty wagon that had carried her belongings here. It didn't make her doubt the sincerity of their offer to stay, but it seemed obvious they'd expected her response. Merry walked them down to their mounts, hugged each man one last time, and then impatiently dashed away the tears blurring her eyes as she watched the party ride out.
She found it hard to believe that after so many years of yearning to free of these three men, she now was upset at their going. But she couldn't help but wonder who would look after them.
"'Tis hard, I know."
Merry glanced around to find Edda beside her. She hadn't heard the woman approach, but was grateful to have the distraction of her presence.
Edda smiled at her gently and reached out to take her hand, squeezing it reassuringly as she urged her toward the stairs. "I left my family and friends when I came here, too. 'Twas very hard on me. I had no interest in marrying a man nearly old enough to be my father, and even less interest in living so far away from the excitement of court." She shook her head and then said, "Take my advice, Merry. Do not do what I did. Do not allow yourself to grow bitter and mean."
"Mean?" Merry asked with a small laugh. "I've found ye quite kind."
"Aye, well..." She paused, her lips twisting. "You have not been here long. No doubt you shall hear a tale or two from the servants and people here. I fear I was quite a horror for many years. Now everyone here hates me, and I cannot even blame them, for I brought it on myself with my previous behavior. Do not do that yourself. Accept your lot in life and make a place for yourself here."
Merry nodded silently, her mind on the claim that Edda had been a horror. She found that hard to believe, but then she'd been surprised by her father and brothers' behavior that day, too. Perhaps people were not all purely evil or purely good. Perhaps everyone had bad traits and better ones. Even herself.
"Merry?" Edda said softly.
She glanced at her in question, noting the discomfort on the woman's face, and suspected whatever was coming had something to do with the bedding. She was right.
"I realize that the bedding must have been horrible for you, and I myself can hardly believe that Alex would be so brutal, but--"
"'Tis no' what everyone thinks," Merry interrupted quickly, feeling guilty that her ignorance of how much blood was needed had convinced everyone the man must have been cruel in his bedding. The man might be a drunk, but she had no desire to paint him blacker than he already was. Unfortunately, she suspected Edda would not believe the excuse that she was a bleeder as her father and brothers had. She took a moment and then decided it would be best to stick as close to the truth as possible in case her cut leg was ever discovered. It wasn't likely, but not impossible. She might forget about it and change in front of one of the maids or something. They might note it and comment on it to Edda, and that might bring about doubt that the marriage was even consummated.
"Is it your woman's time?" Edda asked, obviously trying to find another reason she might have bled so much.
"Nay, I finished that two weeks ago," Merry admitted, and then almost smacked herself in the head for not thinking of that lie herself. It was too late now, however, so she said, "I have a wound high on my leg. It must have opened last night without my realizing it."
"Oh," Edda breathed, her eyes going wide. She hesitated and then said carefully, "So he did not hurt you last night? He was gentle with you?"
Merry knew she was really asking if the wedding had indeed been consummated. This was where the truth would no longer suffice, and she lied solemnly, "Aye."
"Good," Edda said, but was still looking uncertain, and Merry felt moved to add to her lie.
"He was very gentle with me during the bedding...and very quick," she added, recalling his exploding at her touch.
"Oh." Edda's eyes widened and then she patted her hand. "Perhaps that is for the best. Though I would not expect to be so lucky in the future. 'Twas probably just the excitement of the first time with you that had him finish fast."
Merry wrinkled her nose at the warning. While it had been a problem for her last night and prevented her actually accomplishing the consummation, she suspected had they actually been consummating at the time, she would have appreciated his speed. Merry truly saw no joy in the act and believed when it came to unpleasant tasks, the sooner done the better.
"Well." Edda patted her hand again. "I am relieved all went well. When I saw the linens..." She didn't finish the comment, but just shook her head, and then pulled the keep door open and ushered Merry inside, saying, "Come, Cook wishes to discuss the menu for the week ahead and see if it suits you."
Merry managed a smile of her own and allowed herself to be led across the great hall. She tried to walk as normally as possible, but the wound to her thigh made her walk oddly as she tried to avoid rubbing it. Noting the pitying glance Edda was giving her and knowing why the woman thought she was in pain, Merry flushed but said nothing. She was grateful, though, that she would have some time for the cut to heal before having to travel. The wait would also allow her to settle in here at d'Aumesbery, and she was grateful for that as well.
chapter Five
Alex reached for his drink and somehow misjudged its position, nearly knocking it over rather than picking it up. After adjusting his aim and managing to close his fingers around it, he raised it to his lips, but paused when his eyes slipped to his wife. She, of course, had not missed his clumsiness, and a sigh slid from his lips as he saw the disapproving look she was casting his way. Brodie had been right, she did resemble a fish when she did that.
It had been three weeks since their wedding day, and still they had not left for Donnachaidh. Unfortunately, the planned trip had met with delay after delay. First there had been the week he'd decided he should allow his wife to heal from his drunken clumsiness on their wedding night. Alex had chafed at the delay, but made himself stick to it despite the fact that she seemed well enough after only a couple of days.
However, the day before they were to leave, illness had struck the castle, forcing another delay. It had been a cruel ailment, attacking a body so that the victims spent half their time tossing up whatever they'd eaten, and the other half running for the garderobe. The illness had struck in waves, taking out a couple dozen men, and then taking out another couple dozen when the first were just starting to feel better.
Alex grimaced at the memory, but then shook his head and acknowledged that it could have been worse. While it had kept him and the rest of the men busy trying to pick up the slack their absence left, at least it had not struck
them all at once, leaving the castle completely unmanned. Still, he hadn't been able to head to Scotland without leaving d'Aumesbery shorthanded, something he hadn't been willing to do. But now, after two weeks, the illness appeared to have run its course. Unless you counted him. Alex had been suffering his own illness these three weeks since his wedding night, but his symptoms were different from those of his men. His stomach did not cause him trouble and he wasn't running for the garderobe. Instead, every evening he found himself feeling off-kilter and disoriented, sometimes even dizzy. It left Alex slurring some of his words, missing his mug or trencher when he reached for them, and staggering on occasion. In short, it left him appearing as drunk as he'd somehow gotten on his wedding night.
At one point, the fact that the symptoms occurred only at night had made him consider that someone might be drugging his ale at the sup. His wife had been the most likely suspect the moment that thought had taken hold. It had started only after her arrival, and--after his apparent brutality on their wedding night--she'd certainly have reason, he'd supposed. Alex had been so sure this might be the case that he'd entirely skipped drinking anything at all during two evening meals in a row. However, he'd still suffered the symptoms. That had reassured him and left him again to decide that he must be fighting off some sort of infection, perhaps even the one his men had been battling. If so, the reason he suffered symptoms only at night might be that after a full day of running about, filling in here and there, he was usually exhausted and at his weakest point.
Unfortunately, it was also when he saw the most of his new bride, and he very much feared she was completely mistaking his symptoms for a result of too much drink. Merry had watched him like a hawk every night since their wedding. She had not missed a single slip, stagger, or slurring of words, and he feared she was putting it all down to his being a drunk like her father and brothers. Alex did not blame her after their unfortunate first meeting, but that, too, was damned inconvenient. He'd intended to show her with his actions that he was nothing like her father and brothers; instead this damned illness was simply reinforcing her certainty that he was. He'd considered trying to explain that he hadn't been drinking and that he suspected his symptoms were the result of illness, but doubted she would believe it. Besides, he was having difficulty even attempting to converse with his wife. First there was his guilt and shame over his rough treatment on their wedding night, and then he very much doubted she would believe a word he said anyway. She had grown up with drunks and was probably used to their lies. Even if he pointed out that he didn't drink at the table, she would probably just assume that he was drinking down at the inn beforehand.
Aside from that, however, Alex found it impossible to speak to his wife for another very different reason. The fact was that as ashamed as he was of his behavior on their wedding night, and as certain as he was that she must loathe him, he couldn't be around the woman without growing as hard as a dead hen. Every night he sat at the table beside her, a need burning inside him and growing with each accidental brushing of arm or hand, each whisper of her voice as she spoke to Edda, and each inhalation of her scent that reached him. Knowing she probably feared and loathed the idea of his touch after the pain he must have caused her on their wedding night, Alex fought that desire. But while he won the battle in his mind and managed not to touch her when he joined her in their bed at night, he was definitely losing it in body. For the last three weeks he'd found himself sporting an erection that just would not die. The damned thing left him swollen and aching and nearly rabid with need. Not even in his youth had he experienced such rampant desire and it was getting progressively worse each night.
In the normal course of events, Alex would have thought this a grand thing. With marriages being business contracts signed and sealed when the individuals were but children, it was a rare thing for a man to desire his wife as he did. And he would have thought himself a lucky man indeed had he not mucked up everything so royally on their wedding night. Now, however, Alex found himself lusting after a wife who appeared to loathe him. And the worst part was he couldn't even resent or blame her. He hated himself for the shape he'd been in on their wedding night and what he must have done to her to produce so much blood. He found the matter preying on his mind most days like a venomous snake. Had she pleaded with him not to be so rough? Struggled to be free as his body had pinned her down? Had she wept?
Dear God, Alex had never in his life mistreated a woman. Not that he could recall, but now he worried if at another time while in his cups he'd hurt a woman. He'd rarely been in his cups, but even once was once too often if it meant he had hurt a smaller, defenseless woman. And how was he to make up for it?
Clearly, he had to. He could not stand a marriage that had become a cold war. Three weeks of it were wearing on his soul already, but he wasn't sure how to repair the damage he'd done.
Alex glanced to his wife as she suddenly excused herself to retire. He watched unhappily as she walked toward the stairs, his eyes sliding over the curve of her back, to the gown swaying around her hips. He wanted to get up and follow her. He wanted to trail her to their room, follow her inside, and catch her by the wrist to pull her back around as he pushed the door closed behind them. He wanted to kiss her eyes closed and then kiss her sweet mouth until the pursed look left, never to return, and then he wanted to strip away her clothes, kissing every inch of pale flesh revealed, and show her he wasn't the monster she thought he was.
Unfortunately, Alex suspected did he try it, Merry would stiffen up and bristle, and while he was sure she wouldn't refuse him, he doubted he could soothe her into relaxing, and if she didn't relax, no amount of coaxing would bring passion to life within her, and it would be a stiff, uncomfortable act for both of them. That wasn't what Alex wanted.
Turning back to his mug, he peered down into the liquid it held and fretted over what to do. Barring any more emergencies, they were to leave for Donnachaidh on the morrow, which meant days of travel ahead to reach his sister's new home. Alex didn't want to travel in the cold silence he'd lived with for three weeks, especially with his ever-present erection. Since the wedding, he'd been free of the damned thing only during the day while away from his bride, but they would be together for nearly a week straight during the journey, and he feared that would mean a very uncomfortable ride for him. Also, he didn't cherish the thought of arriving at Donnachaidh with such an obviously unhappy bride.
However, to avoid all that he had to somehow repair things with his wife, and to do that he needed to get her to let down her defenses around him. Getting her to drink excessively was completely out of the question, of course, but the only time she wasn't stiff and prickly around him was when she was sleeping, and...
Alex paused in his thoughts as he considered that. When she was sleeping, she was warm and soft and had even cuddled up close to him in their bed with a sleepy murmur. It had been torture for him to lie there with her scent in his nostrils and her body warm and sweet against him as he fought doing what his erection urged him to do. But perhaps he shouldn't fight it, Alex thought now. If he kissed and caressed her while she slept and she woke excited, perhaps he could show her that their wedding night had been an aberration and that there was pleasure and happiness to be found in the marriage bed.
"Are you not going to bed early, too, Alex?" Edda's question drew his gaze her way as she continued, "You plan to leave early on the morrow, do you not?"
"Aye," he growled, and stood abruptly. Had he been thinking, he would have recalled the erection presently causing a rather large bulge in the front of his braies and turned the opposite way to leave the table. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought, and standing up placed it right in Edda's face. Her widening eyes and sudden flush, followed by the way she turned her gaze quickly back to her food, reminded him, however, and Alex grimaced as he left the table. He followed his erection above stairs, thoughts and images of what might follow rolling through his head. He would be gentle, he would stir her passions, he would--
&
nbsp; Dear God, let this work, Alex silently prayed as he reached the door to their room and eased it slowly open. A little breath of relief slipped from his lips when he saw that despite the fact that no more than ten or twenty minutes could have passed since she'd retired, his wife was abed and sound asleep. Perhaps it would work out after all.
That hope firm in his heart, Alex quickly snuffed out the lit torch by the door, leaving only the dying fire to light the room, and then--as silently as possible--stripped off his weapons and clothing and eased carefully into bed beside his wife.
Merry was slow to wake and wasn't sure what woke her. At first she thought she was having a warm fuzzy dream, but it was unlike any dream she'd ever before experienced. She was cocooned in warmth and semidarkness, just the flicker of the dying fire casting small dancing shadows across the wall before her when she eased her eyes open. They soon drooped sleepily closed again, however, and she released a little sound of pleasure and shifted slightly against the warmth at her back as something slid warm and caressing down over her hip and along her upper leg. The sleepy little sound of pleasure slid from her lips once again, but ended with a low moan as the caress moved back up and continued up her waist and then around to drift feather-light over the lower curves of her breasts before stopping to cup one and squeeze gently.
Some instinct in Merry was urging her to open her eyes then and wake fully, but she fought it. This was too pleasurable and she didn't wish to wake up and have it come to an end, so she tilted her head back slightly as she felt lips gently brushing the side of her neck. The hand at her breast was kneading and sending an odd excitement tingling through her body. Merry found herself gasping in response, her behind shifting into the hips against her backside and unintentionally nudging a hardness resting there. It brought a moan from the questing lips now slipping up over her cheek and toward her mouth, and Merry could no longer pretend she was asleep. Her eyes blinked open and she turned her head to peer at who she knew must be her husband. Before she could speak, his lips covered hers and his tongue swept in to fill her mouth.