Merry offered a smile in response to that greeting from Lady Edda as the older woman claimed the empty bit of bench next to her chair. "Good morn, my lady. I hope you slept well."
"Very well, thank you," Edda assured her and then paused, eyebrows rising as she peered at Merry's face. "You on the other hand, do not appear to have slept well at all. Are you well, dear?"
"Oh, aye, I am fine. I just did not sleep much last night. Most likely the excitement about the journey today," Merry muttered, and turned self-consciously back to the bread and cheese she'd been eating before the woman's arrival. It hadn't been excitement about the trip that had kept her up, it had been her greedy husband. While they had both collapsed and slept briefly after the promised "one more time" of bedding, Merry hadn't been asleep long when she'd awoken to soft caresses and passionate kisses. There had been at least three more "one more times" last night with bits of slumber between and she was absolutely exhausted this morn. Not that she was complaining. Merry had quite enjoyed every minute of it. In fact, her only complaint was that they had to leave their bed for this journey and could not simply stay abed and continue as they had been going.
"Well, so long as you are not coming down with what the soldiers had," Edda said, drawing her attention once more.
"Nay, truly, I am fine," Merry assured her, and then glanced to the door as it opened. A small smile immediately claimed her lips when she saw her husband enter and move toward them. While she knew Alex must be as exhausted as she after last night, he hid it well, looking just as vital and strong as if he'd slept a long restful sleep. He was also smiling, she saw, and felt her own smile widen as he reached her.
"Good morning, Edda," Alex murmured, but his gaze was on Merry and he immediately added, "The men are ready to go. Are you nearly finished?"
"Have ye broken yer fast already then?" Merry asked with surprise. Alex had already washed and dressed and arranged for a bath to be brought up for her before he'd awakened her that morning. Still, she'd been quick about her bath, taking only the time necessary for a good washing rather than lounging for a soak, but there had been no one at the table when she'd first arrived below. She'd assumed Alex had gone to see about his men before breaking his fast.
"Aye, I grabbed some bread and cheese as soon as I came down, and ate it while I checked that all was in order," he answered.
"Oh." Merry popped the last bit of bread in her mouth and stood as she chewed and swallowed. "I'm ready, too."
Alex smiled and took her hand to lead her toward the door.
"I shall see you off then," Edda murmured, getting up to follow them.
Merry glanced to the woman and offered a smile of gratitude. Edda had been very kind to her these last three weeks, doing everything she could to help her feel comfortable at d'Aumesbery, and she would not want to leave without saying good-bye. When Alex led her outside and to her horse, then started to move as if to lift her onto it, Merry backed away and hurriedly gave the other woman a hug.
Edda seemed surprised by the affectionate gesture, but patted her back and wished her a good journey before stepping away to allow Alex to lift Merry onto her mount. In the next moment, Alex had mounted as well and they were off, Alex in the lead, Merry behind him, and a small army of soldiers at their back, surrounding the wagon that Alex had insisted they would need. Merry knew it held her small bag with a couple of gowns in it, but had no idea what all the other bundles under the tarp might be. The only thing she could think was that they were gifts for Alex's sister, Evelinde.
Once they were out of the bailey, Gerhard rode past her with a small nod and moved up to ride beside Alex. They moved at a fast and steady pace for the first three hours, and Merry spent that time running her eyes over her husband's back and wondering what the future held. At that moment in time she was cautiously hopeful about their future together. She wasn't completely convinced that her husband wasn't a drunkard, but was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. She supposed only time would tell. In the meantime, Merry was caught up in the thought that she might already carry their child. They'd certainly performed the bedding enough times last night for it to be a distinct possibility.
The thought made her smile as Merry recalled Edda's hinting and questions in that regard the last week or so. The first time had been the evening Merry's stomach had been unsettled and she'd feared she might have caught the stomach ailment the soldiers were all suffering. Edda had been sure she hadn't and had suggested it might be something else. Not understanding what she meant, Merry had just let the comment go. It was only later, after another similar comment, that she'd realized the woman suspected, and was even hoping she was with child. That hadn't been possible, of course. Until last night, her marriage had not been consummated. But Edda didn't know that, and Merry hadn't been willing to tell her, so had simply ignored her comments and questions in favor of wondering what on earth would make the woman immediately assume she might be pregnant anyway.
That question had been answered several days ago when Edda had come right out and reminded her that on her wedding night she'd admitted that she'd had her woman's time two weeks ere the wedding. She had then pointed out it had been weeks since the wedding and yet she had not had her woman's time again. Edda was sure she was pregnant and was cautioning her to be careful and look to her health. She'd even suggested she might wish to bow out of this trip rather than risk the baby.
Merry had found the entire conversation terribly embarrassing and discomfiting. First of all, still a virgin at that point, she knew there was no way she was pregnant. As for her woman's time, the truth was it had always been somewhat undependable, sometimes not appearing for a month or two, and other times lasting twice as long as it should. Merry had worried over the fact when she was young until her mother had sat her down and assured her there was nothing wrong with her, that she herself had always been the same way. Her mother had said she'd found over the years that her moods affected her woman's time, so that in times of great stress she often missed one or even two. Finding the whole subject rather embarrassing, Merry hadn't explained any of this to Edda, but simply let her think what she wanted and found an excuse to escape the conversation altogether.
Now she wondered if Alex's seed had taken hold last night and if so, if this journey might not shake it loose. The thought was enough to make her peer down at her stomach and begin to fret.
"You look worried."
Merry glanced up to find that her husband had slowed to ride beside her and was eyeing her with concern.
"Is anything amiss? Are you feeling well?" Alex asked.
"Oh, aye," she assured him quickly, forcing herself to sit a little straighter in the saddle. She then explained away her mood by saying, "I'm just a wee bit tired."
"That would be my fault," he said wryly. "I do apologize. I knew we had to travel today and should have been more considerate of--"
"Did ye hear me complaining last night?" Merry interrupted abruptly to bring his apology to an end. She then reached out impulsively to squeeze the hand that rested on his pommel. "I am fine. I will just sleep well tonight."
"Aye," Ale
x said, but still looked guilty, and then he suddenly reached out and took her reins from her with one hand, while catching her about the waist and scooping her from her saddle with the other.
"What are ye doing?" Merry asked with surprise as he settled her sideways in his lap.
"You may ride with me," he answered, and then retrieved a length of rope from the bag hanging from his pommel. He tied one end of the rope to the end of her mare's reins and then fastened the other end of the rope to his pommel so that her mare could follow comfortably along behind his mount.
Merry peered over his shoulder at her mare. "I can ride. I'm a good rider."
"I know you are," he reassured her soothingly. "I have watched you this morning and you are indeed a fine rider, but this way you can sleep if you wish."
"Oh." Merry shifted a little before him, not at all used to--or comfortable with--being taken care of, and then muttered, "Well, ye must be tired, too, and it seems unfair that I get to rest and ye--"
"Tell me about your mother," Alex interrupted abruptly.
Merry blinked at the order and then turned to peer at him suspiciously. "Why?"
"Because you have great difficulty accepting any sort of assistance and I wish to understand why," he said simply.
"I doona ha'e trouble accepting--" Merry's denial was silenced when his mouth covered hers in a quick, hard kiss.
"Aye, you do," Alex assured her solemnly as he lifted his head once more, and then he repeated, "Tell me about your mother."
When Merry hesitated, torn between arguing the point further and simply answering his question, he added, "I know what your father and brothers are like and that they probably weren't very helpful over the years, but what of your mother? I've been told she ran Stewart until her death."
"Aye," Merry said at last. "Father liked to pretend he was laird, but in truth he was laird only in name. The servants and soldiers all came to me or me mother with their worries and questions."
"They came to you even while she lived?" he asked.
Merry was silent for a moment and then slowly nodded her head. "Mother was ill a long time. She did what she could, but she was often tired and weak at the end. Her mind was always clear, though, and she told me what to do, and I did it fer her."