How to Marry Your Wife (13 page)

Chapter 22

After a tepid wash in a decrepit bathhouse, Merry emerged in her own clothes, which she’d retrieved from her trunk in one of the wagons. Retracing her steps, she found a long hallway, then another, and another, which finally led to the stairs to the main floor.

A deeply wrinkled woman, dressed in a brown tattered tunic, cackled, “Where’s yer proper cap, lass. The Bishop of York is here. Best ye go upstairs and dress properly for dinner.”

Merry bit back a retort, peered into the wizened blue eyes, and gasped. “Nursey? Dame Broome? By all that is holy in heaven above, it is you. So oft I’ve thought upon you.” She clasped the frail body close, while a hundred memories surfaced of doing the same, albeit from a much smaller body.

Boney cold fingers clamped onto her arm and urged her down a dark hallway. “The master told us you’d died, but I never did believe it. Come, we’ve not much time.”

An old oak panel of half-stature swung open when her old nurse gave it a solid kick at the bottom. Merry followed her bent body into the passage until they could stand again. “I had no idea there was a hidden tunnel here.”

“And many more. You’re in grave danger here, dearie. Why did you return? Best for all that you remained dead.”

What a horrible thing to say.
She gasped. Had she not thrown those very same words at Thomas just a week earlier? “But why?”

Dame Broome lit a thin tallow candle and the smell of spoiled animal fat filled the room. “Better that you remember for yourself.”

Ducking through a keystone arch, they crawled on hands and knees until they exited into another staircase. She stopped at a slit in the rounded tower and leaned out. Mist wet her face. Whitecaps, lit by the late afternoon sun, foamed, grew large, and crashed upon the rocks below.

Up and up they went until they reached the top turret. Dame Broome stuck a U-shaped key into the wall, a panel swung open, and Merry sucked in her breath. Except for a large wooden bucket in the middle of the bed for catching rainwater, her mother’s favorite room hadn’t changed in almost twenty years.

“Sir Nicholas said it was your mother’s dying wish to keep it thus.” The old woman sat down and waited, her eyes piercing.

Merry fingered the fine lace covering the pallet, now gray with age and spotted with mold. One of her first memories was sitting here and staring out at the sea in her mother’s lap. The day was warm, the sun bright, and seagulls screeched overhead as they dove into the ocean retrieving fish in their bright beaks.

That day, fluffy white clouds lay asleep in the blue sky. The ocean breeze had taken a day of rest and they’d lain in just their light under-shifts. Her mother, scented with lavender, had kissed her forehead. “Know that I love you, dearest.”

“I love you, too, Mama,” Merry whispered aloud and her eyes teared with the memory.

Her mother had pointed to a loose brick in the wall. “Someday, you must come for this. Will you remember?”

“I remember everything.”

Back in the present, she dug her fingertips into a loose yellow brick in the floor and pulled hard. In the hole sat a box. Breaking off the wax coating, she opened it to find two rolls of parchment within. She sat down on the old lace coverlet and read.

My dearest love,

I cannot be with you, but know that my love is eternal. When the time is right, I will announce the baby within you as mine. I fear your husband’s retribution should I speak too soon. Destroy this letter, as I’ve gone through great pains to keep our tryst and the child born of our love hidden.

Eternally,

R

She turned to Dame Broome. “I don’t understand.”

“You and Sir Nicholas are not of the line of Umframville.” The old woman flashed a toothless grin.

“I don’t believe you. Who is this ‘R’?” Merry’s innards turned, she moaned, and nearly tossed her meal. She couldn’t be a cast-off.
Would God’s punishments never end?

Her old nurse patted Merry’s knee. “Only the most powerful man in the country.”

“King Edward?”

She chortled. “Edward is just a pawn who is played well. The Lord of Annandale will soon hold all the power. King Alexander has no heir. When he dies, your grandfather will rule and you’ll be a princess.”

“Grandfather?”

“Are you deaf? Your father is Robert Bruce, son of the great steward of Annandale.”

“Not possible.”

“Robert loved you and once he learns you’re not dead, he’ll claim you as he has your brother. Years ago, he sent me to watch over you both. My penance for losing you was to never return to Carlisle. Perhaps now that you’re found, I may return before I die.” Tears slid into deep wrinkles before dropping to the floor.

Merry hugged her and patted her frail back. “Of course you will. None of this was your fault. Come. Find me a cap and we’ll head back down to dinner.”

She donned a three-pointed eyesore that Nurse Broome found in a drawer as she shook her head back and forth. The man who’d condemned her to die years ago wasn’t her real father? She really needed time to think, but they awaited her downstairs.

The many hallways unfolded before them and led finally into the main room of the castle where thirty or more tables stood like armed guards in a row. Only one was set with candles and the few guests were already engaged in a heated conversation.

Six chairs rubbed against the floor and six men stood in unison as she approached. One lovely redhead stayed seated, scowling with her arms crossed over her chest. An older woman, dressed in plaid, sat next to her with hands folded upon the table, as if in prayer.

Thomas put his hand to Merry’s lower back, and whispered, “All better?”

“Much.” She smiled, feeling as if her unfavorable birth might now be carved into her forehead.
Who else at this table knew?

Thomas pointed. “This is our host, Bartholomew Steward.”

A black-haired man bowed at her right.

Another man, short as a dwarf, rushed around the table. Pushing Steward aside, with his eyes fixated upon her chest, he kissed her hand. His voice was high and squeaky. “I’m Bishop York. I can’t begin to tell you how happy we are to have you here.”

When he let go, she discretely wiped the sweat from his hand on her skirt as Thomas introduced the frowning young woman.
Fay?
Apparently she was the niece of the gray-haired man in a kilt; the older woman was her aunt. At least Marcus and Nicholas smiled kindly as they all sat back down to eat.

“Please forgive me. I’m afraid I got lost.” She shrugged at Thomas’ questioning glance.

“Not a problem, my dear.” Steward gave her a once over and rested his eyes upon her breasts. She glanced down. Her dress was more than modest.
What was wrong with these men and their impertinent gazes?

“Prithee continue with whatever conversation I interrupted.” She looked to Thomas to save her, but he was turned to his left, chatting with Marcus.

Her brother broke in with a tone more suited for Edward’s court. He’d changed from his earlier attire and had donned a bright yellow tunic more befitting the fairer sex. Somehow his demeanor, too, was cloaked. He wasn’t the same man she’d met earlier.

“After such a harrowing escape, of course all is forgiven. Attacked upon the road by ruffians? I’m so proud of you, sister dear.”

The Bishop of York raised an eyebrow to Steward and smiled knowingly. “You look absolutely fetching, Lady Meredith.”

She cringed. Thomas and Marcus remained unaware of the sexual undercurrent, but the lovely young Scot was now paying close attention. “Sir Steward. Where’s our meal? Have ya no respect fer yer hungry guests? ’Tis bad enough you treat me and my uncle so poorly. ’Tis beyond rude to do so to the rest.”

Nicholas laughed too loudly and stared at the woman. Their eyes locked and the room grew silent. “You do better up north?”

She sent arrows with her eyes. “Indeed, we do. The hospitality is better and men don’t lay with their maids.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Really? And who’s taking notice?”

“No one.” She scowled and her face went crimson.

The older woman glared at the younger. “Please forgive my niece’s outbursts. She’s still in training of the finer graces. We were hoping a short trip shopping in Scarborough would help refine her.”

“Refine me? You mean introduce me to that English boor.” She nodded in Nicholas’ direction.

His eyes darkened and then it was gone. He laughed and pointed a knife with a bit of meat. “’Tis naught. She’s but a child.”

Her chair scraped the floor. “Excuse me. I find I’m not hungry.”

“I could see you to your room.” Nicholas chuckled.

She slapped his head and stomped away. “Och, you’ll do no such thing.”

Nicholas glared pointedly at the Scot and his wife once she’d exited. “Make sure she’s on her way tonight. I’ve had enough of her.”

The two older Scots nodded and stared at their plates in the uncomfortable silence.

Merry couldn’t be sure, but every time she put her arm down for a bite, Steward brushed his elbow against hers. Finally, she shifted her seat over, he leered, and moved closer.

She put her hand over Thomas’ and said, “I think we should say goodnight.”

He winked at the people at table, jumped up, and kissed her on the mouth for all to see. “I don’t care if the castle is burning down around us. You’re not to disturb us until morning. You have my permission to gut anyone who says otherwise.”

Nicholas glanced up from a leg of mutton. “Take my chambers.”

They rushed up the stairs and into her brother’s room where she stood and stared at the large hanging bed. What to do? Disrobe and hide under the covers? Stand here like a ninny and wait for him to come? Run into his arms like a well-taught whore?
Damnation
. Why had this all of a sudden become so awkward?

He gave her a wink and slid a thick wood bar across the door. “Finally.”

“Prithee don’t jinx us for we’ve not yet done the deed.” She giggled and some of the trembling in her knees subsided.

He crossed the room to where she stood by the stairs and patted the imposing sleeping box hung from the ceiling. Donning his warrior face, he circled the structure and tugged on the chains. Arriving back at her, he grinned and kissed her hand. “It should hold.”

This was her Thomas from long ago. Underneath, he hadn’t changed that much. He was still the lighthearted man she’d given her soul to hold. Stepping forward, she cupped his just-shaved cheek. “Soft.”

He groaned and turned to kiss the palm of her hand. “Merry. This moment has been the subject of my dreams since first I met you.” Both his hands reached to her behind and tugged her into his body. His hungry mouth met hers, claiming her in a deep kiss.

“Oh.” Her hands slid up to the back his head. Silken hair caressed the sensitive spots between her fingers. She dug her nails into his scalp when his tongue asked for entrance.

Into her mouth he plunged, dancing and playing. He backed out to let her breathe, but his tongue frolicked upon her lips, her nose, and her eyelids. Between her legs, his pintle grew hard and she tilted forward to better feel it rub against her womanly folds.

He chuckled, lifted both her tunics up over her head in one move, then did the same for his. Almost reverently, he untied the strings that held her under garments and she stood naked before him, except for the knife at her calf.

“My God.” The center of his eyes went wide and black as he stared up and down her body. One sword-calloused hand went to her back and the other cupped her breast. He leaned over to kiss one hard tip, then the other. When her legs gave way, he squeezed her bare arse, lifted, and threw her gently upon the bed.

After he removed his pintle covering, he jumped up, and straddled her on all fours. The bed swung, the chains creaked, and she let out a nervous giggle.

He kissed her nose, cheeks, and eyelids. “I knew you’d be merry again.”

His pintle poked at her naked body, eager for her. She opened her legs. “By all that’s holy, do the deed before someone yet again interrupts us.”

“Shush. I must tease you until you cream so I can slip in.” His clever tongue licked its way down her chin, played with the holes just below her neck, and, dear God almighty, sucked upon a breast.

A twinge, as if pulling upon a cord, shot straight to her lower lips and she moaned.

The sound caused him to groan and move faster. While he paid close attention to the hardening nubs of her breasts, she reached around to cup his arse. Soft skin covered firm strength underneath. She squeezed hard, his breath rasped, and his rod shot up rock hard.

He moved his mouth back to hers with a hand on either side of her head. “Wrap your legs around me.”

He didn’t need to ask, for she was already there, and he pushed.

Oh God, we are one.

She forced away the memory of the last time they’d joined. How she’d rendered him willing with the old hag’s love potion. She’d have to tell him soon.