Taming the Highland Bride (16 page)

Alex merely shook his head at her determination as she moved toward the tent flap and then followed her out. They were halfway across the damp campsite when one of the men by the fire hailed Gerhard.

“Go ahead,” Alex suggested. “Allan can tell us what is wrong.”

“Allan went to…er…for a walk in the woods,” Gerhard finished with a grimace, and Merry shook her head at the men’s discomfit with simply admitting a fellow needed to relieve himself. She knew it wasn’t considered polite talk in front of ladies, but her own father and brothers had never troubled themselves to watch their speech in front of her and it did seem silly getting so discomfited by a natural function. Forcing himself past the moment, Gerhard added, “You should be able to see the problem for yourself, however. She has a small cut just here.”
He gestured toward his own shoulder. “’Tis not infected, but Allan wanted permission to put a salve on it to prevent the possibility of one settling in.”

Alex nodded. “We shall find it.”

Nodding, Gerhard turned away to move toward the fire, and Merry and Alex continued on to where the horses were gathered together at the end of the clearing.

As Gerhard had said, Beauty wasn’t exactly ailing. She merely had a small cut on her withers on her right side. It was so small in fact that Merry and Alex had trouble finding it. Merry frowned when they did finally spot it. It was small, straight, and very thin. One could almost think it was from a blade rather than a branch as it must have been. She was actually amazed that Allan had seen it, but was grateful at the same time. Animals were as prone to infection as people, and the injury had to be tended to prevent it.

“Some salve ought to do the trick,” Alex murmured as they peered at the injury.

“Aye,” Merry agreed, running a soothing hand along her mare’s side. “But I’d rather use me own. I’ll fetch me medicinals and be right back.”

“You shall return to the tent and find your salve and then wait for Godfrey to come fetch it from you,” Alex countered firmly.

“But—”

“But nothing,” Alex interrupted firmly. “’Tis starting to rain again and I’ll not have you catching a chill. Allan can apply the salve as well as you. Just send it back with Godfrey.”

Merry made an irritated face, but turned to head
back to the tent. She’d rather apply the salve herself, but it wasn’t worth arguing over. The very fact that Allan, the fellow in charge of the horses for this journey, had spotted the tiny injury suggested he was capable and caring of the animals’ well-being. He could smear it on as well as she could. That didn’t stop her from resenting her husband’s ordering her about, however. What did was the fact that it grew out of his concern for her well-being. He hadn’t just been ordering her about for ordering’s sake, but was worried about her catching a chill in the rain, and she thought that was incredibly sweet. Merry wasn’t used to others caring for her well-being. She was generally the one taking care of everyone else. It made for a nice change.

The moment she reached the tent, Merry moved to the chest to retrieve her small cloth bag of medicinals. She had measured out what she felt would be needed and was waiting a tad impatiently when Godfrey announced his arrival by coughing himself silly outside the tent flap. Worried by the deep, wet sound of the cough, Merry moved to the flap and flipped it up, but rather than hand the boy the salve, she dragged him inside.

“My lord sent me”—he paused to cough long and deep before finishing breathlessly—“for your salve.”

Merry bent to pick up a candle to get a better look at him, her mouth compressing when she saw the lack of color to his face and the almost blue tinge to his lips. “Ye’ve caught a chill and now have a chest complaint.”

Godfrey grimaced at her accusing tone, but
shrugged wearily. “I am fine, my lady. A little sleep and I shall be as right as rain.”

“Oh, aye,” she muttered dryly, and moved to reclaim her bag of medicinals, muttering, “And me husband was worried about
me
.”

“What was that?” Godfrey asked, and then burst into another round of coughing.

Merry didn’t bother answering, but chose several items from her bag and then glanced around briefly before bending to grab up the nearest mug of wine from the furs. She quickly mixed in a selection of herbs and plants and then handed it to the boy.

“Drink,” she ordered firmly. “’Twill taste absolutely vile, but will help strengthen ye to fight this off.”

Godfrey started to shake his head, paused to bend forward as he was wracked by another round of coughing, and then straightened and accepted the drink. He paused after barely a swallow and opened his mouth, but whatever protest he’d been about to make died on his lips as soon as he saw Merry’s grimly determined expression.

Giving in, he used the finger and thumb of his free hand to plug his nose and then stoically drank the liquid down.

Merry relaxed and nodded her satisfaction once he was done and took the mug back. “Now settle yourself in the corner there and try to sleep.”

“Oh, nay,” he cried at once, backing toward the tent. “My lord sent me for salve for your mare. I—”

“I’ll take him the salve,” Merry argued at once, turning to set the mug down and pick up the bit of salve she’d laid out on a piece of cloth. “But ye
shouldna be out in the rain ailing as ye are, and ye certainly canna sleep out there in it.”

“Well I cannot sleep in here,” he squawked as she straightened.

“Aye, ye can,” she said firmly, and then took pity on his panic and said, “I will explain things to me husband and he shall agree. Jest—”

Merry came to an abrupt halt as Godfrey, his face squinched up with panic, suddenly snatched the salve from her and fled the tent.

“Well, hell,” she muttered, moving to the flap to see him racing through the rain to the horses at the end of the camp. She wasn’t at all used to being disobeyed and simply watched with a scowl as he hurried to where Alex stood talking to Allan. The moment the boy had his lord’s attention, he appeared to babble a string of words. She saw her husband’s eyebrows go up, and then he reached out to press the back of his hand to Godfrey’s head. The concern that suddenly claimed his features made her relax somewhat.

Merry let the tent flap fall into place and moved back to the furs then. She was sure Alex would agree with her and insist the boy sleep in the tent with them. And once he marched Godfrey back here, she would give the lad hell for flouting her instruction and running off like that. No one at Stewart would have dared disobey her so, and she wasn’t going to have it at d’Aumesbery. The smooth running and very safety of the castle and its people depended on respect for their lord and lady and obedience when they gave an order. Merry knew she was still considered a stranger and would have to earn the respect, but she wasn’t waiting for the obedience.

She was pacing the tent, working herself into a bit of a lather as she silently practiced what she would say to the boy. Merry disliked reprimanding anyone, but especially anyone she liked, and she rather liked Godfrey. He seemed a good lad to her, well, except for this disobeying her business. Merry was glowering over that when the tent flap rustled, announcing someone’s arrival. Hand tightening on the empty mug she still held, Merry turned expectantly, but her husband entered alone. “Where is Godfrey?”

“I sent him to sleep.”

Merry scowled at this news. “I told him he was to sleep in here with—”

“I know. He told me,” Alex assured her with a faint smile. “But he did not seem comfortable with the prospect so I ordered him to go sleep in the back of the wagon with Una.”

Merry’s expression cleared at once. She’d quite forgotten Una telling her that the men had taken the tarp that covered the goods during the day and arranged it over the back of the wagon so that she had something of a tent of her own. Without their tent and the chests in it, there should be enough room in the back of the wagon for both Una and Godfrey without the pair being uncomfortable.

Realizing that Alex was awaiting her comment, she nodded and murmured, “That was a good idea.”

“He also confessed that he disobeyed you and rushed out to me after you had ordered him to lie down and sleep. I did not reprimand him,” he said, and when Merry stiffened, added, “Your order countermanded mine.”

When Merry didn’t hide her confusion, he reminded her, “I sent him to retrieve the salve from you. To obey you, he had to disobey me. To obey me, he had to disobey you. He was in a bit of a spot.”

“Oh, aye,” Merry agreed as she realized the truth of his words. “I suppose the wagon is just as good as the tent. At least he is out of the rain.”

“Aye,” he agreed, and caught her hand to draw her closer. “And not in here preventing me from doing this.”

Merry’s eyes widened and then drooped closed as he lowered his head and kissed her. The kiss started out sweet and questing, but soon turned passionate, and as she let the empty mug slip from her fingers and reached up to help her husband strip their clothes away, Merry thought that his arm and head must not bother him as much as she’d feared…and that it was indeed a good thing the lad wasn’t in the tent with them.

W
here diya want this?”

Merry straightened from laying out the last of the furs and glanced to Una. The maid had been snappy ever since rising that morning. Even finally crossing the border back into their homeland of Scotland hadn’t brought her mood around, and Merry was getting tired of her surly behavior. Her gaze shifted to the small cloth bag the woman held.

“Just set it on the chest there, please, Una,” Merry answered, keeping her voice even and mellow. Her mouth tightened, however, and irritation got the better of her when the woman turned and tossed
it carelessly on the chest. She snapped shortly, “Be careful with those, Una. You know they hold my medicinals.”

Una scowled at the mild reprimand, but moved to check on the contents of the bag, and Merry eyed her with exasperation. “What is the matter with you today? You have been growling and snapping ever since you got up this morning.”

“I didna get a wink o’ sleep last night.”

Merry’s eyebrows rose slightly at this claim. “Was the back of the wagon so hard? If so, mayhap ye should take a couple of these furs for this eve then?”

“Nay, it wasna me back that was bothering me but Godfrey’s front,” Una snarled. She set the bag back on the chest with a little plunk.

“Was he snoring?” Merry asked, trying to get to the bottom of the matter. “Or was it his coughing?”

“Nay, it wasna his coughing though he did a fair bit o’ that, too,” she said dryly.

Merry clucked with exasperation and propped her hands on her hips. “Well, spit it out, woman. Ye’ve been in a foul temper all day and I would ken why.”

“Because I spent the first part o’ the night fightin’ off Godfrey rather than sleepin’ and then when I finally got free o’ the lad, I crawled under the wagon to try to sleep there, but couldna because ’twas damp and cold. O’ course I’m testy.”

Merry’s hands dropped from her hips, her eyes going wide with amazement. “Fightin’ off Godfrey?”

“Aye.” Una scowled and then explained in a low
growl, “The little bastard was as randy as a goat. And he understood the word ‘nay’ about as well as one, too. If he were not so fou with drink I’d ha’e no’ got away.”

“What?” Merry asked with shock. “But he was ill last night, ’tis why Alex had him sleep in the wagon.”

“He wasna so ill he couldna muster the sword between his legs and try to make himself a man.” She paused and bit her lip and then admitted, “He’s well built in that area, by the way. The boy carries a claymore between his legs as compared to most men’s short sword. Though I damned near snapped it off last night.”

Merry bit her lip at this news, but then shook her head. “I just—Godfrey seems so sweet. I canna understand—”

“Oh, I know.” Una shook her head. “I couldna credit it, either, ’tis no’ like him at all. The boy’s as shy as a bird around me and every other female. And after I got thinking about it today, I wondered if he wasna out of his head with fever…Though he didna seem that hot to me,” she said, and then offered, “It could have been a mild fever combined with the drink.”

“The drink?” Merry asked with surprise.

“Aye. I could smell wine on him.”

Merry shook her head. “I am sure the only drink Alex brought was a couple of bottles of wine. They were to be a gift for his sister, but he opened one last night and—” She stilled and then said, “I gave Godfrey a tonic mixed in wine last night. I didna ha’e anything else at the time. But ’twas only half a mug.
Surely that little bit of wine wouldna affect him in such a way?”

Una shrugged. “Something affected him. He was slurring his words and clumsy as an ox, but hard and wantin’ despite all that.” She grimaced. “He definitely wasna himself, that is certain.”

Merry was frowning over this when one of the men came to tell them that sup was ready if they wished to join the others. She murmured a word of thanks and followed Una out of the tent, her mind taken up with Godfrey. It was hard to imagine the lad behaving so badly, but she was sure Una wouldn’t lie about something like that. Merry just didn’t know what to think.

Alex stood to greet her with a kiss on the cheek as she reached the fire. Merry managed a distracted smile, but her gaze was searching for the boy who was on her mind. “Where is Godfrey?”

“I sent him to lie down in the wagon when we stopped. He seems worse today than he was yesterday and needs his sleep.”

Merry noted the concern on her husband’s face and knew the boy must be feeling poorly. She hesitated briefly and then said, “Mayhap I should check on him.”

“After you eat,” Alex said firmly. “I want you to take care of yourself so that you do not fall ill, too.”

Merry nodded and settled to sit beside her husband. Had Una not just finished telling her what the boy had got up to last night, she might have insisted on going to check on him before she ate, but now…Well, frankly, she was a bit uncomfortable and
embarrassed for the lad and unsure what she would say to him.

The meal seemed to pass quickly. Once done, she excused herself to go look in on the boy. She was desperately hoping that the lad would be sound asleep and there would be no need for her to take him to task for his reported behavior. She would have to talk to him eventually, but wasn’t looking forward to the task and wouldn’t mind putting off the chore. However, when she peered into the tarp to find that Godfrey wasn’t asleep there, she was more concerned than relieved. Merry turned back to glance toward the men around the fire, and then she stilled and looked back to the wagon as a soft cough sounded behind her. Still the wagon was empty.

Merry was about to turn away again when there was another cough. This time she recognized that the sound came not from the wagon itself, but from under it. She knelt at once, her eyebrows flying up when she saw Godfrey all curled up under the cart, shivering in a thin blanket.

“Godfrey, what are ye doin’ under there?” she asked with dismay. “Ye canna sleep on the damp ground, ye’ll jest make yerself more ill.”

A small grunt emitted from the depth of the blanket, and then Godfrey unbundled enough to peer out at her. Merry saw the shame on his face and felt sympathy slide through her before he’d even spoken. He looked as if he’d got caught doing something terribly naughty and was embarrassed by it.

“I am fine here, my lady,” he assured her, and her concern deepened at the sound of his voice. The boy
generally had a pleasant voice, but at the moment, it was a bare growl that spoke of a throat so sore he was like to lose the ability to speak altogether soon. “The wagon shall keep the rain off of me and—”

“That willna do, Godfrey,” she said solemnly. “Ye must come out o’ there and get in the wagon. Ye need to tend to yer cold ere it tends to you.”

A moment of silence passed and then Godfrey whispered, “I cannot.”

“Ye canna what?” she asked, and then, concern claiming her, crouched to crawl under the wagon with him. Feeling his forehead, she noted the heat pouring off his head and asked, “Are ye too weak to move? Shall I call for one o’ the men to—”

“Nay, my lady,” he said quickly. “I could not possibly sleep in the wagon tonight. Una would surely kill me in my sleep for my behavior last night.”

Merry hesitated, but then, despite already having heard it from Una, asked, “And what did ye do last night?”

“I…” He paused, and even from that distance and in the dimness cast by the shadow of the wagon she saw him swallow unhappily before he gathered himself together enough to say, “I only vaguely recollect it, but I fear I may have tried to force her to…” The words died, and he bowed his head in shame and merely shook his head, unable even to speak the words aloud.

Merry bit her lip at the dejected and self-disgusted air about the boy and then quietly asked, “What were ye thinkin’, lad?”

“I was not thinking at all,” he admitted on an unhappy sigh. “Else I never would have…Truly, my
lady. I do not know what came over me. I just—” He shook his head helplessly and then fell silent, misery plain on his face.

Merry tried to think of something to say to smooth the situation over, but truly, she was at a loss. And then Godfrey suddenly glanced up to say, “Would you tell Una how sorry I am? Truly, I would never have treated her so had I been in my right mind.”

Merry hesitated, tempted to take the burden from him, but then said, “I think ’twould be better did you tell her yourself.”

Panic immediately wreathed his face, and he shook his head a bit wildly. “She must hate the very sight of me now.”

Merry felt her heart melt with sympathy and said, “Nay. She kens ye were ill and will most like accept yer apology.”

“Aye, I will,” Una said, and they both glanced to the side to see the maid crouched beside the wagon. It seemed obvious she’d been there awhile.

“I saw ye head ower here to talk to the boy and thought I’d best make sure ye were all right,” her maid explained. “If the lad was out of his head again and foolish enough to attack ye, the laird would surely break his scrawny neck.”

“Una, I am so sorry—” Godfrey began earnestly, but the maid waved him to silence.

“I heard everythin’. And I’ll forgive ye this time. Ye may even sleep in the wagon tonight, but ye’d best nay try anything or ye’re like to lose that claymore ye keep hidden in yer braies.”

Godfrey flushed with embarrassment, and Merry bit her lip to keep from laughing. It was hard to
imagine he’d attacked Una as he had when he could not even discuss the act or handle references to his body parts without acting like the embarrassed virgin he probably was. The whole thing was just beyond understanding really. She’d have bet her life that Godfrey was the last male in her husband’s ranks who would have attacked a woman. This just didn’t make sense. Obviously, Una was of the same mind, else she’d have not been so forgiving.

“Come along,” Merry said. “Let us get ye off this damp earth and in the wagon.”

“Aye, my lady,” he whispered, and unrolled to crawl out from under the wagon, dragging his tattered blanket with him.

Merry bit her lip at the sad state of the article as he straightened next to the wagon and then glanced to Una. Before she could speak, the woman assured her, “There are furs and a couple of blankets in the wagon. He will be fine.”

Merry nodded, but then asked, “Are ye sure? Ye could sleep in the tent with Alex and me if ye—”

“Oh, aye, he’d like that,” Una interrupted dryly even as Godfrey groaned his mortification. She spared him a glance and then shook her head. “Nay, he seems fine. His eyes are clear and he isna slurring like he was last night.”

Merry raised her eyebrows, but before she could comment or ask about the clear-eyed business, she noted Alex moving toward her and narrowed her eyes at the slight stagger to his step.

Una followed her gaze and commented dryly, “Yer husband, on the other hand, doesna look clear-
eyed at all. Ye’d best get him to his bed ere he falls over and sleeps where he stands.”

Merry’s gaze instinctively lifted to Alex’s face then and she stilled as she saw that there
was
something odd about his eyes. It looked more to her as if the blacks of his eyes had grown to take up most of the space, so that the blue was just a thin line around it.

“Husband,” she began with concern, but that was as far as she got. The rest of her words were lost in a gasp as he reached her and suddenly scooped her up into his arms. Merry grabbed at his shoulders, afraid she’d be dropped or that they’d fall before she was safely back on the ground. Her husband wasn’t exactly steady on his feet at the moment.

Her gaze shifted over his eyes as he walked, and she again found her concern growing as she took in the way the black had overtaken the clear bright blue of his eyes. For the first three weeks of their marriage, Merry had pretty much avoided looking straight at her husband. Instead, she’d mostly watched him out of the corner of her eye, looking for signs of drunkenness; his missing something he reached for, or stumbling in his step. Now she wished she’d looked at his face more, specifically his eyes, so that she would know if this strange dilation of the black centers had ever occurred during the day when he always appeared sober, or if it only coincided with each time he’d appeared drunk to her. It was an important point. Alcohol did not cause this reaction, and she didn’t know of an illness that did, either, but Merry did know that some herbs and tonics could cause it.

Alex bent slightly to carry her into the tent, and suddenly overbalanced and careened forward, stumbling several steps.

Merry groaned and squeezed her eyes closed, sure she was in for it, for she was the one who would hit the ground first with his weight crushing her afterward. However, Alex managed to regain his footing after several steps, and she released a small breath of relief and opened her eyes once more as he carried her to the bed of furs.

Much to her relief, he set her on her feet then. Merry immediately turned to face him. She was eager to find out just how he was feeling and try to sort out what had caused the dark of his eyes to grow and might have brought about the symptoms she until now had thought were signs of drunkenness. But she’d barely opened her mouth to ask her first question when his lips covered hers. She tried to turn her head away, but he would not be denied and his mouth stayed fastened to hers like a leech, his tongue slipping out to anchor it.

Merry raised her hands to his chest to try to end the kiss and ask her questions, but it was like trying to move a mountain. There was absolutely no give under the pressure she exerted, and then she became aware that while he was unmoving, his hands were not. They first cupped her bottom through the skirt of her dress, raising her up to press against the demanding hardness between his legs as he kissed her. Holding her in place with one hand, he then moved the other to first one breast and then the other, squeezing and kneading eagerly through the cloth of her gown. In the next moment, Alex had
eased her back to the ground and was tugging at her dress, impatient to remove the obstruction.

Merry found it all rather overwhelming. Almost frightening. His tongue filled her mouth so completely, she feared she might choke on it, and his behavior was more of an all-out attack than the sensual assault she was used to from him.