Taming the Highland Bride Read online

  Aye, Alex thought, glares and strange faces were little enough in response to the trouble life with these three men must have been. He couldn't imagine what Merry's life must have been like these last six years. After only minutes in their company he was irritated as hell.

  Muttering, "Excuse me," he turned away and headed for the door, neither pausing nor glancing around when the Stewart called out to him again.

  Alex wanted to get to the practice field and speak to his betrothed. He had no doubt that Merry must now loathe drinking after her experiences with these men, and was very aware that she'd arrived here to find him three sheets to the wind. He doubted it had made a good impression and could only hope someone had explained matters to her so she wasn't now fearing she'd gone from one home full of drunks to another.

  He would just find her and thank her for tending to matters while he was indisposed after his tooth pulling. Her response would tell him if someone had indeed explained things. If not, he'd explain himself, and then perhaps take the opportunity to get to know her better. While Alex had found her father and brothers rather annoying with their drunken slurs and the way they spoke of Merry, it was something of a relief to have spoken to them. For he now did understand how she had come to be called the Stewart Shrew and was positive it didn't reflect poorly on her so much as on them.

  Much as he'd like to deny it, her reputation had rather put him off marrying the girl. Alex had been more than happy to postpone the duty as long as possible. Now, if he wasn't eager, at least his stomach didn't roil at the mere thought of it.

  The practice field was a hive of activity when he reached it. Pausing on the edge, Alex peered over the people filling it, some practicing at swords, some with lances, some maces. All of them were men dressed in mail and braies, however. Alex had no idea what his betrothed looked like, so had counted on her being the sole female there for him to find her, but there wasn't a woman anywhere to be seen. For all he knew, he might have passed her in the bailey, although he hadn't noted anyone he didn't recognize on his walk down here, but--preoccupied with his thoughts as he'd been--he hadn't really paid attention.

  Muttering a mild curse under his breath, Alex started to turn back the way he'd come but stopped when he heard someone shout, "Keep yer shield up or ye're going to be skewered!"

  It was a woman's voice with a very definite Scottish accent, and he once again scanned the area in search of a gown. He was frowning with bewilderment over the fact that there wasn't one when she spoke again.

  "Good, good! Ye're a fine fighter, Albert, just remember to keep yer shield up else all that fine skill will go to waste when ye're run through. William, 'tis yer turn."

  Alex followed the voice to a small group of men at one end of the field. He scoured the gathering with his eyes, but still saw no dress to tell him which was his lady. There were six large men standing in a loose circle around another large man, battling at wooden swords with a much smaller, slender youth in braies, mail, and helmet.

  "Damn me, William, stop hesitating. I noted ye tend to do that while ye were fighting with Henry earlier, 'tis why I brought ye here. Now thrust, man, ye'll no' hurt me, and were we in true battle ye'd already be dead."

  Alex's eyes went round, horror coursing through him as he realized the little fellow in braies was his betrothed. The crazy woman wasn't just overseeing the training--which would have been bad enough--she was actually participating in it.

  "God's teeth!" he bellowed, and rushed forward. Alex pushed his way between two of the men, reached the pair in the center, and grabbed the one he'd originally thought was a slender youth by the arm to wheel her around.

  She was definitely a woman; large wide eyes blinked up at him in surprise above a straight little nose and full, luscious lips. Merewen Stewart had instinctively brought her wooden sword up to hit at him, but paused abruptly when she saw his face. Recognition flashed briefly through her green eyes; it was followed quickly by irritation and she jerked her arm free and snapped, "Are ye daft? Ye nearly got yerself skewered. This sword may be wood, but it can still do damage."

  Alex ignored her tirade and grabbed her arm again, holding her in place as he snatched the helmet off her head. His eyes widened as a mass of glorious chestnut hair suddenly tumbled out to surround her heart-shaped face. It fell in waves, reaching nearly to her waist, and felt as soft as silk against the back of his hand where he held her arm. It seemed obvious the girl had got her looks from her mother rather than her father...and he was grateful for it.

  "What are ye gawping at?" Merewen Stewart asked, but while her words were irritated, the way she was flushing and avoiding his eyes suggested discomfort and even embarrassment. "Unhand me and let me get back to work."

  "'Tis my work," Alex said with a scowl, and turned to drag her, protesting, off the field.

  "What are ye doing?" she squawked, sounding alarmed rather than angry.

  "Madame, you are in braies," Alex said through his teeth as he noted several of his men pausing in their training to watch them.

  Merry's response was a cluck of impatience. "Aye. I can hardly fight properly in a gown, can I? One fall and the skirt flies up and 'tis a free show for all. 'Tis one thing for a Scottish man to be flashing his bum at every turn, 'tis quite another for me to be flashing my--"

  Alex stopped abruptly and turned on her with dismay, and she swallowed whatever she'd been about to say and merely scowled at him instead. He took a breath, trying to erase the image her words had brought to mind, and then said, "That is--I--You--"

  Before he could quite figure out what he was trying to say, she heaved an impatient breath. "I see ye've the same problem with speech me own da has after drinking too much. Nay doubt yer thoughts are muddled like his, too. Ye'd best take yerself back to the keep and out of harm's way while I see to the men."

  Alex briefly closed his eyes and prayed for patience, then opened them again and said as calmly as he could, "Madame, the practice field is no place for a woman. 'Tis my job to oversee the men."

  "Well ye were in no condition to oversee them, were ye?" she said pointedly. "So I tended it fer ye. And stop shouting, I am standing right here."

  "I was not shouting," he said through gritted teeth.

  "Aye, ye were," she assured him, but now spoke in solemn tones as if to a child. She also patted his arm as if soothing a child. "Take yerself on back to the castle and leave me to tend to the men until ye're no' so scattered."

  "I am not scattered," he denied quickly, and then added, "And the men do not need tending."

  "Aye they do," Merry assured him. "Albert there has a habit o' letting his shield drop while he's fighting. It's like to see him killed despite his being a fine swordsman. And William is too timid, he constantly hesitates ere swinging at his foe. 'Twill see him dead in his first battle. And then there's Tom. He seems to be skilled, but needs to build more muscle or have a smaller sword made for him. The one he has is too heavy for him to wield for any length of time."

  Alex stared. Everything she'd said was true. They were problems he'd noticed and had intended to work on...when he had the time. Unfortunately, he'd been in such a rush to get things in order here before heading to Donnachaidh that he decided to tend it when he returned from Scotland.

  "Am I wrong?" she challenged.

  "Nay," he assured her. "I had recognized those issues. And I will tend to them as soon as I return from Donnachaidh."

  Merry nodded slowly and then said, "And what if the castle is attacked while ye're gone? What if those men die because ye were lax in yer duties and didna take the time to train them properly ere hieing off to see yer sister?"

  Alex stiffened at the accusation, but merely snapped, "The chances of an attack are minimal at best."

  "But no' impossible," she said firmly. "And 'tis yer place as laird to see yer men well-trained and able to defend themselves and yer castle."

  Alex's mouth tightened. As much as he liked to think he was a good and responsible lord, it did seem a bit selfish that he was going to delay correcting those flaws in his soldiers in favor of checking on his sister. It would take only a day or two to tend the matter. He was considering this when he noted she was a bit flushed and sweaty from her efforts on his behalf that day while he'd been sleeping off the whiskey. It made his mouth tighten further.

  "I shall attend the men ere we leave for Donnachaidh," he assured her quietly. "But I shall tend it, not you. You shall stick to matters in the castle itself from now on. And this moment, you will go in, wash up and change, and then sit at the trestle table with your father and brothers until the sup."

  "My father and brothers are still at the table?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

  "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.

  chapter Three

  Her 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.

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