Midnight's Bride Read Online Free Page A

Was he a barbarian with a conscience?
    â€œThe daughter of the house has need of a lady’s maid, sir. She’ll not turn me away.”
    No cause for another prayer there. She sighed with relief. Elise would be happy to shelter her, but how would she get there? She could not take her favorite mount. Before she could voice her thoughts, he solved the problem for her.
    â€œMy squire will take you up behind him. He will stay with you until he is assured they allow you entrance.”
    He made good on his word. Dwarfing her wrist in his big hand, he pulled her behind him to the last stall. A young man, a stranger to Netta, tended a huge destrier. He stopped and looked at them. The horse trumpeted and threw his head about in such a vigorous fashion he nearly knocked the lad to the ground.
    â€œYou there. Go to Marcus and tell him Baresark has need of a gentle mount.”
    Baresark? Netta jerked and near shrieked in fear. The man in Welsh legend her stepmother had told her tales of since she was but five summers old had come to life. Their threats rang through her mind and fright near buckled her knees. Her father had sworn that if she did not obey him, this fearsome warrior from the past would come at his bidding and drag her away to his dungeon.
    How had he summoned him? Was her father a warlock? Trying to break the man’s steely grasp, she jerked back so hard she feared she would wrench her arm from its socket.
    The boy nodded and raced from the room. Why had he grinned when called “you there,” and why was he not afeared of this savage? Instead, his lips had spread even wider on hearing his master call himself Baresark. Was the boy brainsick?
    Netta grimaced. Her skin felt over-sensitive. She began to fidget, drawing her shoulders forward to try to put space between her flesh and her borrowed clothing. ’Twas as if she had nettles in her tunic. She wondered why. Then she knew. His penetrating gaze, roving over her face and form in the dim light, felt like calloused hands exploring her curves. Bile surged to her throat. She gulped. Afore he learned she was his intended bride, she had to get away from him. Above her heart’s pounding, she heard the sharp clop of a horse’s hooves coming toward them. A large man led the horse, the squire followed.
    â€œYou wished a gentle mount, Baresark?” he asked, giving the name emphasis. “I can call none of the mounts gentle, but this be the calmest of the lot.” Laughter sounded in his voice.
    The large hand grasping her wrist tightened, then relaxed.
    Netta could not see clearly, as the steed blocked out what little light there was. The squire knew his job well, for he immediately started to saddle the horse. The men began to speak, and she listened. Not because she was being nosey. It would not have done her any good, for the words were strange to her. What language did they speak? Possibly Welsh? The giant looked at her expectantly. When had they ceased talking?
    â€œWhat? Is something wrong, sir?” She tried to stop her voice from quavering. Saints! What had she missed?
    â€œTwice have I asked if you were ready to mount?”
    She blinked. The squire grinned at her from atop the horse.
    â€œOh, aye. Methinks I was woolgathering.” No chance of any more of that. Before she realized her feet had left the ground, the barbarian had seated her behind the lad.
    â€œNetta. Is that not the name the baron used? I will see how you fare at Ridley Castle.” His gaze studied her.
    Nay. He would never see her again if she could help it. From atop the mount, she saw his face. As if she had spoken her thoughts, the expression in his eyes changed. Were the tales of his being able to hear other’s thoughts truth?
    â€œYour interest will be welcome, sir.” Ha, when loathsome toads walk upright on warty back legs. Her hand flew to her mouth to hush her thoughts. Saints! Did his lips twitch?
    Wordlessly, he motioned toward the