Midnight's Bride Read Online Free Page B

bailey. Clutching the squire’s slender waist, she tried to disappear behind him. Did he feel her heart pound against his back? As they made their way across the grounds and out over the drawbridge, she listened for sounds of pursuit.
    She did not relax her tense grip on his tunic until they were well out of sight of her father’s castle.
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    No one would pursue them, for Mereck sent word to Baron Wycliffe that he had everything in hand. Netta had unusual courage. Especially for a woman. She had not fooled him for a moment. He had known it was she, Lynette of Wycliffe, on the balcony.
    When he had chased the supposed thief, he knew who fled from him. He had purposely let her gain the lead until she entered the stable. He decided to send her out of harm’s way when he learned her father had beaten her. No woman should suffer at the hands of any man—surely not by those of her father.
    Had Wycliffe told Netta of the Baresark legend, and of the early rulers of Caer Cad-well, to frighten her of Wales? He would have to take care she did not learn the man she feared as Baresark was also Mereck of Blackthorn, else he would have to force her to marry him. It did not set easy on his soul.
    Ridley. The two estates bordered each other, and Bleddyn had told him Netta and Elise were friends. Ridley’s daughter was the second reason for his journey to England.
    Standing with legs braced wide and hands fisted on his waist, he chuckled.
    Netta would soon be under his scrutiny.
    Later that day, as the sky deepened to a stormy gray at dusk, Mereck tapped the betrothal contracts on the table and listened to Baron Wycliffe reciting Lynette’s dowry. How many months before, nay, years even, had they been prepared?
    â€œI note Caer Cad-well and its manors are passed through the matriarchal line, Baron.” Mereck’s gaze bored into the weak blue eyes of the man facing him. “How are the holdings protected to prevent losing them by the wrong choice of husband?”
    The baron dusted his hands together as if ridding himself of something distasteful. “The man who weds my daughter must be able to protect her holdings by personal prowess, or by great wealth. Your warrior’s reputation proves you capable.”
    Mereck watched the baron pick at his clothing. Why was Wycliffe determined to lure him into taking his daughter? The man was already speaking to him familiarly as if the contracts were all but signed. The girl deserved better than a bastard. Mereck grimaced at the hated word.
    â€œLynette’s foolish mother insisted her daughter and her son-by-law must happily share a year’s wedded bliss afore they are permitted to reside at Caer Cad-well.”
    Mereck nodded his head on hearing this. It seemed her mother had been far more concerned for her welfare than was this strange man.
    â€œBaron, knowing I can bring naught to increase your wealth, why are you willing for me to wed your daughter?”
    â€œLynette needs a strong fist to rein her in.” Wycliffe eyed Mereck, appraising him like he would a wild boar in a hunt. “Suitors aplenty have vied for her hand.” Anger caused his voice to rise. “She found ways to send them running without an offer. After the fifth man feigned an urgent summons from his father, I watched her more closely.” He banged his pewter goblet on the table, sloshing wine onto the pristine white cloth. He muttered, “A clever girl. Too clever.
    â€œAfore I called her to the great hall, she found a way to meet her new suitor alone. I caught her. In this very room.” He twitched in the chair, his fat hands fisted until his knuckles turned white. “Dressed like a slattern, she was.” The baron’s words hissed through clinched teeth. He turned red with anger. “Spittle ran from the corner of her lips, and her hair was knotted and streaked with mud.”
    Mereck’s tense body relaxed, and he fought a smile. The girl had