Free Midnight's Bride by Sophia Johnson

come to drag her back to Wycliffe? Laughter sounded again. On spying a grinning man talking to Marcus, relief washed through her.
    Why did Mereck not let her go?
    Feeling him stroke her back, she shivered. Her heart drummed to a faster beat. Pressed against his shirt, she drew in a deep breath. Juniper and musk. It came from his skin, this heady scent, making her legs quiver in a new way.
    â€œI can stand on my own, sir. You may take your hands from me.”
    His deep voice rumbled from his chest. “Sleep now. You must rise early to help prepare porridge.”
    â€œPrepare porridge? Why would I do such?” Surprised, her head jerked back from his tantalizing scent. She missed his warmth when he drew away. The night was again cold, lonely.
    â€œAre you not the cook’s niece? Didna you work in the kitchens with her? You should be well trained to help him. Be grateful I dinna have you serve my warriors.”
    Netta’s temper flared. She forgot her fear of moments ago.
    â€œAre there any other duties you require me to perform, sir? Wash your shirts? Curry your horse? Or should I sharpen your blades and polish your armor? Oh, I misspeak. You do not wear armor over your little skirt.” She ground her teeth and clenched her hands. She took several deep breaths.
    Mereck stood as still as that tree trunk he resembled. She looked at his face. And wished she had not. He was angry. More than angry. Too late, she recalled Elise’s warning.
    â€œI will seek my rest now so I may rise early.” Edging around him, she made a dive for the pallet.
    She did not reach it.
    Steely hands gripped her shoulders. He lifted her off her feet and spun her around so fast her thoughts flew from her mind.
    â€œNe’er use such a tone to me, girl. Were you a titled lady, I wouldna permit you to speak to me thus. Dinna attempt it again.” Icy anger coated his words.
    She nodded, far too frightened for speech. He released her. She dropped to her knees and scrambled under the wool plaid. Was this how a mouse felt burrowing into its nest?
    She shivered. Well, rats and fleas. She knew what she was doing. Hiding. Never had she met a man as arrogant as he.
    Hearing the rustle of clothing, she slitted her eyes open and gasped. Mereck stood but two handsbreadth away. He unfastened the clasp pinning the plaid to his shirt. Turning his back to her, he removed the thick leather belt holding the yards of material around his waist and started unwrapping it.
    â€œGet you to sleep, Netta. Dawn will rise long afore you are ready for it.”
    Saints! How could he know she watched him? Squeezing her eyes shut, she pretended sleep. But she could not resist another glimpse. She was too late. Wrapped snugly in the tartan, he stretched out on his pallet and placed the sword beside him all in one smooth movement. Heat radiated from his powerful body, warming her.
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    Mereck knew Netta would be a handful. She chaffed under the restrictions of her role, but she would fast learn to control her temper. He would see to it.
    He slept lightly and awoke as the night turned colder. Slipping his arm around her, he drew her close and added his own covering atop hers. With ease learned from long years of practice, he removed the pins and freed her hair. Combing his long fingers through her tresses, their rose-scented fragrance pleased him. Holding her nestled against his warmth, he smiled when she sighed and burrowed closer.
    Though he did not love her, he would make a passable husband. Never again would Netta feel unworthy, unwanted. Their children would have ample love from both parents. Moreover, they would bear a name proud to call their own.
    As deep dark turned to gray, he rose and soon was fully clothed. After lighting a torch, he secured it in front of the tent then nudged Netta’s hip with his boot.
    â€œRise, girl. It is time to awake Lady Elise and fetch porridge to break our fast.”
    â€œNay. Why, it is the middle of