"Sort of," Edda said with dissatisfaction. "'Tis straighter. At least 'tis when they are excited. And it does not have the bony ridges and it may be a tad bigger than a chicken neck."

"Oh," Merry said faintly.

Edda nodded solemnly. "'Tis most odd-looking. It sticks out from their body like a misplaced nose, but you must not laugh when you first see it," she cautioned, and nodded to emphasize the point. "They become very offended. For some reason they are very proud of their chicken neck."

"Ah," Merry choked out, trying desperately not to laugh. It would be incredibly rude when the woman was trying so earnestly to help her. Fortunately, Edda seemed to think the amus.e.m.e.nt she was trying to smother was about men's pride in their parts.

"Aye. Silly, I know, but they truly do strut around with it waving about like a war banner as if 'tis the most wonderful thing in the world. 'Tis really quite sad." She shook her head with mild exasperation and then continued, "And we women have a-Well, 'tis sort of like a sheath for their chicken neck. In fact, they use it as such, wielding their chicken neck like a sword and sheathing it in the woman."

Merry pursed her lips to control her expression. War banner? Sheath? Sword? She couldn't help but notice Edda seemed to use a lot of battle imagery. She waited for the woman to continue, but after a moment noted that her expression was quite satisfied, as if she were done.

"Is that it?" she asked with surprise. "He will just walk in here and sheath his chicken neck and 'tis over?"

"Oh, well, no," Edda admitted. Much to Merry's surprise the woman was now blushing and avoiding looking at her. "He will no doubt kiss you a time or two, and then squeeze your b.r.e.a.s.t.s once or twice, and then if his chicken neck is excited enough and stiff, thrust it in your sheath."

"Humph," Merry muttered, slightly disgruntled. It didn't sound all that impressive or frightening to her.

"I suppose I should mention that it will hurt if 'tis your first time, and I am sure it is," she added quickly.

"Aye," Merry a.s.sured her solemnly, knowing the woman had merely misspoken in her discomfort and was not trying to insult her.

Edda nodded. "It shall hurt a lot as he breaks through your maiden's veil. That's a bit of skin inside your sheath," she added, gesturing toward Merry's lap before continuing. "And there shall be blood, and in the morning we will come for the bloodied sheet and it will be hung from the stair rail for all to see the proof of your innocence," she finished in a rush.

Merry was worrying about the hurt-a-lot bit when the door suddenly burst open and a group of men began to crowd into the room, carrying Alexander d'Aumesbery before them. It seemed either the men had grown weary of waiting, or the women had informed the men that she was ready and in bed when they'd gone below. She wasn't too pleased about that. Merry would have liked to ask more about this pain and blood. That didn't sound at all appetizing, but then none of it had. Kiss, kiss, squeeze, squeeze, and in it went? It hardly sounded the most exciting business in the world, and it made her wonder why the maids were so willing to let the soldiers and her brothers have at them at Stewart.

Merry's thoughts scattered when her husband was set on his feet, and he promptly fell on his face. This brought laughter from the men, but made her grind her teeth and glare.

"Oh dear, I hope he is not so sotted he cannot manage the matter," Edda muttered.

Merry didn't comment, but she hoped so, too. Not because she would be embarra.s.sed not to have her sheet hung in the hall, but because she didn't wish to go through the next day worrying about the night ahead as she'd done today. That concern in her mind, she watched the men lift her new husband up off the floor and hold him upright to undress him.

She watched his clothing slip away, noting a little distractedly that he really had a fine physique. It was easy to believe the man had been at battle these last three years. He had none of the bloating and flab her father and brothers had from their main pastime of drinking. His shoulders were wide and muscular, his waist trim, his...Merry's thoughts died. That definitely didn't look like a chicken neck to her, she decided as she stared at the erection jutting out from between her husband's legs.

It seemed to her the kiss, kiss, squeeze, squeeze would not be needed to excite her husband. He was already sporting an erection that was large, full, hard, and angry-looking. She wasn't the only one to notice. The men had taken note and were grinning widely and making ribald jokes, and Edda suddenly relaxed beside her and patted her shoulder as she breathed out, "All will be well. The whiskey has not affected his ability to consummate."

Merry suddenly wasn't sure that was a good thing. Honestly, it looked more like a small log than a chicken neck, and the idea of being stabbed with it was not exactly inspiring either pleasure or relaxation in her right then.

She stopped worrying about that for the moment, however, when she realized the men were done undressing him and were now carrying her husband forward to place him in the bed beside her. Merry steeled herself against what was coming, but still felt her face flush and her teeth grind together as the linen was lifted and she was briefly revealed to all before her husband was in bed beside her and the linens allowed to fall back over her as well as him. And then it was over and the men and women were moving out of the room, leaving them alone.

Merry watched them go, managing an uncertain smile when Edda glanced back encouragingly before walking out. Her brother Brodie was the last to leave the room. Merry released a breath of relief when he went out pulling the door closed behind him, but then just as quickly frowned when the door slid back open a crack, and she realized he hadn't pulled it to.

She wasn't the only one to notice. Her husband muttered a soft, slightly slurred curse before he tossed the linen aside and rose to close it. He staggered a bit as he walked to the door, but made it there fine. It was on the way back that he ran into problems. Merry was so distracted staring at the part bobbing about between his legs that she, too, was taken completely by surprise when he stumbled over the clothing the men had left strewn on the floor. Eyes widening, she sat up just as he crashed into the upper end of the straw-stuffed mattress. At least his lower body did. His upper body was bent forward as he struggled to get back his balance and he was at an angle so that his head slammed into upper post of the bed.

Alex didn't cry out in pain, but a low moan slid from his mouth and then he collapsed, his chest and arms on the bed and his legs hanging off.

Merry stared at him, wide-eyed, waiting for him to lift his head and speak, but nothing happened. He just lay there. After a moment, she cleared her throat and said tentatively, "My lord?"

When that got no response, she reached out to poke at his arm.

Still nothing.

Merry tossed the linens aside and shifted to her hands and knees to see his face, which was turned in the opposite direction. She had to lean far forward to get a look at it. The man's eyes were closed, his face slack. Worried, she gave his arm a shake. "Husband?"

When there was no response and his eyelids didn't even flicker, Merry sat back on her haunches, unsure what to do. The silly man had knocked himself out. She stared at him for a moment, but was starting to feel uncomfortable about sitting there nude and got out of bed to quickly draw on her chemise. She then walked around the bed to get a better look at him. He was definitely unconscious. At least she hoped he was. It was hard to tell if he was breathing, crumpled up on the top corner of the bed as he was.

Blowing a breath out, she moved forward and began to struggle to turn him over so that he was lying properly on the bed. It was harder than she expected. The man was large and heavy, at least six feet of solid muscle. It took quite a bit of effort and a lot of huffing and puffing to get him turned on his back. Merry then promptly stepped back as she found his erection pointing accusingly at her.

She scowled at the limb, amazed that while he appeared dead to the world, it was still hard and ready to go. Forcing her eyes away from the angry-looking thing, she glanced to his chest, a little sigh slipping from her lips when she saw that it was still rising and falling. He was alive, he'd just knocked himself senseless.

Despite having seen it happen and knowing the clothes lying about the floor were at fault and that even she might have tripped over them had their positions been reversed, Merry couldn't help but think he might have managed to save himself had he not been quite so inebriated.

Grimacing, Merry shifted her gaze to his face. When awake, Alexander d'Aumesbery was attractive, with long, blond hair and strong but pleasant features often fixed in a stern expression. But asleep, that sternness was absent, and she could see that he was much more than just attractive. He was actually handsome, and if he spent less time frowning, scowling, and looking pained...

Merry shrugged the thought aside. It mattered little if he was handsome. She would be more pleased to have an ugly but kind and sober husband. Unfortunately, that wasn't what she had. Feeling depression and gloom slip over her, she left him as he was, walked around the bed to her side, and crawled back in. Merry then simply sat and stared at him. It seemed all her worry about the wedding night had been for naught. And she had worried and fretted over it today as she'd waited to be married and then picked at the food during her wedding feast. She'd tried not to think about it, but it had been constantly at the back of her mind. It had been wasted fretting, and now she could fret about it all over again on the morrow. In the meantime, there was little to do but go to sleep.

Shaking her head with exasperation, Merry shifted to lie down in the bed and pulled the linen over herself. She then turned on her side to face her husband, staring at his unconscious form as she tried to relax enough to drift into slumber. However, it didn't take her long to realize that she wasn't likely to sleep anytime soon. Now she was worrying about the morning and the embarra.s.sment of explaining that they had not consummated their marriage.

Clucking with exasperation, she sat up and glared at her husband with resentment. She was wide awake and fretting while he lay there naked and- Merry scowled, thinking she should probably cover the man, but didn't do so right away. She would have been ashamed to admit it, but the idea did cross her mind that it wouldn't be a tragedy did he catch a chill and possibly die from it, leaving her a widow. Of course, Merry wasn't at all sure she would be a widow since they had not yet consummated the wedding, as the lack of blood on the linen would prove.

That thought made her mouth turn down unhappily. It would be just her luck did the man never wake up from this blow to the head, but die in his sleep on their wedding night without finishing the job and making her his wife. No doubt she'd then find herself married off to another drunk either in Scotland or somewhere else, and possibly an old man with no teeth and bad breath who would make her skin crawl. Clucking with disgust, she peered at her husband again, this time her attention moving to his erection. The thing was still hard and full, looking as if it was ready to burst open at any moment like an overripe plum when squeezed. She sat there glaring at the overblown chicken neck until she was a.s.saulted by the mad thought that there was no reason she could not consummate the wedding herself.

The idea had barely flittered through her mind before Merry was shaking her head. Nay. She couldn't possibly. Why, that was just- Why not? another part of her mind asked. She was used to taking matters in hand herself, and this was no different. She would simply...Well, Merry supposed, she could sit on it, break her maiden's veil herself with his chicken neck, and 'twould be done. There would be no more fretting about what was to come, no more worry about handing over the linen in the morning...

The more Merry thought about it, the smarter the idea seemed to her. She had overseen the men when Alex had not been up to doing it himself, why not tend to this as well?

It seemed perfectly reasonable to her.

Never one to stall when something needed doing, Merry promptly crawled back off the bed and moved around to her husband's side. It seemed obvious to her that for her to mount his chicken neck, she needed to get his feet on the bed. At least it looked to her as if it would be easier to do so were he flat on the bed rather than hanging off it. Pausing before his feet, she bent and caught him by the ankles and began the long, hard struggle to get him turned so that she could get his legs on the bed along with the rest of him. It was no easy task. The man weighed a ton, and it was something of a delicate operation since every time she dragged his legs toward the bed, his upper body seemed to want to move closer to the edge, threatening to tumble off. But by repeatedly moving his legs to the side a bit, and then setting them down to move to his chest to push his upper body farther onto the bed, she managed the task.

Once she had him safely on the bed, Merry paused to contemplate him and the logistics of what she intended to do. It didn't take much thought to realize he was too close to the edge of the bed to allow her to straddle him, so Merry shoved him away from the edge and farther toward the center of the bed. By the time she'd accomplished that, however, she was a bit weary and dropped to sit on the side of the bed by his hip while she recovered. Her eyes immediately focused on his erection. Merry stared at it, marveling that it still hadn't deflated or whatever it should do. It seemed odd to her that a man could be completely unconscious but remain erect. She would have expected it to go back to its resting, chicken neckalike state. But then she was new to all this. Perhaps it was supposed to stay hard until it was used. If so, she could only think that was a good thing since she intended to use it.

She reached out tentatively to poke it, watching curiously as it swayed away and then back. When it stopped, she bit her lip and hesitated. It had seemed hard when she'd poked it, and she was curious to know what it felt like. There seemed little harm in giving it a feel. He was her husband, after all, and she intended to do much more than touch it.

Still, Merry hesitated, her gaze sliding to his face to be sure he was still unconscious before she reached out and brushed her fingers tentatively down the shaft. It was solid, but the skin felt velvety soft under her fingertips. Fascinated, Merry ran her fingers over it again and then took it curiously in hand and closed her fingers around it, measuring its girth and length and moving it about to see just how far it would bend to one side and then the other.

A sudden groan from Alex made her still, her fingers unintentionally tightening on the erection. In the next moment, the chicken neck jerked in her hand, and she glanced to it with surprise as it suddenly began to spit some sort of liquid out of the top. Merry released it at once and stood up. The first thought to flash through her mind was that she'd broken it, but she wasn't sure if she'd broken it or if that was supposed to happen. However, she was pretty sure she'd just ruined any possibility of consummating the wedding since it was finally beginning to deflate before her eyes.

Cursing, Merry turned away and paced to the foot of the bed and then back, her mind working. Edda had said that he would probably kiss her, squeeze her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then, when excited, thrust his chicken neck into her. She supposed that hard state had been his being excited. Perhaps she could excite him again.

That thought gave her hope and she moved back to the bed to peer at his now sadly shriveled chicken neck, but Merry really had no idea how to go about "exciting" a man. She'd seen maids on their knees in dark corners at Stewart Castle, doing things to the men there that seemed to make them groan and moan as Alex had done before exploding, but wasn't sure exactly what it was they did. She supposed it was something that felt good and tried to think of things that felt good to her. Her maid brushing her hair before the fire was nice, though that was more a relaxing sensation than an exciting one. Rubbing her feet when they were sore was also nice, but again relaxing.

Obviously she was approaching the problem from the wrong direction, Merry decided, and asked herself what excited her father and brothers. The only thing that came to mind was whiskey, but she hardly thought pouring a mug of whiskey over the man's parts was going to get them working.

Merry poked at his chicken neck again and then glared at it with irritation. Truly, she hadn't a clue what to do here, yet she needed to somehow get it excited and stiff and then mount it to break her maiden's veil to produce the blood.

Or, Merry thought suddenly, she could just cut herself to get the blood, spread it on the bed linen, and pretend he'd done the deed. That thought lifted her spirits at once. It would ensure she didn't have to marry again did the man have the good grace to drop dead on her tonight, and might save her having to worry about his wishing to trouble her in their bed for a while. She had no idea how frequently men liked to bed their wives, but her father never seemed to bother the maids and village women back home much. Of course, he was older, but even Brodie and Gawain did not seem to trouble the women much. Mayhap once a month was her guess, but then she did tend to send the servants away when the three men were drinking, and they did do that often.

That didn't really matter to her anyway, Merry decided. She was more concerned with securing her place as lady here so she couldn't be married off to some other drunken lout should the man die tonight, or stumble down the stairs and break his neck in the morning. Did she cut herself, rub a bit of blood on the bed linen, and give it to them to hang above the stairs on the morrow, then her place as Lady d'Aumesbery would be secure whether the man survived the night or not.

Satisfied with the idea, Merry slid back out of bed and moved to her chest to retrieve her sgian-dubh from where Una had put it away earlier. She carried it back to the bed with her, tugged the linens to the bottom of the bed so that they were out of the way, and climbed in next to her husband. She then settled cross-legged and hesitated as she considered where she should cut herself. Her first choice was her hand, but that would be easily seen, and someone might notice and wonder about it.

She peered over her body considering likely spots. Somewhere that was covered by her gown was her best bet. Her eyes settled on her legs, and she peered at them solemnly for a moment and then pressed the knife to her left inner thigh and hesitated again. Merry wasn't a coward, but truly, deliberately hurting herself wasn't an attractive idea. It had to be done, however.

Sucking in a deep breath, she held it and then quickly drew her knife across her skin, gasping in pain as the knife sliced a shallow wound in the tender skin. Blood immediately beaded to the surface of the cut, and Merry caught it up on her fingers and brushed it over the bottom linen of the bed. She did it a few more times before the shallow wound clotted and the blood stopped coming.

Merry peered at the bed linen then, considering the small dark smudges on the clean cloth. It didn't look like much, and she grimaced at the timidity that had made her hold back and cut herself so shallowly. Still, it might be enough. The problem was, she wasn't sure. How much blood did breaching the maiden veil cause? Edda hadn't described that, and Merry hadn't thought to ask. She shifted impatiently on the bed, worried that too little blood might give her away.

Her gaze then slid to his chicken neck, and she bit her lip at its clean state. Surely if he'd breached the maiden's veil and made her bleed there would be blood on him as well. There was blood on a knife when it was used to stab someone.

Merry clucked with irritation at this reasoning. There seemed little else for it but that she would have to cut herself again. It seemed to her that it would be better to have too much blood than too little, and she definitely thought she should put some on him. Tightening her hand around her sgian-dubh again, she pressed it to her right inner thigh this time, closed her eyes, and quickly, sharply sliced herself again. This time, she didn't merely gasp at the pain, but had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out, and the blood didn't trickle forth to bead on the wound but began to gush out. She'd definitely cut deeper this time, more deeply than she'd intended.

Ah well, at least she'd probably have enough now, Merry told herself, and shifted so that she was in the center of the bed. Her hip rubbed up against Alex, and it reminded her to rub some on his shaft, but once that was done, she ignored him and concentrated on using her fingers to spread the blood about as it ran down her inner thigh and onto the bottom linen. She continued to do so until the blood finally stopped running. Truly, the wound bled an awfully long time, and Merry was growing concerned by the time it stopped. She even considered wrapping the wound, but feared moving about to find something to bind it with might start it bleeding again so merely lay back in bed, pulled the upper linen over herself, and tried to go to sleep.

Unfortunately, while she wanted to sleep, she didn't seem to be able to relax enough to do so. Merry tried everything she could think of to relax herself enough to manage it, but nothing seemed to work, and eventually she gave it up and simply lay their thinking about her life, past and present, and the bleak future that appeared to lie before her.

It was near dawn before she finally felt sleep overtaking her, and Merry greeted it with a small relieved breath and the hope that the morrow would be a better day.

Alex again woke to a pounding head. He moaned, squeezed his eyes tightly closed, and rolled onto his side to try to bury his head beneath the pillow. He was so groggy that it took a moment for him to realize that what he was trying to bury himself under wasn't a pillow. Eyes blinking open with confusion, he then had to push the linens and furs away so that he could see that he had his hand clasped over one of his new bride's rather generous b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The realization brought him immediately awake and-once awake-he recognized that the pounding wasn't only in his head. It was coming from somewhere behind him as well.

Rolling onto his back, Alex peered toward the door as his brain slowly puzzled together that there was someone knocking at it. He scowled at the door and then swung his eyes back to his bride to see that the racket hadn't even made her stir. The woman was pale, shadows under her eyes and dead to the world. It didn't look to him like she was likely to wake up for anything anytime soon.

The pounding at the door became a little louder and more insistent, drawing his attention once more. Alex stared at it with disinterest for a minute, but when his brain finally pieced together that the pounding would not stop until he answered the door, he rolled out of bed and stumbled over to open it.

"There ye are!" Laird Stewart said cheerfully, and far too loudly, the moment the door was open. "We were beginning to think the two o' ye had slipped out while we werena looking."

Alex had a terrible urge to punch the man, but it seemed like a lot of effort so he merely growled, "What do you want?"

"The bed linens, lad," Eachann said, as if it should be the most obvious answer in the world.

Alex was just scowling over that and trying to sort out why they would want his bed linens when Edda drew his attention to the fact that the man wasn't alone by saying gently, "For proof the marriage was consummated."

Alex blinked, absently noting that the priest and Merry's brothers were there as well, but most of his brain was processing the bit about proof of consummation. The bed linens. Proof. Blood from the breaching of her maiden's veil, his mind put together, and he whirled to peer at the bed. Merry had burrowed back under the furs and linens again like a mole seeking darkness, and he was not at all sure she was yet awake. But that didn't concern him as much as the fact that he had absolutely no recollection of whether he'd consummated the wedding. In fact, he didn't even recall making his way up here to bed last night, which was troubling since he should. While his plan to abstain from alcohol last night had been forced off path by his father-in-law's claim that to not drink to a toast would be an insult on the whole clan, Alex had allowed them only to pour a small amount of whiskey in his mug before covering it with his hand. He had sipped that small amount slowly through the rest of the night, and it surely shouldn't have been enough to affect him as it had.

Unless his father-in-law had been topping up his mug when he was distracted, Alex thought suddenly, and was sure that must be the case. It seemed the only explanation for the state he'd been in last night.

"Ye were able to manage it, were ye no'?" Eachann Stewart asked with a sudden glower. "Ye were in rough shape last night and-" He paused abruptly and glanced to his sons when Brodie suddenly elbowed him. The younger man whispered something that made the older man's eyebrows rise, and then he turned back, his gaze honing in on Alex's groin. "Hmm, it appears ye managed all right after all."

Alex glanced down to himself, his own eyebrows rising as he saw the dried blood on his semi-erect staff. It did indeed appear he'd managed the deed, he thought with relief, and then found himself nudged to the side as the Stewart men pushed their way into the room, with Edda and the priest on their heels. It seemed they were impatient to get the deed over with. However, the sight of Merry sound asleep in the center of the bed brought them up short.

"How the devil did she sleep through the knocking?" Brodie asked with amazement as the small group came to a halt at the edge of the bed.

Eachann scowled at the sight, a tinge of concern on his face, but merely glanced to Alex and said, "Wore her out, did ye? Well, ye'll just have to move her out o' the way so we can retrieve the linen. We'll get out o' yer hair the moment we have it," he added.

Alex shook his head and moved around them to the side of the bed. If he hadn't managed the bedding last night, he'd send them all from the room and do it now. If he had...Well, frankly, he'd be grateful because he didn't think he could manage the task with his head as sore as it was.

"Merry?" he said softly, shaking her arm. When that gained no response, he shook her a little more insistently. "Merry, girl. Wake up. Your father and the others are here."

Much to his relief, she woke enough to grumble in her sleep and slap at his hand as if at a bee buzzing about her before snuggling back into the bed again and apparently drifting back to sleep.

Shrugging inwardly, Alex gave up on waking her and simply scooped her into his arms, taking the top linen at the same time. He carried her to the foot of the bed and out of the way, so distracted making sure the linen covered her decently that it took him a moment to notice the sudden silence in the room. Raising his head, he peered to the horrified faces of the group around the bed and then glanced toward the bed itself.

Alex immediately sucked in a breath of dismay, his eyes widening in horror as he took in the bloodstain that covered a good portion of the center of the linen.

"Dear G.o.d, what the devil did ye do to me daughter?" Eachann Stewart breathed with dismay and the beginnings of anger. He then rushed forward to grab Merry's face and turned it toward him. "Merry? Merry, are ye alive girl?"

Merry blinked her eyes open, scowled, and brushed irritably at her father's hands with a grumpy, "Leave off."

Her father didn't seem to mind, but breathed out a relieved "She's alive."

"Of course she's alive," Alex snapped, a bit affronted that they might think otherwise, but then his gaze landed on the bed again and his irritation left him, replaced by shame and worry. He must have been incredibly rough with her to have made her bleed like that. He might even have done serious damage. It was a sickening thought. Alex had never in his life been rough with a woman, and the thought that he might have been on his wedding night, and to the warm, sweet-smelling woman in his arms, was actually nauseating.

Suddenly furious, he glared at the silent people staring so accusingly at him and growled, "Take the linen and get out."

A moment of silence pa.s.sed, and then Father Gibbon began to strip the bottom linen from the bed. Edda immediately hurried forward to help, and then the group began to move out of the room with the proof of his abusive treatment of his wife. He couldn't help but notice that they were moving extremely slowly, as if reluctant to leave Merry alone with him, and that just made the shame in Alex swell and grow. He was relieved when the door finally closed behind them, but not much. The image of the blood-soaked linen was burned into his brain, and he peered down at Merry with regret and self-loathing.

She was a beautiful woman, sweet in sleep, with none of the frustration, anger, disapproval, and unhappiness that made up her expressions when she was awake. At that moment, it was his dearest wish that Merry always look as peaceful and tranquil as she did right then, that he somehow could soothe her wounded soul and make her happy. Unfortunately, he apparently hadn't made a good start on that last night. But he would make it up to her, Alex vowed silently. He would touch her only with the gentlest of intentions. He would never even speak a harsh word, and he would woo her, teach her to trust him, and make her forget their wedding night and the pain and misery he must have put her through.

Merry shifted sleepily in his arms, turning her head into his chest and exhaling against the naked skin there.

Despite his pounding head, Alex felt his body respond to the caress of breath against his skin and decided if he wished to keep those vows he'd just made to himself, he might do better to keep a little distance between them for a while. At least until she was healed and had forgiven him for their wedding night.

Moving back to the bed, he gently set her back in it, taking the time to cover her properly with both the linens and the furs on the bed. He then straightened and forced himself away from the bed to finish donning his clothes, his mind moving on to how his plans had changed yet again. The intention had been for him, Merry, and a dozen men to leave today along with her father and brothers and their men for the journey north into Scotland. They would have ridden with the Stewart party most of the way and then split the last day, with their own party continuing on to Donnachaidh while the Stewarts continued home.

That was out of the question now. He could hardly make Merry travel today. The amount of blood on the linen suggested he might have to give her several days to heal from his rough treatment, maybe even as much as a week before setting out for Scotland to check on his sister.

Guilt squeezed him at the realization that his sister, Evelinde, might be suffering mightily and would continue to suffer a week longer than necessary because of his own behavior, but he was already so soaked in shame and guilt it made little difference. Finished dressing, Alex scrubbed his hands wearily over his face and then cast one last glance toward the woman in his bed before making his way to the door. He would make it all up to her.

chapter Four.

T he bed was empty when Merry woke up. She sat up and glanced sleepily around the room in search of her husband, but he was gone. Tossing aside the linens covering her, she started to slip her feet off the bed when a sudden sharp tug of pain from her right thigh reminded her of the night's events. It made her glance down, and Merry noted with surprise that the bottom linen of the bed was gone. She then turned her attention to her leg and saw that her thoughtless movement had started the larger cut on her inner thigh oozing blood again. Judging by the smeared bloodstain on her leg, it wasn't the first time.

Grimacing, she eased more carefully from the bed and stood to move to the basin of cold water on a small table by the window. Merry quickly washed, cleaning up the blood on her inner thighs last, and then pressed the bit of damp cloth against the wound until the bleeding stopped again. Her gaze slid back to the bed as she held the cloth there, and she found herself wondering how they'd managed to retrieve the bottom linen without waking her. She was still puzzling over it as she finished at the basin and moved to find a fresh gown to wear that day.

Merry had just pulled on a chemise and gown and was doing up the laces of the gown when her door eased open a crack and she saw Una's head poke in.

"Oh good! Ye're up," the maid said sounding relieved. She then pushed the door open farther and stepped in and to the side to make room for the servants who followed her.

Merry paused as two men carried in the bath she'd used the night before. They were followed by several servants carrying pails of water. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to refuse the bath, but in the next moment closed it again, the words unspoken. She was unwilling to send the servants away after they'd gone to all the trouble of hauling it above stairs for her. Supposing she'd just have to bathe again, Merry bit back her words and moved to one of the chairs by the fire to watch Una direct the servants. She was relieved when it was done and offered a quiet thank you as the servants then filed out, leaving only her maid behind.

Merry waited until Una had closed the door on the last one before giving in to her curiosity and asking, "Who ordered the bath?"

"Yer husband was the first to order it," Una answered as she turned back from the door.