How to Marry Your Wife

by Stella Marie Alden

  “Sir Marcus sent us home to Lady Ann with his best knights. We were dragon hunting and attacked by York’s men. We tried to fight back, Mama. Really, we did. They killed everyone but us.” His lower lip quivered.

  “Be a brave knight. These men are very, very, bad. Behave and stay quiet until I say so. No more taunting the crazy one. Understand?”

  The guard coughed, spit upon the ground, and stood. She had but a moment more.

  The waking Marc tugged on her shirt. “Papa’s going to be really mad. He’ll gut them all and I’ll help.”

  She patted his soft head and rushed out instructions. “When I shout today, make like mice. Scatter and hide in the smallest of holes where they can’t find you.”

  Visions of the cook’s hand writhing in a pool of blood resurfaced when the guard spoke overhead. “No more talking.”

  The middle brother, known as Leigh, woke and dragged her to her feet by tugging upon her hair. “Time to go. All of ye.”

  Both Tom and Marc started to speak as he led them to a shit-place, but she shot them a warning glance. Dear Holy Mary, make them hold their tongues until rescue arrives.

  She let out her breath when they followed the guard without squawking. Lifting her tunic just enough to clear the ground, she squatted. Better wet than leered at.

  Beyond the forest edge, the morning light bathed over two dozen men in orange as they rolled their wools, storing them atop chargers. Nary a one said a word nor cracked a smile. Most checked their weapon before mounting.

  Thomas and Marcus no longer gave a fig for her, but they’d come for the boys. She swallowed hard and used the back of her palm to swat away a tear. Weeping for the past would change naught. God, you’re an unrelenting task master. Would He never forgive her sins?

  She chewed endlessly at two bites of an unrecognizable dried meat as she mounted. The mad Scot took the lead into a deep forest, all the while muttering and shouting at the evil ghost that no one else could see. The tallest followed next in line with a grim face. The third wore a kilt and the youngest was barely able to grow a beard.

  True daylight had barely penetrated through the forest ceiling above when the youngest brought his mount alongside hers. Although all three brothers had red hair, his was the lightest. Soft fuzz covered his chin. “You ride like a hare. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Focus on the strides of the horse and move with him or I’ll need take you into my lap. Have you never ridden before, lassie?”

  She stared straight ahead. Damned barbarians. She’d not waste a breath upon him. Her scalp still ached where the kilted one had pulled so hard.

  The young man continued as if they were friends, although they’d barely spoken in the days before. “We wish you no harm. ’Tis D’Agostine we want.”

  She snorted.

  “What’s that? You canna possibly care for him, after all the wrongs he has brought upon you.”

  A hawk screamed overhead and sparrows charged after it. She hoped they’d peck its eyes out. “You know nothing of what you speak.”

  The boy lifted his eyes overhead, then focused upon her. “I know this much. He left you in a viper’s nest.”

  “If you must know, he left me in the care of my brother.” She urged her mount forward, hoping the boy would get the hint.

  He scoffed out a laugh, joined her again, and his mount tossed mane as if in agreement. “Nicholas? He’s merely a jester where Steward and York hold court.”

  The mad brother shouted from up front, pointing a knife into the air and speaking to no one. “I told you. I canna kill them, Father. York says I must bring them to Carlisle.”

  The youngest shook his head with a frown and pointed in the direction of the oldest. “His ravings grow worse. I’ll protect you only if you agree to wed when we reach Carlisle. Unfortunately, until then, I’ll need share you with the rest. You mustn’t fight if you’re going to survive the journey. Do you understand? Be a willing lass.”

  Merry nodded, while considering how she might slice off his pintle. She eyed the hilt of a dagger in his buckled frog. “And the boys?”

  “Annandale will see to their safe return as long as he receives a slight fee. Come over here and give me a kiss, as a reward for saving your life.” Reaching across her mount, he tugged her off and into his lap.

  She tried not to gag as she allowed his tongue entrance. Feigning interest, she circled his thin rod with one hand while the other slipped the knife from his belt. Moaning and unawares, he tried to take the kiss deeper. She knocked the top of her head into his nose and she fell to the ground shouting. “Run boys, run.”

  Lifting her skirts, she ran into the thick growth, and tripped. In a moment, the hand-slicing guard was upon her, kicking and kicking at her side. She rolled into a ball, yet managed a smile through the pain when she heard the kilted one shout out, “Find them. They can’t be far.”

  Chapter 29

  Thomas scratched at the multi-colored, flea-infested tunic and grumbled as they followed the Scots along the well-traveled road. “Couldn’t Brother Paul have found clean troubadour’s cloth?”

  Festive garb clashed with the stern look on Nicholas’ face. Tiny bells twinkled off the points of his red and green cap. Pointy boots barely fit in stirrups. “Vagrants can’t be particular. You have to admit, dressed thusly, the Scots have given us no mind.”

  Merry’s screaming pierced the ether. Thomas’ heart leapt into his throat and he grabbed for bow and arrow. “I’ll kill them all if they harmed a hair upon her head. Nicholas, to me. The rest of you stay out of sight.”

  He rode hard, jumped from his mount, and dashed after a little dark head as it ducked deep into thick bramble. Out of the corner of his eye, Nicholas followed a little yellow head and did the same.

  Thistles and nettles dug into his hands and knees and scratched at his face when he went onto all fours and followed his stout-hearted lad. He grabbed a small black boot, but the foot slipped out and past sight.

  “Tom? It’s me. Your father.” He prayed the mercenaries that searched nearby hadn’t heard his whispers.

  A small boy’s panting was the only response so he squeezed forward on his stomach until he could go no further. The badger who no doubt slept within that dark hole would nay be happy for the boy’s invasion.

  His own breath quieted, the shouting and cursing died down, and he sighed in relief until Merry’s pitiful scream again turned his heart to stone. His fingertips bloodied as he squeezed forward. “Tom, to me. Now. We have to save your mother.”

  A dirt-blackened face poked up at him from the hole. “Papa?”

  “Hurry.”

  The boy scampered out of the hole, followed by two beady eyes, long teeth, and a loud growl. Extracting an arrow from his quiver, Thomas aimed and let go. Deadly sharp badger claws twitched in the air, open for battle, then ceased their movement.

  With a quick glance over his shoulder, Tom scampered forward. “That was one mean dragon.”

  His son’s small hug brought a sting into his eyes and a lump to his throat. “Shush. We need to stay low for just a moment more.”

  “What about Mama and Marc?” The boy kicked to get on the move with an urgency Thomas well understood.

  “We’ll find them, too. Quiet. One more moment.”

  They stayed low to the ground until Marc’s high voice piped up. “I’ll have their balls on a plate.”

  Thomas snickered at how Marcus’ words sounded so strange coming from a young boy’s mouth. He grabbed his son’s hand and backed out of the thicket.

  Tom pushed on Marc’s chest in greeting. “As will I.”

  “Not until I eat them first.”

  “Stop, you two. Above all, knights are polite to each other, or get killed.” Nicholas, seeing that the boys were safe, nodded, mounted, and dashed north.

  He returned within seconds. “They’re on the move. The mad one urges them forward.”

  “And Merry?” Thomas tossed Marc up to Nicholas, then Tom, then dashed to
his charger.

  “Alive.”

  “You take the men and see the boys to the nearest priory, then return. I’ll follow and cut a notch upon the wood, thusly.” He took his knife and made a cross upon bark.

  “Aye. God speed.” Nicholas headed to where their men waited. The odds of getting Merry back unharmed, just got worse.

  Chapter 30

  “Step away from her.”

  Was the youngest brother going to save her?

  Merry stared into a pile of forest leaves, daring neither to look up nor let go her knees at her chest. Unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks at the throbbing in her side where the knight had kicked her repeatedly. She flinched as cold metal met bare shoulder, prayed, and waited for death by blade. At least the boys were safe. That should count for something when she met Saint Peter.

  Her scalp screamed, she opened her eyes, and the youngest pulled her to her feet. “Just look what you’ve gone and done.”

  “Tell him, Dougal. Tell Brian that she dies right now.” The tallest of the brothers held sword to the mad one’s chest, poking. Hand-slicer watched on, amused, picking black nails with the point of his dagger. The rest of the mercenaries mounted, not seeming to care one way or the other who took charge.

  The mad one moaned, holding both hands to his head. “Quiet. All of ye. I need time to think.”

  “Nay. No more of that or Father’s dead words. The devil lives within’ ye, mon. Canna ye see? He’s brought us nothing but an ill wind.” The tallest sheathed his sword.

  “Och. Fine, then. Kill her.” The mad one mounted.

  Merry gasped and the youngest dragged her toward the others. “I told you to behave. Now, you’re going to be dead and I’ll have no bonnie wife.”

  “Wait. I have something to show you.” Hands still tied, she struggled out of his grasp, reached into her purse, and pulled out Robert’s parchment.

  The tallest stared at her outstretched hand with mouth agape. “That’s the seal of the Bruce family.”

  “Go on, read it.” She pushed the letter into his hand.

  He glared and stepped back as if she held sin itself. “None of us have that skill. What does a warrior need of letters?”

  “Oh, for the love of Christ. It says I’m the daughter of Robert, granddaughter to the Earl of Annandale. I’m worth much more alive than dead.” She held her breath. Would they take the bait?

  The madman scowled, cocked his head, and listened to his father’s advice. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

  She pointed to hand-slicer, who at once stopped playing with his knife. “My guard insisted upon silence.”

  The mad one held the parchment upside down, sniffed the wax seal, and frowned. “It’s old.”

  “True. Robert gave it to my mother at my birth to assure my safe return to my clan. Steward hid this from you, hoping to have you do all the work and he’ll claim the prize once I’ve safely arrived in Carlisle. If anything happens to me on the way, he’ll blame you.”

  The madman glared into a space in the woods and spoke to the ghost. “She’s clan. You heard her.”

  He turned to the youngest. “And Da’ says you can nay have her, Brian, without Annandale’s blessing. You can ask for her hand proper when we get to the border. In that her husband has put her aside, he’ll no doubt throw in a good parcel of land to be rid of her. Ride on. We’ve delayed long enough.”

  “What about the boys? I’ve found no sign of them.” The middle brother, wearing only mail upon bare chest and kilt approached from out of the forest. His normal scowl had deepened to a red that matched his plaid.

  “Something will find them for sup. The woods are teaming with hungry beasts. There’s no town for miles. If lucky, they’ll simply starve. Either way, we’re done with them.”

  Merry moaned, her arse hit the ground, and all life seeped away until only a sea of gray remained. Tears streamed down her face. Oh, God, what have I done?

  Brian picked her up from under her arms and led her to her mount. “Come, come, wife-to-be. ’Tis for the best. Heaven will welcome the brave lads with open arms. I’ll give ye a wee bit of food, then we ride to your grandsire. Who would’ve guessed? Me? The son-in-law of Robert Bruce.”

  Merry sat on her mount, wondering what would be the easiest way to end her miserable life. She dared not hope Thomas would find the boys in time. All the color drained from the forest and the sky as she rode forward without end. Day turned into night, again and again. Food had no taste so she stopped eating.

  She opened a box of happy memories and there she remained, unmindful of anything else around her. Perhaps this was why God gave her the gift. He knew that in the end, it was all she’d have left.

  Chapter 31

  They slithered through long grasses in order to get a view of the Scot’s camp. Merry sat upon her saddle, motionless, staring into the fire. Her full plate lay in her lap untouched. It’d been seven days since the boy’s rescue and with each one she grew thinner. At this rate of decline, she’d never make it to Carlisle.

  Thomas leaned and spoke into Nicholas’ ear. “I need to talk to her.”

  “Are you mad? We agreed we’d rescue her once we reach Carlisle.” He raised his head above the grasses, cursed, dropped back down, and scratched at his beard. “But I agree, she’d no doubt fare better with some encouragement.”

  The young one, who’d shown too much interest in her, led her to a fur and pushed upon her shoulders. Like a well-heeled hound, she obeyed and lay upon her back, now gazing lifeless at the stars.

  His heart constricted and he swallowed hard. “Tonight.”

  When the army of mercenaries quieted, he snuck closer, and waited for the fire to burn to embers. A lone owl hooted over the madman’s mumblings and the camp slept.

  He edged up to her on the far side of the sleeping guard and cupped his hand over her mouth. “Shsh, Merry, it’s me.”

  Her eyes reflected the light of the half moon and sparked to life. “Thomas?”

  “Aye, wife.”

  “The boys—”

  “Are safe in a priory, well-guarded. Nicholas is with me.”

  She reached a soft hand to his cheek, tugged his beard, and brought his lips to hers. “If you’re a dream or I’m in heaven, come join with me. I miss you so.”

  “I am not and cannot. Promise me to take heart. You’re my soul, trolly-troll. I swear I’ll claim you in Carlisle. You must not leave me now. We’ve come so far. Just a few more days.”

  The red haired boy on guard stood, stretched, and Thomas dropped flat to the ground. “I must go. I’ve not the men to save you. Not yet.”

  As she had for days, Merry woke to the sound of men. Men making jokes, men pissing, men putting upon armor, men grunting, and men shouting. No wonder women joined nunneries. She sighed. At least none had tried to force himself upon her. She rolled onto her knees and began her morning litany in a low voice. “Holy Mary, moth—”

  A memory niggled at her like an almost-sneeze. Think, think, think. Thomas? Was last night a dream? She moaned. She’d finally gone mad. Perhaps a welcome death would follow soon. She opened her eyes and a gold cloak button lay upon the ground near where she slept.

  With tears stinging her eyes, she clasped Thomas’ small token to her heart. Last night was nay a dream. Careful not to be seen, she put the gold into her purse. She stood, the morning’s new guard gave her a brief nod, and she strode away from the men to find somewhere to piss.

  A small copse of trees would provide cover. When she squatted, she recognized the bird call that warbled above as her husband. Oh, blessed Mother of God. He followed.

  The dew on the green leaves sparkled and the orange sky intensified until she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. A small hare stopped to stare at her, with nose and ears twitching, as if to ask of her well-being. She hurried back for breaking-of-fast, unable to hide the joy that leapt in her heart.

  Gnawing upon a leg of a hen, Brian broke into a wide
grin as she approached. “Lady Meredith? You seem much improved this morning. Here, eat.”

  “Thank you.” She finished it all and washed it down with a skin of thick mead. With that, they mounted as they’d done for more days than she could count and Brian rode alongside. “We may reach Carlisle in just two more days. Then I will ask for your hand, proper.”

  Merry hummed to herself and nodded, trying not to look as if angels danced before her eyes. Thomas is going to save me and he has not abandoned me and the boys are well. La dee da.

  “I’m glad to see that you finally find some good in our union. Bonnie lasses and strong lads ye will bring forth from my seed that will burst deep into your folds.”

  Heavens above. No seed. It was time to find a more suitable subject. “Tell me, where will we live, once married?”

  “Where the air always smells clean, mountains wrap you in their blanket, and everything is bonnie green.”

  “Does your family have a keep?”

  “Aye, but Annandale will offer me a small one nearby for taking such good care of you. You’ll see to it that he does, won’t you?” His gaze lost its friendliness and his tone gave hint of a more sinister warning.

  “Of course, of course. What’s he like, my grandsire?”

  His alarm increased. “You’ve never met him?”

  “I’ve met Robert, my father. Just not his father.”

  He moaned. “Do you know nothin’? Robert Bruce has turned English, fighting so long in Wales for Edward. Annandale is the only Bruce that’s still a true Scot.”

  “But I heard say again and again he’s sworn fealty to Edward.”

  The boy tsk-tsked. “You’re but a wee lassie. I’ll try to explain, but then we’ll ne’er speak politics again, understand? You might say the wrong thing to the wrong person and …” He slit his hand across his throat and grimaced.

  She focused ahead to keep from rolling her eyes. “I thank you.”

  “Robert Bruce, your father, fights with Edward in Wales and has been at odds with your Grandsire Annandale for years.”