"I have had too much to do to bother with it," Alex said now. "I shall tend to it when we get back from Donnachaidh."
"You should tend to it ere visiting your sister and that Devil she married," Gerhard insisted.
"I already sent word to Donnachaidh accepting my new brother-in-law's invitation. I didn't realize then how much work was needed here," Alex said, and scowled as he glanced around the great hall. The large room was nearly empty, an oddity considering the size of the castle and the number of people it held. The great hall had always been a busy, noisy area when he was growing up, and had remained so even after his mother's death and his father's marriage to Edda. Now, however, it was empty and silent as a tomb.
"I suppose you'll be collecting your betrothed on the way back?" Gerhard commented.
"Aye," Alex muttered, peering down into his ale. It was not a chore he was looking forward to. The marriage contract had been arranged and signed when he was still a boy. He probably should have married the girl before heading to Tunis, but had managed to put it off at the time. He'd expected his father to make a fuss about it, but the man had said the same thing he'd always said when Alex had found an excuse to avoid the marriage. "Plenty of time for that later, son." Having thought about that and the fact that his father had never even taken him to meet his betrothed while growing up, Alex suspected his father had come to regret making the match and would have canceled the contract if he could. However, there had been a penalty clause in the contract for such an action that was so exorbitant it would have beggared them. And still would, Alex thought unhappily.
"Well?" Gerhard asked. "Are you collecting her or not?"
"Aye," he said finally. "The Stewarts are not far from Donnachaidh, so I guess I shall have to collect her on the return journey."
"You do not sound eager," Gerhard pointed out with amusement, and teased, "Do I sense a little reluctance to claim your betrothed?"
"They call her the Stewart Shrew," Alex pointed out dryly. "The name does not suggest a sweet, biddable bride and helpmate."
"Aye, and the last thing you need around here are more problems," Gerhard said sympathetically, and then shook his head. "These last three years I have pined for home, but now we're here, I find myself thinking almost longingly of the dry heat and bloody battle we left behind in Tunis."
"Edda has that effect on a person," Alex said grimly, glancing around to be sure his stepmother was not within hearing distance. He didn't care for the woman, but wouldn't deliberately insult her.
"She's not so bad," Gerhard said, making Alex's eyebrows fly up with surprise. Shrugging, the man said, "She and your father were not well-matched. He loved your mother dearly and could not see past his grief to the young bride he had when the king forced their marriage. As for Edda, she was miserable being stuck up here in Northern England with a neglectful husband after being feted and pampered at court. I suspect she was overwhelmed by all the responsibility that landed on her shoulders when your father died and the running of the castle fell to her. No doubt that was the reason behind her harsh treatment of the servants while we were away."
"Hmm," Alex muttered. It was exactly what Edda had said in her own defense when he'd returned home to find half the servants fled and the other half preparing to do so. It was not the homecoming he'd hoped for. He'd returned to learn his father was dead, his sister married off to the Devil of Donnachaidh, and the castle half empty. He'd spent the week since arriving home trying to get things in order and convincing the servants to return, promising to provide them with better living conditions and to keep Edda under control.
Alex could have simply ordered them to return. They had sworn fealty to his family, after all, but his father had taught him that an unhappy worker made a poor worker and that he should respect even the lowliest servant. So he'd made no threats, but instead offered promises he intended to keep. Fortunately, he'd managed to get all but a couple he hadn't yet found to take up their positions again. He had even returned order to d'Aumesbery, at least as much as he thought was necessary before he could take the time out to go see his sister and be sure she was all right. He had worried about Evelinde ever since arriving at d'Aumesbery to learn she'd been married off to the Devil of Donnachaidh, and frankly, her well-being was more important to him at the moment.
Alex couldn't believe that Edda had allowed her to be married off to the bastard. The man hadn't been born with the name the Devil of Donnachaidh, he'd earned it. He was reputed to be completely merciless in battle, and a stern laird to his people. He'd also gone through one wife already who had fallen off a cliff to her death under what could only be called suspicious circumstances. The rumors claimed the Laird of Donnachaidh had been seen riding away from the scene around the time of her death. This was the man Edda had allowed Evelinde to be married to.
The thought made him again glance around for his stepmother. Alex didn't know what to think where the woman was concerned. Edda had never been a very warm, kind person. She'd always seemed to resent her life here, but now that he was back, she appeared to be making an effort. He could almost like the woman she'd been since his return. The fact that she'd let Evelinde be married to the Devil of Donnachaidh, however, plus the wary way the servants all watched her, troubled him. He wondered just how bad she'd been while he was away, and how much of her new attitude he could trust.
Alex would know more once he'd spoken to his sister. It was another reason he was eager to make the journey. He would have left at once, had he not needed to get the servants back and decide which of his men to leave in charge while he made the trip. In the normal course of events, Gerhard--as his first--should have been the one left in charge. The man would make a great castellan, he was sure, but Alex found himself reluctant to leave him behind. He depended on his wise counsel and suspected he would need it for this visit, in his dealings with both the Devil of Donnachaidh and his own betrothed.
Alex didn't expect either meeting to go well. He knew he could be a bit hotheaded at times, and loved his sister enough that, did he find Evelinde miserable or abused by her husband, he knew he would be tempted to skewer the man on the spot. Such rash action was likely to see him cut down by one of the laird's men seeking retribution. Gerhard was extremely levelheaded, weighing the pros and cons of everything, and had managed to temper Alex's rashness in the past with wise words. Alex was counting on that when he met up with his sister's husband.
And then there was his betrothed. The Stewart Shrew. Merewen Stewart had been called that since she was sixteen or younger. It was part of the reason he had never been overly eager to claim her. The title didn't suggest a sweet, biddable bride, and he suspected she would be difficult to deal with. Gerhard might have some suggestions there that could come in useful, too.
Nay, he wouldn't leave the man behind to act as castellan, which meant he'd had to train someone else for the task ere he could leave. He'd chosen John, a steady, dependable sort with a level head, and after a week of training him, now felt comfortable leaving him in charge. Last night Alex had announced that they would ride out for Donnachaidh today, and he had no intention of allowing anything to interfere with that plan, not even a nagging toothache.
One of the maids arrived at the table with a tray of cheese and bread for Alex and Gerhard to break their fast. Feeling his stomach rumble, he thanked the girl and began to look over the offering.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
Alex glanced up to see Edda crossing the hall toward the table. She was smiling cheerfully as she'd never done when he was younger, but a smile seemed ever-present on her face since his return. It actually made her more attractive than he'd ever thought she could be. With oddly thinning long brown hair and several teeth missing, Edda would never be pretty, but she was positively ugly when she wore the pinched expression he'd known her to wear before he'd left on the Crusades.
"I see you are just breaking your fast. Good. Then I am not as late rising as I thought. I..." She paused and blinked in surprise a
s she peered more closely at Alex. "Why Alex, your face is swollen. Did you suffer an injury?"
Alex felt his eyebrows rise on his forehead and lifted a hand to rub his face, frowning as he realized that his face was indeed a bit swollen.
"'Tis a bad tooth," Gerhard explained. "I told him he should see it tended ere we leave, but he's being stubborn."
"Oh, you must not be stubborn about it, Alex. 'Tis obviously infected," Edda said firmly.
"'Tis fine," Alex assured her quietly, and then disproved the claim by biting into a hunk of cheese and wincing as pain shot through his jaw.
"Oh, aye, 'tis fine," Gerhard said dryly.
Edda glanced to the maid who had brought the food. "Girl, go fetch the blacksmith to your lord."
"There is no need--" Alex began, but she overrode him.
"Aye there is. You are not leaving d'Aumesbery without having it seen to. Better men than you have been felled by infection when they didn't tend a bad tooth."
Alex grimaced, but didn't protest further. Truly, the tooth was paining him this morning, and infection anywhere on the body was a dangerous thing. Grimacing at the very idea of what was to come, Alex turned his attention to breaking his fast, placing the food in his mouth on the good side and trying to chew it there. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to help much. While it didn't cause the sharp pain that biting down on the other side had, his jaw was now throbbing, and moving it about was just exacerbating that ache.
Sighing, he gave up on the food.
"There's the blacksmith." That announcement from Gerhard brought Alex's attention to the door. His eyebrows lifted when he saw the fellow entering the keep.
"That's the blacksmith?" he asked with surprise. "What happened to Old Baldric?"
"I hear Baldric went to his reward while we were away," Gerhard said quietly. "This is his replacement, Grefin."
Alex scowled at both the news and the man himself. While Old Baldric had been a large, beefy man, this one was shorter and lean-looking, without the bulk that suggested the strength needed to pull a tooth. Alex knew from experience that pulling teeth took a lot of strength. He'd had to help pull the tooth of one of his men while in Tunis. Teeth could be a devil to pull out. He suspected he was in for a bit of a trying time.
"I was told you had a tooth bothering you, my lord?"
Alexander glanced at Grefin as the new blacksmith paused beside him. He briefly considered not having it pulled at all, but the ache was a steady, pulsing throb now. Besides, the gum was swollen with infection. It needed pulling.
He nodded his head and turned his chair so that he was sideways to the table and faced the blacksmith. Grefin promptly stepped closer and ordered, "Open up and let me take a look then."
Alexander opened his mouth.
"Which one is it?" he asked, squinting into his mouth.
Alexander used one finger to point to it, keeping as much of his hand out of the way as he could so the man could see.
"Aye," Grefin murmured, and as soon as Alex removed his finger, reached in with his own to give the tooth a prod.
Alex managed not to groan at the agony that shot through him at the touch, and squeezed his eyes closed as the man did more prodding.
"How's it look?" Gerhard asked, standing and moving to the man's side to try to see into Alex's mouth for himself.
"'Tis in there pretty good," he muttered grimly. "Not loose at all. 'Twill be a bugger to get out."
Alexander felt the man's fingers slip from his mouth, but kept his eyes closed as pain continued to shoot through him in slowly decreasing waves.
"I'll need a pitcher of whiskey," the blacksmith announced.
That announcement brought his eyes open as one of the maids hurried off toward the kitchens.
"What for?" Gerhard asked with surprise before Alex could.
"For him," Grefin said dryly, jerking a thumb in Alex's direction. "'Twill numb the pain a bit at least."
Alex shook his head at once. "I do not want it. We are leaving for Donnachaidh as soon as you're done, and I shall need my wits about me for the journey north. Just pull the tooth."
Grefin laughed. "Oh, aye, you want it, my lord. And I'll not touch that tooth until you've drunk a full pitcher of whiskey. The trip will just have to be delayed."
"I do not want whiskey," he insisted. Alex had never been much of a drinker. He didn't care for the taste, and it did nothing for him but make him stupid. Alex didn't like to be stupid. Even more, he disliked the aftereffects overindulging caused.
"Alex--" Gerhard started, but while he was small, Grefin was apparently as surly as his predecessor and needed no one to argue for him.
He caught Alex by the face and jerked his face toward him, fingers digging into his cheek on the good side, and thumb pressing into the swollen side. When Alex hissed at the pain stabbing though him, Grefin nodded his satisfaction and snapped, "The last man who wouldn't drink ere I pulled a tooth, damned near throttled me to death while I tried to get it out."
Alexander noted a couple of men nodding farther along the table. Apparently, the incident had not gone unwitnessed. He would have asked about it, but the maid, Lia, was rushing back with the requested pitcher of whiskey. He scowled as the girl handed it to Grefin. "Still, I--"
"You'll drink the damned whiskey," the blacksmith interrupted. "Every last drop, and then the men are going to hold you down, else you can pull out your own damned tooth. And that's that!" He emphasized the words by shoving the pitcher of whiskey at him.
Alex ground his teeth with irritation, half tempted to try to pull his own tooth, but the teeth grinding had been a mistake and the pain it sent knifing through him again made him decide otherwise. It looked as if the trip was going to be delayed, he acknowledged with a curse and grabbed the pitcher and began to gulp down the liquid. No drink-induced headache could possibly be as bad as the agony he was now suffering.
"God's whiskers," Grefin breathed with admiration when Alex slammed the empty pitcher down on the table moments later.
"Get on with it," Alex growled. He then leaned back in the chair and grasped the wooden armrests firmly as he popped his mouth open. The whiskey wasn't affecting him yet--he'd drunk it too quickly for it yet to be in his system--but Alex didn't care. He wanted the tooth out and the pain gone.
"Why did we nay finish the journey last night?" Brodie asked in complaining tones. "We were practically on d'Aumesbery's doorstep and could have slept indoors rather than get up at dawn to finish the last mile's journey."
"Because yer sister wished to make herself presentable to meet her husband. Now stop yer whining. The journey is nearly over."
Brodie's grumbling complaint and their father's answer were picked up by the wind and carried back to Merry where she rode several feet behind. She glanced toward the trio, but none of them was paying her any heed. They'd been riding a good distance in front of her since leaving Stewart several days ago. An attempt to avoid her temper, Merry supposed. She hadn't been at all pleased with her father and brothers the morning they'd left Stewart. While they'd stuck to ale the night before leaving and not tried to force her to give up the key to the pantry again, they'd also "celebrated" until well past the witching hour. Having seen this one too many times, Merry hadn't had the least sympathy with the three of them. She'd roused them from their beds at the crack of dawn and nagged them through breaking their fast and mounting their horses to lead the party out of Stewart bailey.
The three men had been avoiding her ever since, not even daring to complain about their pounding heads the first day of their travels. They'd recovered by the second day of the journey, and had then insisted on picking up the speed, forcing the entire party to travel at a pace that had made her worry for the wagon carrying her belongings. Merry had been sure the cart would rattle itself to pieces at any moment, but it hadn't. The wagon had held together, and they'd arrived in the woods surrounding d'Aumesbery late last evening. The men had wanted to continue on to the castle right then, but Merry had refus
ed. It was late, and she'd suspected the drawbridge would be up and the gate closed. She did not want to rouse the night watch and cause a fuss to get in.
Besides, they'd been traveling for days, getting up at dawn, riding until well into the night and then stopping just long enough to sleep before mounting up again to continue on. Merry hadn't wished to ride into d'Aumesbery without first taking the time to bathe away some of the dust and dirt of the trail and don a fresh gown.
Now they were nearing the end of the journey. By her guess, they would arrive just as everyone finished breaking their fast. The thought made a nervous quiver flutter through Merry's belly, and she found herself biting one corner of her lower lip. She was surprisingly anxious about the coming meeting. Excited, too, though. Merry had spent the last several days distracting herself from the discomfort and boredom of their journey by thinking of the future. In her mind she'd painted a happy picture. This marriage was finally bringing an end to her promise to her mother and freeing her to look to the future, and she'd done so with both hope and relief. In her imaginings Alexander d'Aumesbery was a good, honorable man and a proper husband...nothing at all like her own father and brothers. She would live in England, with, she hoped, an intelligent, sober man to husband. Someone she could depend on rather than having to be the dependable one. Merry was full of hope.
"Still, Merry could have done it in more comfort at d'Aumesbery. There we all would have had a warm bath and a comfortable bed at least," Gawain pointed out with obvious irritation. "Besides, 'tis not as if d'Aumesbery can refuse to have her, can he?" A moment passed, and then he added worriedly, "He canna, can he?"
"What?" Eachann Stewart sounded startled by the suggestion, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice as he said, "Nay. Of course not. Why wid ye even ask a question like that?"