Taming the Highland Bride by Lynsay Sands Page A

and she ground her teeth together and closed her eyes against the tears gathering there as she waited for it to pass.
    Merry’s eyes popped open again, however, when Una clucked with concern next to her.
    “What did ye do to yerself, lass? There’s blood in the water. Stand up.”
    Merry glanced down to see that there was indeed blood drifting through the water and it was coming from her right thigh. Grimacing, she stood up and let Una look at the wound.
    “Dear God, what were ye trying to do? Cut off yer leg?”
    “’Tis not that bad,” Merry responded a bit irritably, for truly it did hurt and standing up had hurt, but sitting back down for the water to cover it again was going to hurt even more. Besides, she hadn’t meant to cut so deeply, but the deed was done now, and she felt foolish enough knowing she hadn’t needed to cut herself a second time at all.
    Shaking her head, the maid straightened and gestured for her to continue with her bath.
    Merry settled back in the tub, grinding her teeth against the return of pain as the water closed over her.
    Una watched silently for a minute and then commented, “I wonder what he thought when he saw the blood this morn. Does he think he consummated the wedding? Or does he ken he didn’t and has worked out that ye produced the blood for the linen?”
    “I doona ken,” Merry said as the pain finally began to ease.
    “I think he thinks he consummated,” Una decided. “He certainly looked guilt-riddled when he ordered me to let ye sleep and prepare a bath for when ye woke.”
    Merry felt a moment’s guilt of her own at this possibility, but then shrugged. “Well, ’tis fine. Then mayhap he’ll blame it on the drink and not drink so deeply ere he does try to bed me.”
    Una grunted at the suggestion and said, tightlipped, “I wasna keen on the idea o’ moving to England in the first place, but I damned near dragged ye out o’ the keep and back to the horses when we saw the state of the man ye were to marry. ’Tis hard to believe that God and the fates could be so cruel as to take ye from yer whiskey-soaked father and hand ye ower to a whiskey-soaked husband.”
    “Aye,” Merry said unhappily.
    “The only thing we can hope fer is that fate has a plan and the man will do ye the favor o’ gettin’ hisself killed quick so ye can find some peace.”
    It was nothing more than Merry had thought last night, but hearing it from her maid made it sound terribly cold and heartless. She squirmed in her bath, ashamed of herself.
    “We shall just have to make the best o’ it,” Merry murmured, and then added, “Lady Edda seems nice.”
    “Humph,” Una muttered, drawing her curious glance. The maid had picked up her gown and was shaking it out to set down more carefully so that it would not wrinkle.
    “Has Lady Edda been unkind to you?” she asked with a small frown.
    “Oh, nay,” Una assured her, but then pursed her lips briefly, her eyes thoughtful before she said, “’Tis jest there is something wrong there.”
    “With Lady Edda?” Merry asked slowly. In her experience, women were saints and men sinners. It seemed to her that such was the case here as well. Edda was sweet and kind and Alexander was a drunken fool. It seemed much as it had been at home with her own mother and the male members of the family.
    “Nay, no’ with Lady Edda exactly,” Una said carefully, and then admitted, “I am no’ sure. She seems fine and has been kind to ye, but the servants act a little queer about her.”
    Merry’s eyebrows rose. “Queer how?”
    Una hesitated and then said, “They go all quiet and watchful when she is about…and the old woman, Bet, seems to hate her though she’ll no’ say why.”
    Merry considered this and then asked, “Have the servants said anything to ye?”
    “Oh, nay.” She waved the very idea away. “I’m new here. They’ll no’ say aught until they’re sure they can trust me. ’Tis jest a feeling I get. Something isna