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"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?"
