Come the Morning (21 page)

He burst out into the night, but saw no one. Rushing to the stables, he noted many empty stalls, which meant little, since the king's men were constantly coming and going, and were his guests. He saw Joshua, the groom who had taken care of Mercury earlier, sleeping in a bed of hay, and he stooped to shake the boy awake.

“Joshua!”

“Aye?” Slow to wake, the lad rubbed his eyes, then saw Waryk. “Laird Lion. I tended to your steed—”

“Lad, I'm not questioning your care of my horse. Has anyone been in here for horses?”

“Just the drunk Vikings, m'laird. Three of them, tumbling over one another, barely managing to get up on their horses.”

“How long ago?”

“I … just moments, I think. I don't know. I slept,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Where's Mercury?”

“There, Laird Waryk, I'll get your saddle—”

“There's no time.” Waryk had already found the bridle and was striding for his horse. His affection for the animal was great, since the horse had taken him through many a dangerous battle and journey. “Once more this evening, my fine lad,” he told the horse, slipping the bridle over his great muzzle. Then he leapt on his unsaddled mount and urged the animal forward. By then, Angus was standing with Joshua.

“Waryk! If you're going to the Viking camp, you can't go alone—”

“I don't intend to take on Daro's army of Norsemen alone,” Waryk told him. “I hope to stop them long before they reach the camp. And if I do not … perhaps Daro's own means of abducting his niece is the one I should use as well.”

“Waryk, wait!” Angus shouted, but Waryk knew that speed was all that could bring her back swiftly—and without incident—now.

At the gates, he called out his identity to the sleepy guards. He rode hard, knowing they were headed north along the river and that they would have to reach the bridge to make the crossing.

Twenty minutes of hard riding brought him to the woods that ranged around the bridge. The moon was dying, the first streaks of dawn were just a pink whisper against the gray of the sky. Breaking into the trail, he saw them just ahead. Three cloaked riders. Two were almost over the bridge. The third was falling behind just a little, and hadn't yet gained the bridge.

It was a woman, judging by her size and the way she sat her horse. She had paused to look behind, to be certain that they weren't being pursued.

Mellyora. He couldn't see her face, but he recognized the cloak she had worn earlier.

He had her, he thought.

He nudged his heels against Mercury's flanks, and the stallion rewarded him with a renewed burst of speed. The thunder of hooves was so loud that she didn't hear him as he rode down on her. Accustomed to riding and managing the accouterments of battle and the joust, he had little difficulty overtaking her horse and maintaining his seat while reaching out—and dragging her from that animal to his own. She'd been too startled to resist, and held precariously in a side grip, she was quickly blinded as the voluminous folds of her hood fell over her face.

“Wretched witch! This time I'll chain you down!” he told her angrily. “You are far more trouble than you can possibly be worth, and if it were not for the king …”

He allowed his words to trail, his meaning clear. He reined in, quickly turning his mount as she gasped and stuttered her surprise. He ignored her.

Looking back, Waryk saw the other riders hadn't realized they'd lost her as yet. He nudged Mercury once again, and began his breakneck race back toward the fortress at Stirling. He wasn't a fool. He had her now. He'd have his arguments with Daro later. He wore no armor and was poorly armed, and he was almost in the lap of a Viking camp.

She was still sniffling and making strange moaning sounds—but not fighting. She was clinging to Mercury's mane, simply trying to stay perched atop the wildly racing stallion. Then, as they galloped, she suddenly twisted, trying to free herself.

“Sit still! Do you want to die beneath the horse's hooves?” he hissed to her.

“Please …! Listen—”

He reined in, seeing that Angus had almost reached him. As he did so, she slipped from his grasp. He swore, reining in hard, dismounting, and racing after her. He caught her, tackling her upon a bed of leaves that lay between him and Angus.

“Mellyora, I swear—” he began.

“No, please!” came a tearful cry, and he realized, looking down, why his captive had suddenly become so submissive.

He had captured the wrong woman.

C
HAPTER
10

The fire burned with a bright, rich heat in Waryk's room; nevertheless, Anne MacInnish sat before its warmth, shivering. Waryk leaned against the mantel, watching her sternly. Jillian sat nervously by her side.

Angus leaned against the door as if he could add bulk and substance to it. He still couldn't believe that such a slip of a girl had earlier caused the same effect as if she had broken down the door.

“I—I knew that Mellyora was in trouble, that she was running from the guards. And she swore to me that she'd done nothing wrong …” Anne assured Waryk miserably. She moistened her lips. “I wasn't certain that you were the man the king intended her to marry. I mean, I'd heard such talk, but Mellyora said … well, she believed that she was to go to a Norman, someone no better than a second generation of William the Conqueror's men. We all know how horrible life became for the ancient Saxon nobility in England, and the Norman threat remains here against us at the border …”

“Anne, you've proven yourself quite remarkable tonight, but Mellyora knew just exactly from whom she was running,” Waryk said quietly. “She has her own plans for the future, but they're not to be, and she's going to cause a war, and get many men killed—her uncle among them, if she's not careful.”

Anne leapt up. “That's why you can't go to the king. Please, Laird Waryk, you mustn't go to the king. There will be a battle, men will die …” Her voice trailed as she looked at him, a true picture of misery, tears streaking down her face, her hazel eyes beautifully rimmed with red. “It would be a foolish war! Think how many historians believe that Harold Godwinson might have remained king of a Saxon England if he had not come north immediately before the Battle of Hastings to do battle with Norsemen! England is in such disarray, there are many English nobles possibly just watching and waiting for Scottish troubles so that they creep northward up our border!”

She suddenly threw herself to her knees at his feet. “Please, Laird Lion, I'm begging you, you're a wise man, a Scotsman, and you know people … Daro loves Scotland more than his own home. Show mercy here, and reason, I will do anything, anything at all to keep this from turning into bloodshed, and I know that you … that you have the strength to keep it from happening.”

“Anne, get up,” he commanded, catching her by the elbows and causing her to rise. He prodded her gently back to the chair where she'd been seated. “I don't want bloodshed either. I admit that I've watched Daro suspiciously, because he is a Viking. But he's a good warrior, an asset to the king against a common foe. I don't want to see hundreds of men killed and I, like the king, agree with your assessment—it's foolish to battle the wrong enemy. I don't want to see Daro dragged in for a traitor's death in retribution for the abduction of his own niece.”

“Oh!” Anne cried, looking more ashen than she had.

She loved the man, Waryk thought. Really loved him. She would give him up before she allowed harm to come to him, and take any punishment herself. He'd seldom seen a love so selfless, and found himself eager to help the girl, despite his anger against Mellyora MacAdin's reckless determination and Daro's foolishness.

He stared into the fire for a moment.

“Perhaps there is a way to keep it all from the king,” he mused.

“How?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “I'll have to go after her alone.”

“Nay, now ye'll do nothing so heedless of yer own life, Waryk!” Angus said heatedly.

“I've no wish to die, not when great battle awaits!”

“Great battle …” Anne said distressed.

“My marriage, Anne, is the battle to which I refer,” he said wryly. “Angus, find someone we can trust to reach Daro with a message.”

“Aye, Waryk, but I pray you'll set my mind at ease before starting out on such a venture!”

“Anne,” Waryk said, “you return to your room.”

“And do what?” she asked anxiously.

He arched a brow at her. “Go to sleep,” he suggested.

“I will never sleep, I'm so worried—”

“Then go to your room and worry.”

“But if the king—”

“I've told you that I'm not going to the king,” he said harshly.

“But when he discovers that Mellyora is missing again he'll—”

“He won't discover that she's missing. He told me that I should do with her whatever I chose. We'll let it be assumed that she went with Daro with my blessing.”

Anne looked at him, biting her lower lip, rose, and came over to him. She took his hand, and kissed it. “Thank you,” she said fervently.

Waryk touched her chin, lifting it. “Don't be so grateful. I'm not promising you that I can make this work out, and, God knows, David has ways of discovering the truth of things that go on beneath his nose. Go to your room for now and stay there.”

“What happens when morning comes?”

“Go about your business as if you're not involved in anything beyond being a guest of the king. And be patient. Give me time.”

“Do we have time? If the king finds out the truth, if there is trouble …”

“There won't be trouble, Anne. Because we will be careful, and not let anyone know that anything is amiss. Trust me.”

“That is what Daro said,” Anne murmured.

“Daro is indignant about Mellyora, and in love with you,” Waryk told her with a slight smile.

Anne studied him, then said softly, “She doesn't know what she's being offered. But you should know, Mellyora is loyal and has a courage I lack, she … she is only fighting for what she believes to be …”

“Her freedom and her lover,” he said bluntly. “But it isn't to be. Go on now, I've much to do.”

“I'll stay with Anne,” Jillian said.

Waryk nodded, and the women left the room.

“Shall I follow them?” Angus asked.

“Aye, see them safely to Anne's chambers. I'll send to Daro, and speak briefly with the king—”

“Did you lie to the woman? Do you intend to tell the king what has happened?” Angus asked, puzzled that Waryk didn't mean to keep his word.

Waryk shook his head, then smiled grimly. “I never give my word if I don't intend to keep it. I'm going to speak with the king, but mention none of this. At the moment, Anne and Daro have no greater friend than me.”

Mellyora had been the first to realize that Anne no longer rode with them. She'd turned back, but been stopped by Daro. “No! We're nearly to the camp. I'll send men back.”

“Her horse is coming, chasing after us. Anne must have fallen, perhaps she's been hurt—”

“She hasn't fallen.”

“If she's been seized, we must seize her back!”

“If we ride back now, we could face an ambush,” Daro said. “Then all would be lost. We keep going.”

“Daro, we can't just leave—”

“Mellyora, we must keep riding.”

“But Daro, you must—”

“Mellyora! I am not a fool, and I know how to wage battle, and when not to wage it! We ride to the camp.”

She knew that he was deeply distressed, but he betrayed little emotion. Deep feelings of guilt and unease assailed her. This was her fault. She had made rebels of Daro and Anne.

As daro neared the camp, he called out his identity, and two of his men, Ragnor and Thayne, came out to greet them, and help them from their horses. Daro gave quick orders in Norse for men to ride carefully back along the trail to the fortress at Stirling, then set an arm on Mellyora's shoulders, ushering her through the camp of makeshift wood-and-skin dwellings to the shelter he'd had built for himself. The Vikings were masters at temporary housing, using skills they had honed over centuries of invading foreign shores. There was a small room off the main structure of Daro's great room, and her uncle sent her there. A servingwoman brought her a small copper bowl so that she could wash her face and hands. The little room contained a handsomely crafted Celtic tub as well, and a pallet bed of rich, warm furs by a blazing fire. She wondered if he had meant this room for himself alone, or if he had believed that he might marry Anne at Stirling and bring her here. She longed to curl up on the deep pile of furs on the bed, but she knew she couldn't sleep yet. Anxious regarding Anne, she hurried out to Daro. He sat before the fire that burned in a large, stone hearth in his long room, deep in thought, a chalice of warmed wine in his hands.

“Have your men come back?”

“They have.”

“What happened to Anne?”

“She is nowhere to be found, not lost or hurt along the trail.”

“But no ambush awaited your men? There weren't soldiers out searching …”

“No. According to Ragnar, the prints show that a lone rider came and seized her. They were met by a second horseman while riding back toward Stirling.”

Mellyora's throat constricted. “We were discovered missing just after we left … but your men met with no troops? They were not accosted? Daro, if the king is aware that you aided me in escaping …”

He looked up at her. “Then the king's troops should be headed this way.”

She turned away from him, suddenly sorry that her world seemed to have escalated into such deadly drama. She really hadn't wanted blood shed on her behalf. But what had she expected? That she could hide behind Daro in her defiance, and the king would listen rather than draw his sword?