Come the Morning (22 page)

She hurried to Daro, coming down on her knees by his chair. “Daro, I'm so sorry, I was wrong, I shouldn't have come to you for help—”

His eyes, blue and clear, fell on hers, and he shook his head, smiling. “We're reckless, aren't we? You and I, it's part of what we are. You didn't involve me, I involved myself. I don't understand why we're not engaged in battle now.”

“We've got to be ready. The king's men could be riding now—”

“I've men watching the roads. No one is coming.”

“Then where is Anne?”

He sighed softly. “I'm assuming that it is Waryk who came riding alone, and seized her. He meant to take you, but I believe Anne is safely back at Stirling. Why David is not thirsting for my blood, I do not know.”

“I've got to go back, Daro. Tell the king that what has happened has been my fault—”

“No. That will solve nothing. Men are watching the roads, and the bridge. I'll know if there is movement by so much as a gang of fishwives at Stirling. Get some rest. I plan to do the same.”

“How can we rest—”

“We have to rest, because we can't reason intelligently if we don't. Please, Mellyora, go and get some sleep.”

“I can't.”

“You must.”

“Daro, I've dragged you into this madness, no matter what you say. I've hurt you—”

“I made my own choices.”

“I'm afraid,” she said softly. “More afraid than I've ever been. I don't understand what's happening, why no one has come thundering down upon us—”

“We wait,” he said, looking at her. “It's all we can do.”

“All right.” She walked toward the room where the inviting pallet waited for her, then turned back to her uncle. “But I will not risk your life for mine, Daro. I defied the king, and dragged you into it, and if there is a price to pay, I will pay it. I thought tonight, that if I could reach you, he would want to talk, that he would see your strength. Well, the king knows your strength. I believed so fervently that he would have to barter. Now, I grow ever more afraid that there would just be slaughter on all sides.”

“Mellyora, you are my brother's daughter, and that is something that the king forgot.”

“Great Adin was his ally. And I'm his godchild.”

“And I'm a Viking, while you're a Viking's daughter. Women are given, and that is the way of it, and once given, you are no longer a Viking threat. But I have been David's ally,” Daro said passionately. “He has forgotten that as well.” He studied his niece sternly. “It wasn't just my love for you that brought me into this, it was my outrage as well. Now we have begun this rebellion, and we can't go back. But you tell me now, and truthfully, what caused you to defy the king in such a manner?”

“I'm not trying to defy him, I just want him to listen to me—”

“Is this over your young chieftain, Ewan?”

She hesitated, but only for a second. “Aye. He's of that land, Daro. He's a Scotsman, ardently loyal to the king. If David would just listen to me—”

“He can't listen. Your Ewan may be all good things, but he isn't a trained knight, and he hasn't the strength to go against the king's enemies. He couldn't hold out against me if I chose to seize the isle.”

“You underestimate me, and him as well—”

“Nay, Mellyora, I beg your pardon. The lad is brave and wise and many good things. Don't despair. Besides, I had heard that Laird Waryk was to marry elsewhere—perhaps he is no more eager for this match than you are. He has had a mistress for many years, a woman he enjoys and admires who, though not landed as you are, is of a good family. Maybe something can be done. I'm weary, and need rest. Please, go and get some sleep. There is nothing we can do until we receive some news from Stirling.”

She nodded, and went on into the room. The servingwoman who had helped her earlier, a plump, middle-aged woman named Inga, came to her with another glass of wine. “It will help you sleep,” the woman told her.

She lay down on the pallet, suddenly more afraid than she had been all night. She had believed in her own strength and will, and then she had believed in Daro's. Her uncle was strong, and proud, and that might mean that he would die to defend her. Viking legends were rich with tales of warriors fighting to the death, berserkers heedless of all odds, running naked into battle, determined to win or die …

Her own determination had been one thing. She hadn't the right to kill others, and she knew that the king could be kind, strong, and merciful—and she knew as well that he could be unforgiving.

How could she sleep?

But the wine worked wonders. She had lain there but a matter of minutes, certain her thoughts would keep her awake forever, when she found her eyes closing.

And her thoughts tormenting her no more.

That night.

But a day passed. And then another. And while Daro's men practiced at arms and Mellyora watched and waited and feared the worst, nothing happened.

Daro sent men into Stirling. Anne was well, and attending the queen, and went about her life as if nothing had happened. Banns had been cried for the marriage to Waryk. There was no word that the Vikings had done anything amiss, nor did the king have men preparing for war.

Mellyora was disturbed to find herself lying awake until near dawn, night after night. What was he doing? She was alarmed to remember his face too clearly, disturbed that images of him haunted her dreams. She could remember his voice too clearly, the way that he touched her, the way he spoke. And sometimes, she would be sorry that she had made such an enemy, and sometimes, she would even jolt awake, thinking he was near her. He wasn't a stranger anymore, she realized.

But what was he doing?

She took to practicing with Daro's men-at-arms as well, and Daro gave her an old sword, dug up from ancient grounds at Dalriada and said to have belonged to a Celtic princess during the time of the Romans. The sword was much lighter than the heavy ones she had practiced with throughout her life, giving her the advantage that she could wield it longer. It was strong as well, and unlike so many other such small weapons, she didn't think that it would snap as easily under an assault by a heavier weapon.

Another day went by. Stirling remained quiet, the people going about their business. There were preparations going on for her wedding. She had spent time with Daro, gotten to know more of his men, practiced, laughed, joined in their games, listened to the great Nordic tales of gods and goddesses and Valhalla. But while she had laughed and charmed and been charmed in turn, she had grown continually more uneasy. Some of Daro's men had suggested they move against the king.

“Nay, we wait,” he had told them.

And Mellyora knew that they both believed they might have had a chance at Blue Isle, where the fortress could withstand months of siege. But if they made a move, they would be in open defiance. They would be at war against the king, not involved in any misunderstanding, and if all were lost, many heads would roll. It was better to wait.

She'd been with the Vikings almost a full week when she went to bed at night and realized that, while she had worried about Daro, she had been haunted by visions of Laird Waryk …

But not once had she thought of Ewan. When a man had entered her sleep, it had been Waryk. She had seen his eyes clearly, their piercing blue, she had seen his face, the way that he stood, and she had even felt his touch, over and over again, and a strange burning in the night …

The messenger was first seen riding out along from the gates at Stirling at dusk, a single rider, unarmed, flying the banner of Waryk de Graham, Laird Lion, a great falcon flying against a field of blue.

It was late night when the messenger left Stirling, a curious time. Daro's men awakened him with the first news of the man leaving the fortress walls. Daro advised his men to follow the rider's progress and to report his movements.

The messenger might have been riding anywhere, but Daro knew that he was coming to him. What game was Laird Lion playing? Daro was aware that he did not need to negotiate, that if the king had commanded a marriage, Waryk had only to report that the Vikings had helped Mellyora escape, and every king's man would be at Waryk's command. A brutal loss of life would ensue, and even the king's strength might be compromised, but men were known to slaughter one another for less reason.

When the messenger crossed the bridge, Daro came to the front of his camp to meet him.

“I've come from Laird Waryk, unarmed, and seek your promise of safe conduct out of your camp,” the man told him. He spoke the Norse language, not haltingly, but with assurance, and Daro was impressed that the Scotsman had chosen a Norwegian as his messenger. A courtesy in itself.

“You've come unarmed, lad, and you leave here unharmed, you've my promise,” Daro told him. “What is your message?”

“I am to repeat Laird Lion's words to you alone, Laird Daro,” the lad said.

Daro nodded, and his men allowed the messenger to dismount and follow him into his camp hall. Daro offered the man wine, which he accepted.

“Has Laird Waryk sent you to say that he has something—or someone—that he wants while I am holding the woman he is to wed? Does he seek an exchange? Tell him he puts me into a grievous position, for he asks me to deal with my own blood.”

The messenger quenched his thirst with the wine and swallowed, shaking his head. “I am not here to threaten or bargain, Laird Daro. Laird Waryk acknowledges you as the Lady Mellyora's closest kin, and regrets the fact that you were not consulted. Naturally, your niece has the right to refuse to wed—”

“Naturally?” Daro repeated with a wry grin.

The messenger shrugged. “Ah, Laird Daro, she may refuse him. But the king intends that Laird Waryk govern the property, with or without a bride.”

Daro started at that, surprised at the bold move to be made by the king. It would be an unpopular move—many men would grumble.

They would also be forced to realize that they all held their land of the king, and that power might be fleeting, and that all that was gained might be lost. The Normans might not have conquered Scotland, but their feudal ways had come here, and if Mellyora had been a male heir, as the eldest son of the laird she would have had far greater strength under the feudal law that had permeated much of their society, just as it had the English. But she was a woman, with few more rights than those of a child. She could not hold the land in her own name alone.

If she refused Waryk, the king would not choose a different husband for her, or allow one. He would simply seize the property.

Staring at the messenger, Daro exhaled softly.

“Does Laird Lion wish me to explain this choice to my niece?”

“That, Laird Daro, is your choice. Laird Lion will tell her himself, if you don't wish to do so. He intends to come here and retrieve her—with the king, he hopes, remaining unaware of the truth of her flight—and will do so. He awaits your invitation, and prays that it will come speedily.”

Indeed, Waryk was awaiting his invitation. Daro's admiration for the man grew. He would avoid bloodshed—if he could. If he could not, he would come in full force, with all the power of a mighty king behind him.

“Laird Waryk wishes peace,” the messenger continued, “and has no desire to start his marriage with the blood of his wife's kin upon his hands. He wishes to offer you a gift.”

Daro arched a brow. “A gift?”

“Aye, the gift of a woman. Knowing your desire—and that of the young woman—he has been to the king, and to the MacInnish. He and Michael, chieftain of the family, have long been friends and allies. He has argued a case in your behalf, and so Michael has spoken with his cousin, Padraic, and with the king, and wishes you to know that you begin negotiations for a marriage contract with Anne MacInnish.”

Daro was truly startled. Waryk was not threatening, blustering, or riding down on him with his sword unsheathed. He was besting him in a most unusual way—through a cunning form of decency.

“How do I know he is telling me the truth?” Daro asked carefully.

It could be a trick.

“Because he will bring Anne MacInnish with him when he comes,” the messenger said. “And because he keeps his word; it is sacred to him.”

Waryk had taken Anne, and he would bring her back, and the situation had remained quiet all these days while Waryk had spoken with the MacInnish and the king. Now, they could all go about their lives with the king none the wiser. Waryk wasn't demanding that Daro trade Mellyora for Anne, he was simply advising him that Mellyora would be disinherited, rendered penniless and bereft of her property, if she refused the marriage.

That would remain her choice. Daro didn't think that the threat of being stripped of wealth would greatly disturb Mellyora—he was not a penniless man, and she would remain welcome to his protection. But she loved her homeland, her island, even the cold, wild water that lashed the coastline between the isle and the mainland. She loved being the lady there, listening to disputes, settling petty problems, tending to the sick and wounded, and most of all, keeping art and tradition alive. Story-tellers came often, though Mellyora could weave a spell when she chose to tell a story herself. It was said that though the Celts had once ruled and roamed Europe, it was in western England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland that the survivors came after the great barbarian warriors fell to the superior strength of Roman weaponry. She knew the stories about the ancient warriors of her mother's people, Celts and Scotia, just as she knew the old Norse legends. She was Viking, but she was her mother's child as well. She could sing with a voice that was crystal-clear and enchanting, and poets and artists came to the isle just to see her. She was proud, Daro thought.

She would not give up her position as lady of the isle. No matter what it cost to keep her place. If she had run and defied the king thus far, it was because she hadn't realized that the king could and would take the isle from her.