Come the Morning (27 page)

“Aye, leave the treachery to us!” Waryk said, lifting his cup with a wry smile. He finished his wine, and rose. “I'll accept your hospitality and get some sleep, Daro. It's been a long night—and a strange one, as you say. I might well have enemies; it would be good to discover them.”

“The leader is gone, the others are slain. I wonder where to look from here,” Daro said.

“If I have an enemy, he will show his face again,” Waryk said.

“What will you do now?”

“Well, I will return to Stirling tomorrow.”

“What of Mellyora?”

“I will return with or without her. I've told her the king's command. She may now do as she chooses.”

“Aye, then,” Daro said and nodded, and Waryk left, eager for a night's respite. Mellyora had made the last few days busy and wearing.

Daro was a fine host; he'd offered Waryk the use of pleasant sleeping quarters, an old stone sheepherder's cottage which, though not large, had been cleaned and repaired by the Vikings. A pallet heavily laden with furs had been left for his use, the chimney cleaned. Wine, bread, and cheese had been left for his comfort, and with Angus and his men gathered beneath a lean-to that stood not far from the cottage, he dared sleep while awaiting the morning.

Angus and the others were ranged around the fire in front of the lean-to. He bid them good night and entered the old cottage, a place of privacy. He shed his cloak and stretched out by the fire, laying his sword at his side. He helped himself to the food, then studied the flames in the hearth as he drank the wine. He wondered what move she would make next.

Strangely, he had never seen her appear more vulnerable than when he had left her now. Freshly bathed, she smelled sweetly of roses. Her hair, newly washed and dried, glistened around her like a halo of gold. Her eyes were luminous, large, brilliantly shimmering as well, caught by the light of the fire. She had seemed weary, delicate, feminine, gentle, even fragile …

Umm, fragile as rock, gentle as a kiss of steel, he thought. Did he dare trust her after all that had happened, after she had told him that she was desperate to elude him? Had she really suspected that he was an enemy out to kill her—or did she consider him equally as wretched as any outlaw, and had she hoped to slice his throat in that cavern tonight? For that matter, had any Viking ever threatened her? Had they been with her in her quest to escape him all the while? The questions were endless. They all involved truth, and trust, hard commodities to come by. Was Daro involved, had the leader simply run when he had seen that his fellows were falling dead?

He didn't know.

But the next play was up to the lady. He had done all he could. Now, in truth, the choices—whether she liked them or not—were hers. He closed his eyes, listening to the snap and crackle of the flames.
Aye, the choices were hers, the king had made it so. Whether she did or didn't choose to marry, he'd be engaging in battle, either with her, or the people on the island, and at that moment, he didn't know which he'd prefer. He could assure himself that he had made the right moves, stepping in for Daro and Anne, giving Mellyora the cold hard truth of it. Could he ever really sleep in his own bed without wondering if he'd wake to a knife at his throat? Yet he kept seeing her as he'd left her, a snow queen with her glittering hair and eyes, and the look of an angel …

He rose with an oath of impatience and poured himself more wine.

After assuring herself that Waryk was gone, Mellyora burst out on her uncle. “It can't be the truth, Daro, it can't be. The king can't just take what is mine—”

“Mellyora, the king is strong enough to take what he chooses. And you have forgotten the Norman way. You are a woman. You can't hold that property.”

“It was my father's. If I can't keep it because I'm not a male, then it should be yours—”

“Ah, but Mellyora, he held the land because of your mother, not because of his family. Your mother could not hold the property, the king granted your mother and the property to your father—admittedly, your father had a fair hold on it when the king granted it to him.”

She stared at him a long time, then sank into one of the chairs before the fire. Two huge tears formed in her eyes, and fell upon her hands, like diamonds in the light.

“What am I to do?” she whispered.

“Make a choice,” Daro told her softly. “Ewan loves you, I'm certain. You will not be without recourse if you choose not to accept the king's ultimatum.”

“People will revolt—they won't just accept the king's Norman ways!”

“Aye, they will,” Daro agreed. “But I imagine that a revolt will be put down quickly and harshly to prevent any further insurrection.”

She rose, spinning before the fire.

“If you love young Ewan enough, your choice is clear,” he told her.

She hunched before the fire. “I love the island as well. It's been my life, it is my heritage. He knows nothing about it. He has never seen it! How can the king so blindly and blithely give away what is mine?”

“He sees the country as his, Mellyora.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “And Waryk simply decided to bring Anne here—to you. Her family would happily have burned all Vikings to a crisp, but Laird Lion speaks, and she is delivered with full blessings!”

“He has a way of making men see reason.”

“Not women!” she said angrily. She wondered if most of her wrath at this moment was directed at him, or herself. If she'd loved Ewan, really loved him with all the poetic nobility she had thought, she would give up all hope of heaven for him. And she did love him. But not with the blinding fervor she had believed she had. She knew that she would not give up her island. She would never watch another woman take the chamber that had belonged to her parents, see another walk the halls with their exquisite tapestries and hangings. She clenched her hands into fists, hating herself that these things meant so much to her. But she loved the chapel and the market, and she was glad to settle the little disputes, watch the children grow … The people would be hurt, some men, loyal to her, could protest, and in their protesting … die.

She stood. “What do you advise, Daro?”

“Does it matter?” he asked her. “I think that you've made up your mind.”

“You don't dislike him,” she said sharply.

He walked toward her. “Did you want to see the two of us engaged in battle for your rights and honor?”

Her eyes lowered. She shook her head. “Nay.”

“So you would have my advice. Marry him. Young Ewan is a fine lad, but he isn't the man the king needs. You hate Waryk not for the man he is, but for the manner in which the king ordered him to command you. He is in a strong position, but a pawn as well. No, I do not dislike him. I admire him. He has played this game well, and might prove himself the real victor.”

“How can he lose? He holds the power. The land—with me, or without me.”

“Aye, think on that. With or without you. He could easily choose
without
after all that has happened.”

“We were not guilty tonight!”

“But try to prove it.”

“You know the truth!”

“I know it, as do you. But try to prove it.”

Mellyora stood very straight, agitated. She paced before the fire, then, with an oath, she started to leave the hall.

“Mellyora, where are you going now? There's no need for you to run, if you say that you do not want to marry—”

“I'm not running. I'm going to Waryk.”

“Perhaps you should wait, and give yourself some time. Think about what you're doing—”

“No matter how long I think, my choices will remain the same,” she said desperately.

“Mellyora, I must admit, if I were the king, I could not think of a better warrior to hold Blue Isle than Waryk.”

She swallowed hard, wondering why it seemed that this logic worked for everyone but her. “I must go. If I tarry any longer, I'll never go,” she said softly, and she hurried on her way.

He still sat surveying the blue flames that leapt in the hearth when he heard a tapping on the door. Then his name was called, and he knew her voice.

“Laird Waryk?”

He rose, opening the door. She stood there, still as angelic as she had been, lustrous hair free and cascading down the length of her back. Staring at her, he admitted again to himself that Adin's daughter was a fair prize. She possessed a rare beauty, flawless skin with no pockmarks, and all her teeth. She stared back at him, and he knew why she had come. Daro had known her well. She would not give up her homeland. But now, though she had come here, she still seemed unable to speak.

“Come in,” he told her, not at all ashamed to feel pleasure at her discomfort after all the tumult she had caused. “I'll pour you wine. It will help you swallow down your pride.”

“You're wretched,” she told him.

“You don't want the wine?”

“Aye, I want the wine!”

He poured it and indicated the furs on the floor by the fire. “Sit, join me.”

She didn't sit. She took the chalice from him and swallowed the whole of it before sinking down to sit and stare at him blankly still.

“More?” he inquired. “You do have a great deal of pride to swallow.”

“You are being detestable.”

“Not at all. I'm trying to help,” he said, refilling her chalice.

She accepted the second serving of wine, swallowed quickly. She closed her eyes, and said, “I'll do this thing.”

“Oh? What thing?”

“Oh, what thing!” she repeated bitterly. “Marriage.” She sipped more wine, staring into the fire. “You must understand, I had other plans. It is my homeland. I know it, I love it. You are a usurper.”

“I am a warrior,” he said huskily. “Such a land needs a warrior.”

“There are other warriors,” she murmured. Then she forced her eyes to his and made a great effort to be civil. “Perhaps we can learn to be civil to one another. The fortress is a very big place. We can fulfill the king's wishes, and keep our own souls. You'll have your chambers, I'll have mine. It can work, we can do it.”

He watched her incredulously. He stood, placing his chalice on the rough stone mantel. He turned and looked at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “No.”

She stood, wobbling a little as she rose, staring back at him. “What do you mean, no?”

“No. I'll not have such a marriage.”

“But …” She let her voice trail; then she inhaled deeply. “You have a mistress, a woman whom you love.”

“Aye, and thanks to your refusal, I could marry her if I choose.”

“The people would despise you.”

“Ah, but I am a patient and reasonable man. In time, they would not.
Now
, you, my lady, you had other plans so you say. Have you taken a lover?”

Her cheeks flushed to a rose color and her lashes fluttered and fell.

“You know that there is someone else I wanted.”

“Well, then, have him.”

Her lashes rose, her eyes met his. “You say that you are a reasonable man. You have been clever. You've delighted Anne and Daro, and my uncle now believes that you are the right man to be laird of my property. Fine. We need only stay out of one another's way—”

“No, Mellyora. It will not be that way. If you want this young man, have him, but you'll not have me as well.”

“But—but,” she stuttered, “you said—”

“I said no. First, milady, I told you that you must ask me—and nicely—to wed you. You've not made any real requests—you've certainly not been nice—and you've attempted to dictate what you'll have.”

“I've been reasonable under the circumstances—” she protested.

He shook his head, both amused and determined. “The circumstances are that you're at my mercy. An interesting position after all the trouble you've caused. So ask me nicely. And I'll consider your request.”

Pale as ash now, she stared at him, speech refusing to flow from her. She spun around ready to exit the cottage, but he caught her arm and dragged her back, amazed himself at the savage determination that suddenly filled him. She was not going to best him. He would not allow her to complicate his life. “Humility, my love, is an excellent quality. A touch of it will do you very well.”

She cast her head back, hating him with her eyes.

“You are a despicable Norman lackey, no matter what clothes you wear, no matter how you speak.”

“That's not nice at all,” he said politely, but a warning was in his tone and grip.

She lowered her head, bit her lower lip, and stared back at him, her eyes still on fire. “Indeed, noble sir! Will you be ever so kind as to marry me and allow me to remain on my own birthright?”

“Better,” he said, his eyes as hard on hers as the touch of his hands. “Not exactly humble, but better.”

“Well?” she cried.

“Never.”

“What?” she cried, outraged. She tried to jerk free from his touch. He pulled her closer.

“Maybe. But not on your terms.”

“Oh, God, if you'll just listen—”

“No, milady, you listen. A marriage, legal and binding, creates legal issue. I will have sons. So you will marry me, you will be my wife, and there will be no bargains, terms, or conditions. It will be as I say.”

He felt her shaking, and he almost felt sorry for her. Almost He could too easily remember her very real attempt to kill him tonight—even if she claimed she had thought herself facing a different enemy.

“Well,” he repeated harshly.

“Aye …” she whispered, barely finding breath.

“Aye—what, milady?”

“Aye, it will be as you say!” she snapped angrily.

“Fine.” He released her, and turned away from her. “I wish to leave by midmorning. The wedding is planned for the following day—king and countrymen in attendance. Go and get what sleep you can.”