Page 106 of Come the Morning

“It’s not that you would be easily led! You loved one another—”

“Aye, but again, things have changed. She would not use me, and—”

“You would not use her?”

“I wish it were that simple. The truth is, she would not want me anymore.”

“What?” Igraina said incredulously.

“She loves him, you see.”

“No, I don’t see.”

He sighed with mock distress. “Women are so blind!”

The fortress at Blue Isle sat atop high rock, cast against the cliffs, hills, crags and water with startling majesty. Even when night came, her towers seemed to reach to heaven. Candle- and firelight gleamed. Blue Isle glittered like a priceless gem set in a sea of gold. Watching the isle, Ulric Broadsword contemplated his actions. On the border, his Norman ally was creating havoc, but Ulric had been given much in the way of arms and men, and surely, he was expected to provide more in return than he had thus managed. Actually, he’d performed magnificently, but since his attacks had thus far proven less than effective, no one would know. That in itself was frustrating. But there was a great deal offered, not the least being the satisfaction of revenge. Becoming part of Daro’s camp had been a stroke of brilliance, but Adin’s daughter had escaped from them. He thought crossly that he really would enjoy taking a horsewhip to the girl—or slicing her throat. Adin had trained his daughter to be a warrior, and he’d done well enough at the task. But though he now found himself more anxious than ever to get his hands on Mellyora MacAdin, it was the complete downfall of his enemy that he craved. Blue Isle. Adin had taken it. Adin had held it. Just like other Scottishisles, this land could be taken and held by the Norse. That would indeed be retribution. Yet so far, plans which should have succeeded had failed. He had seized the Viking’s daughter from a Viking camp, only to lose her and a number of good men. He had staged an attack which should have laid waste the mainland, but Waryk had arrived with his armed and mounted troops at least a day before he should have come. So now …

Now, word came, the great Laird Waryk was riding again—to bring an Englishman into the Scottish fold before the king seized lands which had fluctuated back and forth between the two countries for more than a hundred years—and would surely continue to do so. David of Scotland would have his way. While Mathilda and Stephen fought, the powerful barons in northern England did what they would, creating their own little kingdoms, their own form of law. Ulric knew this well himself, and was grateful for the situation.

Waryk rode with well-armed, well-trained troops. Many of them. He’d learned his first battle tactics from descendants of wild, barbaric Celtic tribes; he knew to use the forests, the trees, the cliffs, the hills, to attack and retreat, to repulse an ambush. Attacking his troops as he moved across the countryside would be suicide. Any major action now against the mainland would be seen; the masons and carpenters had erected a tower from which guards would see any assault from the sea, and any large movement from the forests carpeting the hill to the east …

His impotence suddenly enraged him. He could remember the past. His father had often told him of a time when Vikings set out in their great longboats, and the people screamed in terror as they came. The fury of the Norsemen! Monks prayed, women wept, men died. The Christian God was cast down, His nuns were raped, His churches violated. The Vikings took what they wanted, and they left, and they fought so well and so fiercely that they conquered half of the land they invaded, they ruled, theywere the power. They were such great warriors that indeed, they brought their prowess to their enemies, they interbred, and even when they did not, they were so powerful and indomitable that their enemies hired them at great prices to do their fighting for them and with them, and many a great alliance was born.

Han came to him where he stood on the hill. Han had become sour. While escaping after they’d taken Mellyora MacAdin from Daro’s camp, Han had broken bones in his foot, and he still limped. He’d been injured during the assault on the mainland off Blue Isle, and he was weary of their encampment here, northward of the isle.

“Word has come from the south,” Han said, sounding bitter. “You are not causing a great enough disturbance, and the Scottish king is beginning to move. There will be an attack on Tyne, but whether it can be rallied quickly enough …”

Ulric scowled and stared back at Blue Isle, glittering on the coastline. “Tyne is no one’s objective,” he said contemptuously.

“Tyne is perfectly good land, and the fortifications and manor there are fine enough. And with King David so staunch a supporter of his niece Mathilda, any land or estate we seize we can take in the name of Stephen, and history will say that we were but loyal supporters of a king over the prospect of a queen. The Normans brought this form of primogeniture here—they understand that a male must inherit. History may well exonerate us, and Stephen himself reward us. Vengeance and rewards. The fortress here will be weakened again with Waryk gone. If there was but a way for you to seize Mellyora MacAdin again and keep her …” Han said, his voice trailing.

“Aye, now more than ever!” Ulric said, trembling with the hatred that had grown and festered through the years so that it was now something almost tangible. “Aye, take what he most desires. Hold her just out of his reach …” He started to laugh. “Kill her, not kill her. Hold her and see if she carries his child atthis point, and let the child be born … then return his son to him, piece by piece. Aye, great Laird Waryk, here is your boy—his heart! Or let him wonder. Take his wife, his legal lady, and make of her a Viking concubine, and let him wonder year after year if he raises his own son, or a Viking’s bastard! His pope may not allow him to disavow the grandchild of the man he murdered! Or … capture the lady, bait the great laird. And if he can be killed, then keep the lady and the isle, and resurrect the power of the Norse jarls here on the coasts! Whatever comes, I will see that a knife twists into his heart. His father was killed; he should have lain on the field with him. His line will end with him, I swear it!”

Han made a strange noise. “For you, Ulric, there is passion and vengeance in this! We must begin to take care. Some of your own men begin to doubt your wisdom. We’re warriors, we fight. Fighting men win, and fighting men die. We fight for gain, to seize land, for power.”

Ulric spun on Han. “Don’t you understand as yet! Aye, Waryk killed my father, but more, don’t you see! The wretched Scots were beaten, they were dying one by one, it would have been over before King David arrived. The ancient MacNee land would have been ours, the MacInnish would have perished, and all the riches would have been ours long ago—”

“Maybe. You must remember, your father was a mercenary with the Norman lord. Would he have proven trustworthy? Will your great friend in this vengeance provide us land and power as he has promised?”

“Aye, his bitterness is greater than mine.”

“But we must take care. We lose more and more men—”

“We will find more and more men.”

“Aye, we call out to the isles, we bring in Danes, Norse, Swedes, younger sons, men who must make their way. They aren’t enough. We call on the Norman peasantry, on those with bitterness themselves, old Saxons, disgruntled Scots. Soon,someone will betray us, and when the cause of these skirmishes is known, the whole force of the king’s army will come down on us—”

“We will not be discovered, Han.”

“One day, an injured man will talk.”

“No man will talk when he knows that his death will reward his family, while a betrayal will cause us to slay his sons, daughters, and wife, and further kin.”

Han held silent. Ulric brooded for a moment.

“We need Mellyora MacAdin,” Ulric said.

“The fortress is impregnable. Perhaps, as well, she will accompany her husband when he rides.”