Page 114 of Come the Morning

It was Waryk who said her name sharply. She met his eyes, then stepped forward. Igraina cleansed the area again; Phagin gripped flesh and muscle. She stepped forward. The light was flickering. She couldn’t see. The night was cold. Sweat beaded her brow. The light was suddenly better. Waryk held a candle at an angle that gave her far better vision. She bit into her lower lip, and began to work.

Ewan never moved. She looked at his face again and again, certain he had died while she worked. He lay so still. But his chest rose and fell, rose and fell. He breathed; he lived.

She expertly tied off her last stitch. Ewan’s ancient, tiny grandmother moved in. She muttered prayers beneath her breath, soft incantations in Gaelic, as she plastered the freshlysewn wound with a poultice of the healing seaweed. Mellyora turned. A basin of water had been left. She soaked and wrung a cloth to put upon Ewan’s forehead, then she cooled his neck, shoulders, chest. Night was becoming morning, and as they had all expected, a fever was setting in. He had to be kept cool, and it would take a constant vigil to see to it that the fever didn’t claim him.

The sun rose. They had made it through the first night. Stretching and straightening as Ewan’s grandmother brought her fresh cool water, she realized that Waryk was gone. She didn’t know when he had left the cottage, only that he was gone.

Phagin remained with her. His eyes were on her, and he seemed to read her mind. “He left some time ago, Mellyora.”

She nodded. “I see.”

He was still watching her. Igraina, who had gone outside, came over to her brother. She touched his forehead, changed the cloth there.

“When will we know?” she asked Phagin softly.

“Each day he survives, he will grow a little stronger. If he can shake the fever for a full week, well then, I believe he will live. Unless he has bled too much inside, and then …”

Igraina let out a soft sob. She lowered her head, then suddenly looked across at Mellyora as if she were fighting to remember that Mellyora was lady of the isle. But she suddenly spoke with tremendous bitterness. “Mellyora MacAdin, you are lady here, but by God, I swear, if you are a part of this …”

Stunned, Mellyora stood. “A part of what?”

“It is Daro.”

“Daro!”

Igraina angrily wiped tears from her eyes, staring at Mellyora. “The Viking claimed that Daro had sent him when they fought.”

“That’s a lie—”

“It’s what my brother said. My brother doesn’t lie.”

Mellyora shook her head. “I didn’t accuse Ewan of lying. But the Viking lied, or whoever or whatever he was. Daro wouldn’t do this—”

“Why not? This was his brother’s little jarldom. Adin left a daughter, perhaps he feels that the land is rightfully his. God knows, enough Vikings have ruled Scottish islands!”

“Daro would not do this—”

“Wouldn’t he?” Igraina accused very softly. “Perhaps with your blessing. Someone knows what is going on here. That Ewan came with me to the mainland. That any major attack would be seen, but that a man or two could slip quietly through the trees to assault a cottage.”

“So someone saw!” Mellyora cried indignantly.

“You swore that you’d keep this place alone, that you’d be independent, that the king would see your strength. You said there would be no Norman laird here. The only way this fortress could fall is from within.”

Mellyora tightened her fingers into fists. “I’ve known you all my life, Igraina! I wouldn’t do this, I didn’t do this! Would I risk Ewan?I love him!”she reminded Igraina.

Then there was silence. A dead silence. And she turned around to see that Waryk had come back; he stood in the doorway.

He stared at her with more than suspicion.

She knew that he had taken Igraina outside sometime while she had worked on Ewan, and that Igraina had described the attack to him, shown him the body of the dead Viking, and made every accusation she had just made to Mellyora. And now she stood there, stricken by what had happened to an old friend, yet accused of causing the travesty—while having just stated before her husband her love for another man.

“The men are searching the hills, crags, cliffs, caves, and forests for the second man, any other survivors of our recent attack, Igraina. The carpenters and masons have begun work ona wall around the dwellings here so that there can be no such surprises again. We’ve every able pair of hands at work, and we’ll bring a permanent guard here so that the mainland no longer lies vulnerable.”

“Did any man recognize the body?” Igraina asked.

Waryk shook his head, looking at his wife. “Mellyora …”

He stretched out a hand. She felt a fierce trembling in the pit of her stomach. “Waryk, I—” she began, but it seemed she had no voice. “He remains in danger,” she said lamely.