Page 123 of Come the Morning

“Built on rock foundation. The Romans claimed it for a time, I’m told, and they built the first walls on top of the rock. The walls are twenty feet thick in some places. Even the proud Celtic inhabitants admit that Norman building techniques added tothe strength and beauty of the fortress in the day of the Conqueror.”

“It all sounds quite beautiful,” Eleanora said, her fingers brushing over his as they both held the chalice. “Is it?”

His eyes met hers and he knew that she wasn’t asking about the fortress, but rather his wife.

“Very beautiful,” he told her.

“Enough to hold a man’s interest for a lifetime.”

“Aye,” he said gravely.

She watched him without rancor, a slight smile playing at her lips. Musicians entered the hall, the sounds of merriment began.An Cleasaiche, the hall jester, arrived, and there was laughter all around at the little man’s antics. Peter rose, lifting his chalice, saluting David of Scotland. The evening wore on.

Waryk excused himself early, having had Tyler make sure that he be given sleeping quarters in the castle. When he had retired for no more than thirty minutes, there was a tapping on his door, and he knew that Eleanora had come.

“So you are here alone,” she said, looking around.

“Aye,” he told her.

“Well, I suppose there is no way for me to be delicate, is there?” Eleanora said softly. “You’re a married man, the king has arranged it. I expected this day to come, and yet … I always knew that it would make no difference to me. Adultery is a sin, so they say, but there are so many men and women guilty of it that the halls of hell must be quite crowded. I can’t find it to be a sin. They also say that God has given us free will, but none of us seems to have free will to marry where he or she will. But your wife is young, isn’t she?”

“Aye, that she is.”

“With long golden hair and eyes bluer than the sea.”

“Aye,” he said simply.

Eleanora crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him. “Beauty itself cannot bind a man.”

He went to her, caught her, brought her gently into his arms and smoothed back her hair. He knew the feel of her, the scent of her, he’d known her so long. It would be so easy to be with her; the time he’d been gone from Blue Isle already seemed so long …

Yet …

He had wondered himself how he would feel when he saw her again. They had been together, when possible, for years. She was as familiar to him as his own hand. She had not changed in any way, she remained a beautiful woman, one who had cared for him, one he had loved. He had wondered if human nature would rear itself here, and if he would see her, and want her. But he realized, holding her gently now, that he had wanted Mellyora with him. Aye, he wanted her with him now, for many reasons, yet one more important than any other.

No matter how rational he had forced himself to be where Ewan was concerned, he had been jealous. Afraid to leave her with a young man who had proven himself brave, daring, resourceful—and moral.

Then …

He had watched her tend her would-be lover’s naked body, and before his injury, the MacKinny had been strong and fine, and he was somewhat amazed that the two never had culminated their love for one another. She had flatly stated her love for the man, and still …

But he hadn’t invited Mellyora to be with him because of anger, fear, jealousy, or any other such emotion. He had wanted her with him … simply because he wanted her.

And he had been able to leave her simply because it had been the only right thing to do. Because, against all odds, he believed in her.

He didn’t know how his emotions and desires had changed so swiftly and surely in the time they had been together. Eleanora remained beautiful. It wasn’t that he had now been with another woman—there had been other women over the time they’d been together, too. He had simply done the most outrageously foolish thing: He had fallen in love with his wife. And he knew, quite suddenly, holding another woman, just how much he loved her. His passion was overwhelming; he would die for her, not because he was a knight, a warrior, her husband, or the king’s champion, not for nobility, honor, or any other chivalrous concept. He would die for her, because she had become his life. So much was etched into his heart already. He would never forget her, coming across the water in her father’s dragon-prowed boat, bringing himhisfather’s claymore. He would never forget her face, her eyes, so many times, the way she had looked at him, defying him, loving him … if only just a little.

“Eleanora, you are a beautiful woman, you’ve meant so much to me, you’ve been peace and sanity to me over the years, but …”

She drew away from him, studying him. “You love your wife?” she whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

She smiled. “Don’t be. It’s a miraculous situation.”

“I care for you, Eleanora. You know that. I have never meant to hurt you—”

“I know that you care about me, Waryk. I know what I’ve meant to you. And of course, now, well, I am hurt, of course. Because I want you. Except that I don’t want to be with a man who wants another woman. And still …”