Page 131 of Come the Morning

“Dead. Perhaps.”

“If he were dead, I’d never marry you.”

“Brave words.” He came closer to her. She backed away.

“My lady, you will marry where you must. You didn’t want Waryk; you grew accustomed to him. You will grow accustomed to me.”

“No—”

“Aye. For I will beat you to within an inch of your life, lady, until you submit to me.”

“You are more the fool. I grew much more than accustomed to Waryk because heneverhurt me in any way, because I saw him use reason with others, I saw him use mercy as well as strength. He’s shown decency and—” she broke off, gasping, because he’d caught the surcoat with the tip of his sword and cast it aside. The blade was now placed against her throat.

“Get down right now, my lady. You’re changing partners.”

She stared at him for a moment, desperate.She wanted to live, she wanted her child to live, was anything worth the hope of life?

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t. She grabbed the blade, bringing it closer to her throat, and she stared at the man’s eyes through the slits of her uncle’s helmet. “If you touch me, I’ll kill myself. You’re right; I’m carrying his child. But you won’t use meagainst him, and if you’re planning on murdering my babe when it’s born, I would rather the child perish now. Because if I kill myself, you see, you’ll never enter the gates of Blue Isle.”

It was an incredible bluff; she didn’t know if she really had the strength to thrust a sword through her own throat, or if she could kill herself, knowing that she carried Waryk’s child. Life was hope.

Yet …

She was never tested on the matter.

To her amazement, he stepped back, letting the sword drop. “You will bring me into Blue Isle, Mellyora, daughter of Adin, a Viking.”

She lifted her chin. “My father was a Viking. But he was a good man. He knew the difference between battle and slaughter, justice and murder.”

He grabbed her by the hair, jerking her around, thrusting her toward his horse. She stopped, turning around to stare at him. “I need Waryk’s surcoat. It’s cold. And you will be noticed before we ever manage to meet up with your men if you drag around a naked woman.”

Apparently recognizing the wisdom of her words, the man turned around and went back for the surcoat.

Mellyora looked at his horse. She bit her lower lip. She had tried this once before …

And it hadn’t worked.

But then, Waryk’s horse was well trained; Waryk had an affection for Mercury, and Mercury knew his master. Whereas this man …

He had reached the surcoat, he was bending over to retrieve it. He was a good thirty feet away. She was freezing, stark naked. She leapt upon the man’s horse and slammed her heels against the animal’s flanks.

She heard him calling out behind her, swearing that he would catch her, and that he would make her pay.

She felt the cruel bite of the wind, the hammering of the horse’s hooves beneath her. She prayed that the destrier would not turn back …

The animal apparently liked the man no better than she.

They raced into the moonlight and shadows.

Home and help were close. She was desperate to reach that safe harbor herself, and even more desperate to find a messenger to ride to Waryk with the truth.

Waryk retrieved his clothing and dressed while he walked and hopped from the copse, desperate, furious, and very afraid. He burst first upon Angus.

He shouted his friend’s name, bending down. Angus lay in a pool of blood in the dirt. Yet when Waryk called his name and touched his cheek, he rose, groaning. “My God, man, you’re alive!” Waryk breathed.

“Aye,” Angus said, rubbing his head.

“The blood—” Waryk began.