Page 14 of Come the Morning

“All men are tyrants!” Mellyora declared, closing the door to her chambers at Stirling. She had just given Sir Harry her sweetest and most flirtatious smile and sincere thanks for his safeguarding of her.

Jillian MacGregor did no more than arch her brow at the words. She was far more Mellyora’s friend than her maid since she had all but raised her. She now continued to work on her tapestry, her demeanor calm, her fingers not missing a beat in their steady rhythm.

“I thought you were quite fond of the king, dear,” Jillian said. “And you were so confident in seeing him.”

For a moment, Mellyora wished fervently that she could be more like Jillian. Nothing seemed to disturb her. Jillian had been her mother’s best friend and maid as well, so she had lived through some turbulent times and apparently weathered them well. Such peace with the world must be pleasant. Despite her perhaps forty years or so of life, Jillian’s heart-shaped face remained serene, unlined, and lovely. Her hair had gone to a gentle silver, which complemented her soft ivory coloring and light slate eyes.

Yet when Jillian turned those light gray eyes to hers at last, Mellyora saw the glitter of amusement within them. Jillian had known the outcome of Mellyora’s meeting with the king. She—along with all of Mellyora’s advisors—had warned her it would be so. Even Ewan had said so. When she arrived in Stirling, the king would not let her remain lady in her own right of the isle, and he would have plans for an immediate wedding.

“My feelings for the man do not change the fact that he is a tyrant. And you apparently know exactly what happened when I went in to see him.”

“Aye, the servants in the castle are all talking about it. Everyone thinks the union will be perfect. And you must remember, David believes he has a right to make such arrangements. He is a king.”

“That may be, but must the word be synonymous with tyrant?”

“Mellyora, if you think about this rationally, I know that you’ll agree David is a king with a kingdom he governs wisely. He has earned the love and loyalty of his people. He seeks to avoid any more bloodshed than he must endure to keep his kingdom together. Remember, there were tremendous battles when he took the throne in 1124. He fought again just a few years ago when insurrection among the clans began again. He must have the strongholds and castles of Scotland peopled with men he trusts. Especially with the current problems among the English royalty.”

Mellyora listened to Jillian’s words, knowing there was truth to them, but resentful nonetheless. “Indeed, the English problems. Trust me, the king will use the English problems to his advantage. He says he must stand strong against the border lords when we know he will push the borders. The king trusts only certain men, does not trustwomenat all,” she said.

“Mellyora—”

Mellyora moved swiftly across the room, sinking to the floor in front of Jillian’s chair. “Why can’t he understand that I will be loyal?”

Jillian shifted her work on her lap, then sighed, stared at Mellyora, and answered flatly and truthfully. “Because you are a Viking’s daughter.”

“My father was loyal.”

“Your father, my lady,” Jillian said more gently, “is dead. And being king is not easy, and ruling such a rugged land of wild, proud chieftains and nobles from ancient tribes as well as those from more recent invasions and immigrations is a dangerous task, at best.”

“Aye, my father is dead, and we are a wild land. But my father did not fret to leave his beloved homeland to me.”

“He acquired his beloved homeland through your mother.”

Mellyora sat back, irritated. “Are you going to argue with me as well? The land came through my mother, all the more reason it should be mine. Argue that!”

“Me? Argue with you? To what point? You heed nothing that I say, though I do continue to do my best to instruct you in what is fact—and must be seen, construed, and accepted as simple fact. The land came to your mother by tradition, you’ll remember it was your father who held it in a powerful grasp!”

Mellyora rose, pacing the chamber as restlessly as a great cat. If she escaped, she was free. Whether David liked it or not. Because if she escaped, she could appeal to her father’s kin for help until she could reach some compromise with the king. He hadn’t even given her a chance to tell him that she wanted to marry Ewan. Even David should have been pleased with her choice of a husband.

Ewan was a Scotsman, born and bred, even if his mother’s family did have a bit of Viking blood as well. It didn’t matter. Ewan MacKinny was chieftain of his father’s family, and theMacKinnys had held their lands from Mellyora’s mother’s family back unto the ancient times. The MacKinnys had provided countless fighting men for the kings of Scotland for hundreds of years. Many had been knighted, many had shed their blood for what was now unified Scotland. They were a proud and noble people, and the king should welcome a MacKinny as laird of her lands.

The king simply didn’t know it. Because he’d never given Mellyora a chance to explain. He’d accepted her homage, and told her that he was arranging for her marriage to one of his finest warriors, his own man, Laird Lion.

“Because he’s a tyrant,” she said aloud, still furious, and looked at Jillian. “He believes that he can order me to do anything if it’s his will and that I don’t matter in a decision regardingmeat all. I’ll not allow it.”

“Mellyora!” Jillian murmured, distressed at last. “You’ve lived on Blue Isle too long, refusing to realize that it is a small part of a greater world. Come now, be reasonable. David is the king. You do not allow or disallow with the king!”

Mellyora shook her head, her eyes wistful. “It wasn’t always like this, you know. TheNormansare the ones who began so many of these wretched rules by which we live. My mother died so long ago, I admit, I don’t remember her well, but I do remember her telling me about the old days. When Scotland was very wild, and there were many kings, different people, old gods, old ways … and women owned land just as men. She told me about wiccan beliefs—”

“You’re talking about pagan beliefs!” Jillian warned her, making the sign of the cross over her breast.

Mellyora smiled. “In the wiccan religion—the pagan ways—the earth was the mother, and women were respected and loved. And if we were living before the wretched Norman influencechanged everything, I might well hold the land in my own right—”

“Might and might not. Don’t you understand, your rebellion is just what he fears? You don’t see it, but the Viking threat is very real. It is within living memory that the Vikings seized Scottish holdings. Your father proved himself a Scotsman, he became one of David’s best friends. I’m certain that the king loves you—”

“But he doesn’t respect my rights in any way, Jillian, and I’ve never given him cause to doubt me. I came here longing to give him nothing but my love and loyalty, and where did that get me?”

“I’m telling you again, whether you blame the Normans, the decade, or Divine Power, you have no more rights than a child. And the Vikings are too close, and David feels they rule enough of land that should belong to Scotland, and he doesn’t intend to lose any more to them.”