Page 28 of Come the Morning

She inhaled sharply, seeing the monster who had assailed her.

“You!” she charged. It was the wretch who had lost the oars and left her in the river.

Apparently, he didn’t feel guilty for his first assault. He was attacking her once again.

“Aye, lady, I said I’d be back.”

“You loathsome, despicable creature! First, you desert me in the river, and then you assault me and attempt to drown me! How dare you! I tell you, you are in sorry shape, you wretched fellow, there is no question now, you will be treated severely, you will pay—”

“I don’t think so,” he told her.

She fell silent, staring up at him. His eyes were more chilling than the night. Deep blue Arctic frost. His features were fierce, tense, frightening.

He was back. After the night. He should have been gone, he should have rued that he had seen her in the first place, and he should have stayed far away when word went out that the Lady Mellyora had escaped Stirling Castle.

Had he decided to demand a ransom for her after all? Did he intend to kill her? No, what value would there be in her murder? Yet, he looked angry enough to throttle her then and there, and she thought it was far more than the chill in the air that was causing her to shiver.

She tried to be calm, and perfectly still. Not fighting him, she hoped to muster her strength if the moment came when she might slip free from him. “You know,” she said with solemn warning, “you are making a grave mistake. You don’t understand who I am—”

“No, I understand exactly who you are.”

“All right, I may be at odds with the king, but if he knew that you had nearly drowned me, that you—”

“I wasn’t trying to drown you,” he said, and assured her, “You would be dead now had that been my intent.”

“Then—”

“I was trying to help you out of the water.”

“Were you? You’re lying, you bastard, you were rough and cruel and brutal—”

“I’m not lying, you little witch! You were rough and cruel and brutal. You started scratching and biting and fighting and left me little choice but to drag you out—perhaps a little less than gently.”

She narrowed her eyes, wondering at his words when he was obviously furious enough to do her great damage. He wasshaking, she realized, as if he was expending considerable effort to keep from doing her bodily harm. A renewed sense of unease swept through her.

“Why did you attack me in the water?”

“I didn’t think you were going to make the boat.”

“I’m an excellent swimmer.”

“Indeed. That’s why you got nowhere last night.”

“I was cold, and tired.”

“And weak,” he said.

“I was doing just fine on my own.”

“But now you’re with me.”

“You still don’t understand, do you? Terrible retribution will come your way. You’ll be—”

“Disemboweled, hanged, drawn and quartered?”

She stared at him. How dare he be so mocking when such a fate might well await him?

“Yes!” she lashed out. “In fact, if you don’t let me up immediately, when I see the king, I’ll see to it that you receive exactly what you suggest—you’ll be disemboweled, hanged, drawn and quartered—and then your pieces will all be burned and the ashes cast to the wind!”