Page 30 of Come the Morning

“There’s always property involved when the lady intended is as noble as yourself.”

He accented the wordnobleand she knew that he was mocking her and that he didn’t find her noble in the least, which irritated her further. “Property is all that the king sees.”

He arched a brow. “Oh, I believe he sees more than just the land involved. Perhaps he sees Viking invasions as well.”

“You know, you are a reckless fool. You should take care. I am a Viking’s daughter.”

“Perhaps that’s the very point the king sees most clearly.” He let out an impatient oath. “Come, m’lady. You were behaving like a foolish child from the beginning if you thought that the king would not be involved with your future. It’s all a game of power and land, isn’t it? Surely, you’re aware of that. And we’re all of us pawns within that game. Now, shall we go?”

She shook her head, backing away from him again. “You’re not listening to me. If you understood, you’d help me. You’re a Scotsman. You should be outraged for me! The king intends to reward one of his Norman, lackey henchmen—”

“You consider this man nothing more than lackey, one of the king’s henchmen?” he demanded.

“Aye, a terrible one at that!”

“And a Norman?”

“Can we dare forget the Conquest? That we were spared, and England taken?”

He shrugged. “Curious. I’ve heard the man is Scottish.”

“You’ve heard lies,” Mellyora corrected him, praying that he was beginning to understand her position. “His father was in the king’s command before he came here from England. I don’t care what he chooses to call himself, the truth is that he’s a Norman, an invader, a wretched, horrible old Norman knight—”

“A wretched, horrible old man?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Do you understand?”

He lifted his arms in a shrug. “Indeed. Poor girl. It’s such a pity, such a wretched, wretched situation …”

“So you’ll help me?” she cried hopefully.

“Ah, lady …” he murmured.

“Aye!” she said, stepping closer. She stared up into his eyes, very bright against his muddied features. She barely breathed, praying.

He smiled.

“You will help me!” she whispered.

He caught her hands, held them between his own. “Not if the sun fell from the sky this very minute!” he told her flatly.

She gritted her teeth and counted, fighting for control. No good. She drew her hands from his in a fury, aware that he had baited her, that he was laughing at her. She tried to tell herself that she had to be very careful, she was risking her future—not to mention her life and limbs—with every word and action.

But it was just no good.

She slapped him with all her strength and did so with such speed that he didn’t manage to stop her. However, the moment her handprint embedded on his cheek, she was sorry for her action. His eyes became as sharp as knives, as hard and cold as winter ice.

She turned to flee.

He reached for her, and his fingers caught her linen shift, ripping the material. Heedless of the fact that she was losing the garment, she kept running. Aware that he was behind her, she veered toward the water again, praying that she could plunge into the depths and swim far enough beneath the water to elude him …

The cold stung her. Despite the chill she’d felt on the embankment, the water was still colder. She plunged deep, but to no avail. Like a demon from the depths, he seemed to be there before her. She found herself dragged out of the water and slammed down on the embankment again. This time he stared down at her with such a fury that she began to tremble. Her shiftwas in tatters, she was all but naked. She closed her eyes, not wanting to meet his, desperately afraid of what move he might make next.

“D—don’t … d—don’t …”

“Don’t what?” he demanded.

“Don’t … er …”